SANTO DOMINGO, DOMINICAN REPUBLIC —
What began as a joyful night filled with music and dancing turned into one of the darkest chapters in the Dominican Republic’s recent history.
In the early hours of Tuesday morning, Jet Set, one of Santo Domingo’s most beloved nightclubs, became the site of an unimaginable tragedy. The roof of the famed venue suddenly gave way during a performance by the iconic merengue artist Rubby Pérez. More than 300 people were inside enjoying the show when, without warning, the structure collapsed. By the time the dust began to settle, at least 184 lives had been lost.
Among the victims were two well-known former Major League Baseball players—Octavio Dotel and Tony Blanco—whose deaths sent ripples of grief across the international sports community. Dotel, once rescued alive, tragically passed away on the way to the hospital. Blanco’s death was confirmed shortly after by both MLB officials and the Dominican Ministry of Sports.
Rescue teams worked non-stop, their hands blistered and minds burdened as they clawed through the wreckage in search of life. “It’s not just the physical work—it’s the voices we hear from the rubble, the silence that follows,” said one exhausted responder.
Heartbreaking scenes unfolded outside the ruins. Families waited in anguish, scanning lists taped to makeshift walls, hoping to find a name—any name—that would mean their loved one had made it. Some rushed from hospital to hospital, holding onto fading hope.
A drone’s aerial footage revealed the extent of the destruction: a massive crater in the middle of what was once a vibrant gathering space. The very floor where hundreds had danced now lay buried under concrete and steel. The cause of the collapse remains unclear.
Among the deceased was also Nelsy Cruz, governor of Monte Cristi province and cousin of MLB star Nelson Cruz. The news devastated both the local political sphere and Dominican communities abroad. President Luis Abinader declared three days of national mourning and visited the scene, offering his support to the grieving families.
Stories of survival added layers of both pain and hope to the tragedy. Zulinka Pérez, daughter of the late Rubby Pérez, survived thanks to her husband’s bravery. “He covered me with his body and told me, ‘Go—our child can’t be left without a parent.’”
Jenniré Mena, a Venezuelan celebrating her 40th birthday with two close friends, recalled the harrowing hours she spent pinned beneath debris. One friend perished, while the other lay trapped beside her. “We held hands in the darkness,” she said tearfully, “and just waited.”
Even among the rescuers, the emotional weight has been enormous. Daniel Heredia, who lost a leg 15 years ago and now leads a team of responders with a prosthetic, said, “I know pain—but hearing someone calling out and not being able to get to them fast enough…that’s a different kind of hurt.”
International aid has poured in, with emergency teams from Israel and Puerto Rico joining the efforts. Despite their tireless work, many bodies remain unidentified, and several people are still missing—including the son of a government minister and some of baseball legend Pedro Martinez’s relatives.
As the nation grapples with shock and sorrow, the echoes of that night—the music, the cheers, the sudden silence—linger painfully. The Jet Set was more than just a nightclub. For many, it was a symbol of joy, culture, and community.
Now, it stands as a haunting reminder of how quickly celebration can turn to mourning.
