There’s a line from the iconic 1980 movie “Airplane” that I’ve been hearing a lot of lately: “They bought their tickets. I say, let them crash.”
Variations on that theme have been hogging the airwaves in relation to the catastrophic implosion of the OceanGate submersible early last week.
Despite vast efforts to save the crew, debris fields were finally detected by a robotic submersible, verifying what many had already known. In response, questions of the sub’s fitness for travel and the rangy hubris of the entire adventure tourism industry have been brought to light. Just as they are each year as multiple deaths occur on Mt. Everest where profiteers drag aging advertising executives and doctors up the perilous walls to fulfill their life’s ambition. There have been 17 deaths so far on Everest this year.
Of course, modern man’s unwillingness to understand and respect the monumental forces of Mother Nature is not a new one. In fact, it’s as old as the Bible itself, which granted us stewardship over this planet and all who live here. Of course, we haven’t quite taken that responsibility to heart.
Despite all arguments over the money and class involved in this disaster, the fact remains the occupants decided to pursue their interests, regardless of the verifiable risks. To be honest, at 4,000 pounds per square inch, their deaths were relatively quick and painless. A blink of the eye.
All of this occurred as I was returning from a trip to New York to see my daughter, and also take time for some camping in Pennsylvania and the Michigan shoreline. Surprisingly, the clearest air I found was in New York City. The skies of Pennsylvania and Michigan were shrouded in a pasty, smoky haze from fires that continue to rage in Canada. The smokelines have been drifting southwest on unusual winds and supplanting the fresh oxygen of the Pennsylvania forests and the open airs of Lake Michigan. The word “smothering” comes to mind, though most people would choose to ignore it. Much the way, I suppose, the occupants of OceanGate chose to ignore the inherent dangers and plunge headfirst into the inordinate deep.
In retrospect, I still can remember when I first moved to La Salle County in 2011. The whole family grew to dread May and June, and the flooding that occurred with regular bouts of 4 to 6 inch rains per week. The installation of a pump in the backyard was our final saving grace. Truth be told, that pump hasn’t done any business in at least five years. Drought has gripped the Midwest for the past two, and the smoke of Canadian fires has painted La Salle County skies a pasty white for nearly a week now. Farmers have seen low rainfalls before, but the scant growth of the current crop must be raising a few eyebrows. Air quality alerts have been posted, and the general public? Not a word. Not even a hint of a word.
Of course, the biological urge to put on blinders is fixed to our DNA. Even with overwhelming evidence of imminent disaster, the human race has always been able to display a genius for dismissing the obvious. I’m sure the stiffened residents of former Pompeii must have heard rumblings, yet elected to remain. Or the Japanese engineers who chose to build a nuclear power plant on a recognized earthquake zone. Who comes up with this stuff?
The colossal forces of nature are almost impossible to measure. Four thousand pounds per square inch would be the starting point. The submersible we are now riding in will not protect us. We may need to stick our head outside and take an honest look around.
Paul Wheeler grew up in suburban Chicago and traveled much of the United States before settling in Ottawa, and now Streator. He writes about a variety of topics including art, writers, politics, history, education and environmental issues. He can be reached at newsroom@mywebtimes.com.