Amanda Ripley Author of The Unthinkable

Why does Capt. Sully seem so bummed out?

“One of the hardest things for me to do was to forgive myself for having not done something better, something…more complete,” he told 60 Minutes. “The first few nights were the worst, when the what-ifs started. The second guessings. Just replaying it—flashbacks. Were we aware of everything we could have been aware of? Did we make the best choices?”

It’s a reminder that trauma is insidious. It can happen with or without death, with or without loss. The brain works by identifying patterns, and it’s an elegant system. If we can make sense of the present based on what has happened in the past, we have a reasonable chance of surviving the future.

But if things happen with no apparent warning or reason, the brain has a problem. It will search for a narrative that makes sense, replaying the inexplicable over and over in a kind of sickening loop. Until it deciphers the logic, it does not feel safe.

So even though no one was killed in this crash, it was still a crash. A commercial airplane still ended up in a river, adjacent to one of the most densely populated cities on the planet. Forever after, the crew will be left to wonder why—to search for a way to prevent the same thing from happening next time.

As many survivors have told me over the years, it is essential to construct a narrative that makes the brain feel safe. This is, I have come to believe, even more important than the narrative being true. (Although it will need to be true enough to be convincing to the brain.)

I think that’s why the death of Beverly Eckert (see below) in the Buffalo crash is also so hard to reconcile. If you lose your husband to an airplane crash, shouldn’t it follow that you will not yourself die in a separate airplane crash?

Each of us needs a convincing narrative—one that contains hope and predictability—or our brains will struggle mightily. This is true for all kinds of survivors, by the way, even criminals. One UK study of recidivism found only one thing separating ex-cons who stayed out of prison and those who went right back. The ones who stayed free were the ones who had created a narrative that made sense of their past—of the crime, of the lost time, of the suffering caused to their families and victims. I realize it’s an imperfect analogy. Victims did nothing wrong, needless to say. But both examples involve recovery from loss, so that’s worth a mention, I figure.

Anyway, this is one reason why, I think, religion is so powerful. It provides a narrative that makes sense, even in the face of contrary evidence. “I survived for a reason. It wasn’t my time.” Telling ourselves these stories—whether they are true or not—is a survival mechanism. Believing the story is another thing…

A few more thoughts on the details emerging from the crash of US Air 1549 into the Hudson. I was struck by Capt. Sully’s comment about the way he felt when he realized he had lost both engines. He said this to Katie Couric the other day:

“The physiological reaction I had to this was strong, and I had to force myself to use my training and force calm on the situation.”

He didn’t go into detail about the physical symptoms, but we know from research into the brain in high stress environments what he probably experienced:

If Sully responded like most people, his blood pressure and his heart rate shot up. He instantly ingested a surge of hormones as powerful as hallucinogenic drugs—in particular, cortisol and adrenaline. These hormones gave his gross-motor muscles a bionic boost—which would be helpful if he needed to fight or flee, but less helpful for what he was actually experiencing. Stress hormones interfere with the brain’s ability to process new information and make decisions—to think, in other words.

Sully was almost certainly experiencing sensory distortions as well. Under stress, we lose peripheral vision and our notions of time and space can warp dramatically. In one study of shootings of civilians by police officers, 94% of officers experienced at least one distortion, according to criminologist David Klinger’s interviews with the officers involved. Their vision became worse—or better. Some lost track of time; others suddenly lost their hearing. Most reported feeling oddly detached from what was happening—a fascinating phenomenon common in all kinds of trauma, known to psychologists as dissociation.

How did Sully overcome the acid trip that comes with extreme stress? How did he manage to calmly radio in that he wanted to land in LaGuardia, then New Jersey and then, no, after all, in the Hudson River? How did he have the wherewithal to warn passengers—90 seconds before impact—to get in the brace position? Had he not done that, the flight attendants may have had no warning—and we know from past crashes that without clear, aggressive commands, the passengers would have moved much more slowly.

Sully overcame the distortions of extreme fear because he was well-trained, and he was confident in his ability to perform. He could tamp down the internal ruckus more quickly than most. When Couric asked him if it was hard to gain focus, he said, simply: “No, it just took some concentration.” Gotta love this guy.

I was stunned to see Beverly looking back at me when I logged onto CNN today. There she was, a portrait in a list of the dead from the Colgan Air crash near Buffalo, NY, last night.  It turns out that Beverly Eckert, one of the most fearless of the 9/11 widows, and the woman I think about whenever I think about the victims of 9/11, was on the plane, among the 50 people killed in the still mysterious crash.

I met Beverly less than a year after 9/11. I was working on a story for Time Magazine about the government’s excruciating effort to calculate the financial worth of each of the dead. We went out to lunch at a place she knew in Connecticut. We ordered pizza, and she ate not a single bite. She told me the story of how her husband had called her from the top of the Towers, repeatedly.

“I listened to him realize he was going to die,” she said. Sean had climbed the stairs to the roof, only to discover that it was locked. He called her multiple times. He was confused, furious and then terrified, and she had been left permanently so—or at least that is how it seemed back then. Pain literally radiated from this woman.

She would not take government payouts, she told me. She would sue, fight, argue, do whatever it took to remind people of the way the love of her life had been stolen from her. Beverly went on to help found an advocacy group for the families called Voices of Sept. 11. She fought until the day she died. May she rest in peace, at last.

With Australian wildfires claiming at least 171 lives, Australian prime minister, Kevin Rudd, declared the fire zone a “crime scene.”  Police believe arsonists may be to be blame for the uncontrollable fires.  Witnesses talk of makeshift morgues in the street.

But what is equally concerning about this horrific and devastating event is not necessarily how or why the fire was started, but rather why traditional warnings systems failed to work as planned. 

John Handmer, a wildfire safety expert, tells MSNBC that getting out early is the best form of defense against spreading wildfires:
 
“Fleeing at the last moment is the worst possible option,” he said. “Sadly, this message does not seem to have been sufficiently heeded this weekend with truly awful consequences in Victoria.”

If research has proven the necessity of getting out early, was the message passed on to Australians facing the wildfires? If not, why? Did the fire move too quickly for evacuation warnings to be broadcast?

Australian officials are apparently blaming panic and the unprecedented speed of the fire, but the Prime Minister vows to find answers.

Stay tuned.

Today, I’m happy to introduce Kaitlyn Andrews-Rice, my research assistant and sleuth extraordinaire who will be posting from time to time on this blog. Kaitlyn is a writer who lives in the DC area with her fiance and her puppy. Unlike me, she actually has a graduate degree—a Masters in Fine Arts—and has written a novel about military life. When she’s not investigating disasters, Kaitlyn writes for TV and does hot yoga. Please welcome her to the blog.