In just over a century, Venezuela  has experienced nearly all the promises and all the failures of Latin American modernity. From a rural country, it transformed, thanks to oil, into one of the continent’s most dynamic nations. For much of the 20th century, especially after 1958, it built a negotiated democracy, sustained by political parties, unions, universities, the press, and a growing middle class. However, oil revenues also fostered dependency, clientelism, and corruption.

When the model began to falter, disillusionment paved the way for  Hugo Chávez  ‘s Bolivarian Revolution in 1998. What followed was the concentration of power, institutional decay, polarization, economic ruin, mass migration, and authoritarianism. The earthquakes of June 24th did not occur in a strong country, but rather in a society long battered by adversity. The earth trembled above a nation weakened by years of social, political, and institutional crisis.

And yet, amidst the pain, the best of the Venezuelan people has emerged. Neighbors sharing what little they have. Young people moving stones with their bare hands. Doctors, volunteers, parishes, religious communities, civil organizations, and entire families improvising aid networks, kitchens, shelters, and collection centers. Where the State fails to address or even minimally coordinate the emergency, civil society tries to sustain life. The problem is not only the scarcity of resources, but also  the mistrust, the lack of transparency, and the bureaucratic and political controls  that hinder or obstruct much international aid at a time when every hour can mean the difference between life and death.

Venezuela  thus finds itself facing the dilemma that  Leo XIV  poses in the opening paragraphs of the encyclical  “Magnifica Humanitas”: to rebuild Jerusalem or to enter the world of Babel.  That is, to rebuild the bonds before the stones, or to erect structures without communion, without truth, and without a shared destiny.  Babel  is not merely a confusion of languages; it is the pretense of building without listening, commanding without serving, organizing without loving. Jerusalem, on the other hand, is rebuilt when each person rediscovers fraternity and cooperation, when the wounded and the marginalized are not left alone, when one raises their gaze to heaven and redefines life from that perspective.

The Venezuelan Catholic Church is experiencing this moment from the perspective of the people and alongside the people. Not as a spectator, but as a wounded mother among her children. Dioceses, parishes, priests, religious sisters, and lay people have opened welcoming spaces and activated networks of solidarity.  Bishop José Luis Azuaje,  president of  Caritas Venezuela,  affirmed: “The earth may tremble, but the promise that love is stronger than fear remains intact in every helping hand.”

Rebuilding  Venezuela  will not be merely about erecting buildings. It will mean mourning the dead, searching for the disappeared, healing the wounded, paving the way for aid, speaking the truth, and rebuilding trust. From the rubble, the Venezuelan people remember that integral human development does not happen by decree but through an atmosphere of freedom where solidarity, justice, respect for human rights, and the responsible participation of all in the management of the common good are possible.