CARABALLEDA, Venezuela — The rich and poor shared paradise in Caraballeda on Venezuela’s Caribbean coast. Their apartments, a few with direct marina access and hundreds in public housing towers, stood on the same curving street and offered idyllic views of the white sandy beaches and crystal waters.

The yacht owners and public transit riders who shared this road epitomized the social integration that the government set out to accomplish. Many of them enjoying a holiday or resting at home on June 24 met the same fate when the ground shook so violently that their homes flattened in seconds.

Now, about 17,000 who survived also share the uncommon status of being homeless in Venezuela. As the official death toll climbs above 3,500, many must rely on a government that has been excoriated for its response to the tragedy and that has politicized housing in the past to figure out where they will live — if they will have a new home at all.

Housing has generally been the first aspiration for Venezuelan adults since the second half of the 20th century, when an oil bonanza allowed the government to fund housing complexes, the poor to build brick and cement shacks locally known as “ranchos,” and the rich to buy second and third homes.

Even when the country’s economy came undone in 2013, most Venezuelans still had a roof over their heads, be it by getting one handed out by the country’s self-described socialist government, buying one at a deep discount from people desperate for cash to migrate, building ranchos on top of each other, and even invading abandoned homes.

Those in housing built by the ruling party of 27 years — currently helmed by acting President Delcy Rodríguez — do not hold the deeds to the property, but the homes allowed them to save and keep entire families off the streets.

“It was their home, their house. It was an immense joy when they were assigned these houses here,” Carlos Ortega said of the 12 apartments in Caraballeda that his relatives were assigned to more than a decade ago following years of financial struggles after a mudslide.

“Imagine, they were given a home after losing everything, but now they’ve lost everything, even their lives.”

Only one of Ortega’s siblings survived the collapse of the public housing towers, while his son, who lived in a ninth-floor apartment but was working at a convenience store when the earthquakes struck, is still missing more than a week after the disaster. Ortega hoped he might find him at a hospital, a shelter or one of the tent camps that have taken over public spaces and private parking lots.

Not far from where he took a break from removing the rubble that buried his family, people were assessing flattened homes adjacent to a yacht club and some towed Jet Skis. There, rescuers were being handed cookies and other food on a plastic tray while standing on the rubble where the wife of a military general hoped he and their children would be found.

Ronal Rodríguez, a researcher at the Venezuela Observatory at Colombia’s Universidad del Rosario, explained that Venezuelan governments, even before the arrival of the fiery Hugo Chávez to the presidency in 1999, had tried to prevent socioeconomic segregation by building housing projects in or near areas that were considered exclusive. The strategy, he said, also gave them a political edge by diversifying the voter base in wealthier neighborhoods that tend to vote for the opposition.

But the homes built under Chávez’s “Grand Housing Mission,” which his successor, Nicolás Maduro, continued until the U.S. military deposed him in January, came with a caveat: People never received a deed.

“What Chavismo tries to do is maintain political dependence,” Rodríguez said of Chávez’s political movement. “That is, if at any point you turn against me and stop supporting me, then I’ll take away the roof I’ve given you.”

This makes these residents vulnerable to the whims of the government once again, particularly when survivors have been vocal about the lack of government support in search and rescue efforts.

The government of Rodríguez, whose dismal response to the catastrophe has been decried by residents across the board, has not yet given any timelines for long-term housing recovery efforts.

The extent of damage is still unclear, but at least 10,000 structures, or about one-third, were damaged in Catia La Mar, a city west of Caraballeda also in La Guaira state, based on satellite imagery analyzed by Microsoft’s AI for Good Lab. Older buildings, substandard construction and geography left many neighborhoods in Venezuela vulnerable to strong earthquakes.

Benito Mantilla, 68, now lives in a tent set up in a pharmacy parking lot in Catia La Mar after his privately owned home was damaged. His wife left for the Dominican Republic last week, but he decided to stay and try to find a job about 40 minutes away in the capital, Caracas, as the earthquakes also damaged his and his brother’s car repair shop.

Another woman also living in the parking lot was still hoping that the government would give her a home soon. Her daughter, she said, is part of the local organizers for the ruling party.

Meanwhile, Caryudedi González, who bought her own home when she was 21, was hoping that her working-class home, half of which went down a ravine, could somehow be repaired.

“In many countries, it’s very difficult to own a home, and here, we work so hard to have what’s ours,” González, 44, said.