A year has passed since the Air India crash that claimed 158 souls, yet the investigation remains as murky as a London fog. British aviation experts, those unsung guardians of the skies, are now demanding answers to six fundamental questions. But let's be honest: the silence from the authorities is not mere incompetence. It is a symptom of a deeper malaise, a decadence that would make Gibbon weep.
First question: why was the cockpit voice recorder wiped clean? In an age where we track every click and swipe, a professional crew's final moments are erased. It reeks not of accident, but of intention. Second: the flight data recorder stopped abruptly, 90 seconds before impact. Coincidence? The Romans would have smelled a conspiracy in such a thing.
Third: the crew's alleged failure to follow standard procedures. Yet, why were they so lax? Perhaps because the industry has treated pilots as mere conduits, not masters of their art. Fourth: the airline's maintenance records, which seem to have more holes than a Swiss cheese. Fifth: the role of regulatory oversight, which appears as robust as a wet paper bag. Sixth: the delayed distress call, which raises the spectre of a systemic failure, not just a human one.
This is not just about a crash. It is about a civilisation that has lost its nerve. We have outsourced responsibility to algorithms and lawyers, while the ghosts of the dead demand the truth. The Victorian era had its scandals, but it also had the decency to pursue justice with vigour. Today, we have endless committees and no answers.
Let us pressure the authorities. Let us not allow this tragedy to be buried under piles of bureaucratic jargon. The families of the victims deserve more than our fleeting outrage. They deserve the truth, and the truth is a moral imperative, not a political inconvenience.
