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Jan 15, 2024

How Effective Management Led to an Aviation Disaster

History Team Follow -- Listen Share “Over two years, the Royal Air Force trained me to fly their fighter jets, and a significant part of the training program was dedicated to handling emergencies. The

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“Over two years, the Royal Air Force trained me to fly their fighter jets, and a significant part of the training program was dedicated to handling emergencies. The flight school emphasized that the key was not just to fly under normal conditions, but to survive in critical situations.”

F. Forsyth “The Shepherd”

I might have let you down since the last time I discussed aviation and an aviation disaster. Today, I’m going to present two stories: different catastrophes, different airplanes, different countries, different years, and different causes. And only one thing ties them together (and most technological disasters) — effective management. So, the battle: JAL 123 vs. JT-610.

Once upon a time, on August 12, 1985, a Japanese Boeing 747SR-46, packed to the brim, took off from Tokyo. Since we’re talking about an aviation disaster, it’s evident that it didn’t make it to Osaka, its intended destination. And more than thirty years later, on October 29, 2018, an Indonesian Boeing 737 MAX 8 didn’t make it to Depati Amir. Together, they claimed the lives of 709 people. Now, let’s delve into the details.

First up, let’s talk about the newcomer. The controversial Boeing 737 MAX, which became infamous (not least due to the events described), seemed to be designed by Boeing as if specifically for me to say, “I told you so.” Overhyped, loaded with deficiencies, certified with shortcuts, and accompanied by a considerable advertising budget. This aircraft was rushed into production to capture the market quickly, bugs weren’t properly fixed, and one of the main selling points was the ease of training pilots from the 737 to the 737 MAX. In theory, this offered significant time and cost savings for airlines that acquired the “MAX.” People bought it, pre-orders poured in, profits! Oh well, profits, right?

The first problems with the infamous MAX began before the disaster. There were reports of three pilots complaining about unreliable airspeed sensor readings. The sensor was checked (before the ill-fated flight) and cleared for its final flight. The crucial difference this time was that less experienced pilots were at the controls.

A side note: modern aircraft are fairly tolerant to a pilot’s skill in normal conditions. Automation takes over, so piloting a passenger airliner has become easier and safer over the years. The primary conclusion airline managers draw from this is straightforward: there’s room for cost-cutting. Less experienced, hence cheaper pilots, more flight hours, less rest, less training. Well, the plane flies on its own, right? Sit back and enjoy the cabin.

The aircraft, indeed flies by itself. Until the first emergency occurs. And here, a pilot is needed; a pilot, damn it, not a confident user of onboard computers. To understand the scale of the problem, let me tell you that to prevent the STS system from crashing the plane, all the pilot needed to do was press one(!) button on the control column. Thus, the combination of cost-cutting in development, maintenance, testing, and employee training cost 189 lives. Do you think Boeing took measures? Seriously? Then you’re receiving the last regards from 2019–157 dead Ethiopian passengers on another MAX.

So, folks, the pilot is the last and most critical safety system during your flight, protecting you from the shortcomings of designers, managers, technicians, and air traffic controllers. The pilot will be the one to handle the situation that all those above failed to prevent. So, the second story will be about a truly exceptional pilot.

Everyone knows Sullenberger and the “Flight 1549” Hudson landing. Many now know Yusupov and his “Flight 321” in a cornfield. I respect these guys. I admire them, but the story will be about others. Now, we have a category called “for the will to win.” These people lost, but their loss equals different victories. Introducing Masami Takahama and his crew: First Officer Yutaka Sasaki and Flight Engineer Hiroshi Fukuda.

So, as I mentioned before, on August 12, 1985, a Japanese Boeing 747SR-46, loaded to the max (524 passengers in total), took off from Tokyo to Osaka. Unlike modern fancy MAX aircraft, the 747 is a tried-and-true old machine. Unfortunately, well before this, it had been patched up with asphalt on the runway, and the resulting crack was patched with crap and branches, ignoring regulations (cost-cutting — you know how it is). So, not even a quarter of an hour after takeoff, the plane lost its tail, its hydraulic systems, and consequently, its control.

Let me explain the situation more plainly for those who aren’t aviation-savvy. It’s a catastrophe. That’s it. Finished. Adiós. Smile and wave. Eat your last crackers, send your final texts to family and friends. You can say something pompous to the air traffic controller over the radio — just for the sake of tomorrow’s headlines. The end of the line, the train’s not going further.

Pilots managed to TURN A doomed Boeing around and, emitting smoke for half an hour, dragged it back to the airfield. Of all the control systems ever devised in aviation history, they were left with just the flaps and engine thrust control. They didn’t quite make it to the airfield — a nearby mountain got in the way — but they did way more than could have been expected in such a situation. The plane was unrolled onto the slope of Mount Takamagahara, and four people survived. It could have been more, but unlike the pilots, the rescuers didn’t shine with professionalism. The first teams arrived at the scene only fourteen hours later, leaving about ten people who could have been saved on their conscience.

The eruption scandal claimed the life of the head of the airline’s technical services at Haneda Airport (suicide) and led to the director’s resignation. The airline provided compensation without going to court.

So, folks, don’t slack off at work — and you won’t have to commit harakiri out of shame. I wish everyone all the best. Goodbye!