Venezuela’s Coronavirus Crisis Is Different

“The only source of strength I have left comes from God,” Teresa told me. “The situation is really hard.”

Teresa’s story, and that of her country, are in many ways extreme—few states had as perilous a political and economic outlook as Venezuela did before the pandemic broke out. Yet, their dual experiences illustrate a wider problem: If the coronavirus outbreak has badly hit wealthy states, what will it do to poor ones?

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For one, the benefits of imposing the prevention measures first implemented by developed ones—such as extensive lockdowns—are anything but clear. Poorer countries lack the resources to offer the economic and social rescue packages that richer states, such as those in Europe and North America, have extended to their citizens. These countries are also home to hundreds of millions of informal or self-employed workers, who typically have little in the way of savings and need to venture out for money and food.

Lockdowns can thus create considerable desperation, forcing people to ignore them—sometimes at the risk of antagonizing the state. In Nairobi, Kenya, soldiers shot people who were out in the streets. In Peru, defying government restrictions can lead to jail terms of up to three years. Police in India were criticized in the early stages of that country’s lockdown for punishing day laborers who, lacking a place to stay or the funds to survive, walked the often long distances back to their home villages.

Most concerning of all, however, is the fragility of health-care systems throughout the developing world. The Central African Republic, a country of 5 million, has only three ventilators. Somalia has just one intensive-care bed for every million citizens. In Venezuela, the situation was similarly abject even before the dangers of a pandemic came into view. A survey last year found that 70 percent of hospitals in the country receive water only once or twice a week, while a fifth operate with no water at all. Reports have consistently put the number of ICU beds around 80 nationwide. Last year, the president of the Venezuelan Medical Federation said that more than half of the country’s doctors had emigrated.

Before the pandemic, Venezuelans were already dying of treatable diseases such as measles, diphtheria, tuberculosis, and malaria at alarming rates. Though the country has so far registered only a few hundred cases of COVID-19, with next to no water, soap, beds, ventilators, or personal protective equipment—and, perversely for an energy-rich nation, a shortage of gas and electricity—its prospects for grappling with the coronavirus seem slim.

Some are trying to address the shortfall in any way they can. Héctor Arrechedera, a professor of medicine at the Central University of Venezuela—the country’s oldest and largest university—leads one of several telemedicine initiatives that sprang up at the beginning of the quarantine. Along with dozens of other doctors and specialists, he takes calls from Venezuelans with questions about the coronavirus, and hopes to expand the service to cover malaria and childhood illnesses. Romina Cunto, a surgeon, co-founded an organization that offers a WhatsApp bot capable of answering basic coronavirus-related questions and redirecting users, if need be, to doctors on call.