Air India 171: Anatomy Of A Preventable Tragedy

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
Crash Site. Photo Courtesy: PTI

By Ahmad Ayaz

Two hundred and forty-two people boarded Flight AI-171 on Thursday. Only one left the wreckage alive. The rest vanished into twisted metal and smoke, never to return home.

Since the crash, officials have spoken of system failures, and split-second decisions. We've heard it all before. These aren't answers, they're habits. A way to name the tragedy without facing the decay beneath it.

This crash didn't come out of nowhere. It was built, piece by piece, by years of skipped safety audits, underfunded regulators, missing accountability, and a culture that still treats public safety as a footnote.

Every time something like this happens, we act surprised. We shouldn't be. India's aviation sector has grown fast, but it has not grown responsibly.

Read Also Ahmedabad Plane Crash: Air India Confirms 241 Dead A Final Family Selfie. Then the Plane Crashed.

The oversight hasn't kept pace. The systems meant to keep people safe haven't been given the power or independence to do their job.

The Directorate General of Civil Aviation, India's chief regulator, had fewer than 20 full-time safety inspectors in recent years – this, in a country where over 150 million people fly every year.

This isn't about numbers alone. It's about what they reveal. A country with world-class ambitions, expanding airports, and new runways shouldn't still be struggling with the basics: consistent maintenance, trained staff, routine oversight.

But the problem isn't just in government offices. It's in corporate boardrooms too.

Airlines, especially in low-margin markets, face constant pressure to cut costs. This often means running tight schedules, extending aircraft use, and pushing crews to their limits.

Pilots fly on back-to-back shifts. Technicians are understaffed. Maintenance can get deferred.

When profit comes before safety, disaster becomes just a matter of time.

After the Mangalore crash in 2010, where 158 people died, an investigation found that the captain had been asleep during part of the flight and was likely fatigued. There were clear lapses in communication and landing protocols. Promises were made to improve training and oversight.

Fifteen years later, we're in the same place. Or worse.

What makes it even harder to process is the way these tragedies disappear from public view. A flurry of headlines, some footage from the wreckage, a few angry debates, and then, silence.

The families begin their long fight for justice. Most of the country moves on. So do the officials.

This cycle-the disaster, the denial, the drift-isn't just tragic. It's dangerous. Because each time we fail to learn, we set ourselves up to fail again.

Regulatory bodies like the DGCA remain toothless. Investigations drag on without resolution. Safety audits are not made public. There is no consistent enforcement of even the standards that do exist.

And whistleblowers? They work in fear, knowing that raising concerns might end their careers, not save lives.

Contrast this with the U.S. National Transportation Safety Board. It conducts independent investigations. Its findings are published. Its recommendations are often acted on. That's why the U.S. has gone over a decade without a fatal crash in commercial aviation.

India doesn't need more grief. It needs a system that actually learns from it.

It needs independent oversight. It needs more inspectors. It needs protections for people who speak up. It needs accountability that means something. Real penalties for violations, not just fines small enough to write off as business costs.

Technology can help. AI can flag early warning signs in aircraft performance. Real-time diagnostics can catch issues before they become fatal. But machines can't replace the will to act. And that's what's missing.

There's a reason this hurts more than just a number in the news. These weren't nameless passengers. They were children, students, doctors, young couples, retired teachers. Their lives weren't meant to end in fire and metal. Their families weren't meant to become footnotes to an avoidable failure.

What does it say about us when these lives are lost and nothing changes?

The hard truth is this: the plane didn't just fall. The system did. The institutions meant to protect us didn't do their job. And unless we fix that, it will happen again.

Not just in the air. On the roads. In trains. In hospitals where the oxygen runs out. In buildings that collapse after heavy rain. These are not isolated failures. They are symptoms of a country that hasn't taken safety seriously enough.

We need to start asking different questions. Not just what happened, but why does it keep happening? And who is responsible?

Because in the end, this isn't just about aviation. It's about whether a citizen's life matters. Whether systems built in their name are built to protect them, or merely to shield those in power when they don't.

This is our moment to stop pretending. To stop waiting for the next crash to feel outraged again. To remember that those 241 people had names, had plans, had people waiting for them.

They deserved better. So does everyone still flying today.

• Ahmad Ayaz is a freelance journalist and national TV debater. He writes on governance, public safety, and institutional accountability.

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