Distance doesn’t erase the weight of a catastrophe. Two powerful earthquakes devastated northern Venezuela on Wednesday evening, leaving more than 180 people dead and nearly 1,000 injured. For the Venezuelan community scattered across Southwest Florida—people who left their homeland for a better life but never truly left their hearts behind—the tragedy hit with an immediacy that a 1,200-mile separation couldn’t soften.
Babcock Ranch resident Kat Higdon watched the disaster unfold in real time through messages and photos from family still in Caracas. They’re alive, which brought relief. But her relatives spent the night sleeping outside their damaged homes, huddled together in the dark, waiting for aftershocks that came at two in the morning. The infrastructure of everyday life fractured alongside the buildings: no electricity, no reliable water, no way to reach loved ones in other neighborhoods. For families desperate to confirm their people were okay, the silence was almost as terrifying as the tremor.
Rather than despair at the distance, Higdon and thousands like her are channeling that helplessness into action. Rohel Tovar, founder of Casa Venezuela Southwest Florida, is coordinating relief efforts across more than 180 Venezuelan organizations nationwide. The nonprofit plans to establish donation drop-off locations in Cape Coral, Fort Myers, and Naples. The immediate need is blunt and urgent: basic medical supplies. As Tovar explained, something as simple as a bottle of Tylenol, ibuprofen, or diclofenac makes a monumental difference for people without access to basic medicine.
But Higdon offers an essential caution to those wanting to help: verify before you donate. Scams bloom like weeds in disaster’s aftermath, and good intentions can inadvertently fund bad actors. Wait for Casa Venezuela Southwest Florida to announce verified collection sites and supply lists through its social media channels. The infrastructure for aid is being built carefully, deliberately—the opposite of the speed with which tragedy strikes.
What’s unfolding in Southwest Florida is proof that community isn’t bound by borders. People separated by geography but connected by shared heritage are turning collective pain into collective purpose. As Higdon said to those still reeling in Venezuela: You’re not alone. We are with you, we are praying with you, and we’re going to stand with you.
