Features
Tussle for Independence
Sunday shot story
(Excerpted from Saris and Grapefruit, an anthology of short stories by Rukmini Attygalle)
My daughter Kumi felt that she had been tied to my apron strings for far too long. She felt grown up and considered herself to be on the verge of stepping into adulthood. She thought that we, her family, were holding her back, by limiting her independence. She was all of ten years old, although in my mind, it was not so long ago she had two missing front teeth!
We were living in London at the time and Kumi and her friend Nilmini were the only two Sri Lankan children in her class. They had obviously discussed the matter of their independence (apparently a common grievance) – or rather, the lack of it – and, decided to take up the issue with their respective mothers. One night, when Kumi and I were clearing the kitchen after the evening meal (every member of the family had to do certain chores, and it was Kumi’s turn in the kitchen), she broached the subject.
“Amma,” she said trying to sound formal – she hardly ever called me Amma, preferring to call me by some silly meaningless words she coined. “Why does everyone in my family treat me as though I was a small child?”
I knew from the tone of her voice that this was no simple question but a precursor to an emotionally charged argument.
“Do we?” I asked in feigned surprise. “I didn’t realise we did…” “Do you know that Nilmini and I are the only two girls in our class who are not allowed to travel by bus alone?”
“But there is no need for you to travel alone by bus,” I argued. “Your Your father drops you and your sister at school by car, on his way to work, and, after school, the two of you come back together by bus. So, the question of travelling alone does not really arise.” I was of course dodging the issue!
“Oh yes, it does! What about when Akka is ill and she doesn’t go to school? You always make arrangements for me to be picked up by Nilmini’s father or you take time off from work to collect me from school and then we both come home by bus! You don’t, think that I am capable of travelling by bus by myself.” Her voice quivered and I knew that tears were around the corner.
Realising I was in a tight spot I tried to extricate myself as gracefully as I could.
“Well, I suppose with you being the youngest in the family, I didn’t quite realize that you are growing up fast and, can do things for yourself.”
“It’s not just you! It is everybody! Akka always insists on holding my hand when we cross the road as though I am an idiot. My schoolmates cross the road by themselves. Every year a policeman comes to our school to teach us the ‘Green Cross Code’. I know it by heart! I know exactly what I should do and should not do when crossing the road. But what’s the use! I am never allowed to put it into practice. If I refuse to hold Akka’s hand, she grabs my arm so hard it hurts! She is such a Bossy Boots.”
Tears were slowly trickling down and I knew that the flood gates would soon open.
The Akka was eight years her senior and took her childminding responsibilities very seriously.
“I will tell Akka that there really is no need to hold your hand when crossing the road together. I think she is doing it through habit and not because she thinks that you are not capable of crossing by yourself.” I was trying to make an excuse for the sister.
“It’s not just Akka … Aiya as well …!” Flood gates had opened. The tears were now gushing freely.
This was the first time I had heard a complaint against the brother, as he was her favourite person, her ideal in the whole wide world; and generally, he could do no wrong.
Between sobs she told me that the previous week, her brother had insisted that he was not going to take her to the sweet shop up the road unless she put on her boots and coat. He had said that it was too cold outside, yet, he himself had gone out in his ordinary shoes and his denim jacket.
I explained to her that he was concerned about her health as she was prone to colds and coughs and suffered very badly with tonsillitis every time she went down with a cold. That he was only trying to protect her and was not ‘just being bossy’.
She seemed reasonably appeased but, continued to cry and wouldn’t drop the subject.
“All I know is that if you lot don’t let me do things for myself, I’ll never learn to be independent…” she said wiping her tears and blowing her nose into a piece of kitchen paper, “I am going to end up being retarded.” Her voice squeaked and turned into a sob.
“Retarded?” I exclaimed surprised.
“Yes. You know … people who can’t do things for themselves…”
She was going through the stage of using ‘big words’ and although she was quite good at using new words in the appropriate context most of the time, she did miss the target once in a while.
“No,” I said quite definitely. “You will never be retarded. You won’t need to worry yourself on that score!” I had to suppress a smile.
What I wanted to say was, “Your problem my girl, is that you are too sharp for your own good and if you don’t look out, you will cut yourself!” but of course I didn’t say it. Such comments were not really appropriate in this scenario. I helped her wipe her tears, gave her a hug and a kiss and promised to speak to the rest of the family about her problem.
This outburst did however make me wonder whether we were being over-protective of Kumi. I knew that some children of her age, did actually travel to school and back alone by themselves. Perhaps it was time that she was allowed to try out her wings. At any rate we had to make her feel that she was capable of doing certain things in order not to undermine her self-confidence.
On the spur of the moment I said, “How about you taking a bus ride to Streatham High Street on Saturday, all by yourself?” The High Street was not very far away, being seven bus stops from where we lived.
Kumi’s face immediately lit up. Her big round eyes got bigger. Her face widened with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “Can I really?” she said overcome with excitement.
“Yes,” I said, “I think it’s a good idea – don’t you?”
“It’s a great idea!” she beamed. Tears and complaints all forgotten; she ran to give the good news to the rest of the family.
Kumi was usually the last to get up on a Saturday morning, especially when it was cold. But that Saturday she was up at the crack of dawn – or so it seemed to me – when she tiptoed into our room and shook me gently by my shoulder.
“It’s Saturday today,” she whispered, not wanting to disturb her father. “Shall I start getting ready?”
“It’s far too early and it must be freezing outside,” I said. “In any case the High Street must be deserted at this time. People don’t start getting out till about nine o’clock on a Saturday. Go back to bed and I’ll wake you at the proper time.”
Although she returned to her bed, I knew she was too excited to go back to sleep.
It so happened that, on that particular Saturday, the others were also busy with one thing or another. My husband had to inspect a worksite; my elder daughter had to visit the library; and my son had football practice. So when I finally got out of bed, I went into Kumi’s room and told her that since there was no rush for her, to let the others finish their showers and once they were out of the way she could get ready for her ‘journey’. I think she was a little disappointed that the others would not be present to witness her stepping out into ‘adulthood’.
By half past nine Kumi was washed and dressed and breakfasted and ready for her big adventure. The bus fare to the High Street was 20 pence one way. So, I gave Kumi fifty pence for the fare and another fifty for her to buy herself some sweets — to complete her treat. I also gave her the front door key saying that she had better take it in case I went out before she returned (of course I had no intention of doing anything of the sort!) Kum] beamed with a sense of importance and responsibility. She had complained on an earlier occasion that she was the “odd one out” who did not have a front door key! She put the money and the key carefully into her purse and put it in her coat pocket, and with a cheeky smile said, “I won’t lose the key like the way you do!”
Losing my key was something that happened to me quite regularly so much so that it had become a family joke. I decided to ignore her comment and kissed her goodbye; and watched her spindly legs and knobby knees go down the incline towards the bus stop.
I started my cleaning chores, but my mind was on the bus. I could picture Kumi scrambling up the steps to the upper deck for that was where she liked to sit. I could almost see her little hands gripping the chrome bar of the seat in front of her; her eyes taking in every sight around her. She was an extremely observant child. So, I was confident that, unlike me who often sat in the bus lost in thought, she would not be over carried beyond her destination.
The day after Kumi’s outburst, I had telephoned my friend Sujatha — Nilmini’s mother — and told her about it. Nilmini too had made a huge fuss and complained bitterly that, “Sri Lankan parents are uneccesarily hard on their children.” So, when I told her that I was letting Kumi go to Streatham by herself on Saturday, she too thought it a good idea and decided to let Nilmini do the same. But of course, we did not tell our daughters that their friend was also doing the same trip.
All the while I was dusting and cleaning, my mind travelled with Kumi. I saw her get out of the bus at the stop near Woolworths, her favourite shop. I saw her heading to the sweet counter, looking at the different sweets, wondering what she should buy. Chocolate mice was one of her favourite sweets. She also liked toffees wrapped in shiny coloured paper. Of course, she could never resist Milky Way or Turkish Delight. I wondered what she would decide on eventually. 50p for sweets was quite a lot in those days and she could get a few varieties.
Then I visualised her mooching around the shop looking at the toys and games and then slowly coming out of the shop. She would have to cross the road to get to the bus stop on the other side. I knew she would walk up to the zebra crossing. I hoped the ‘Lollipop Lady’ (a traffic warden who helps children and the aged, to cross roads) would be on duty that day. I saw her cross the road safely and walk to the bus stop. She would be waiting for the bus impatiently. The 159 bus trundles along and she gets in and manages to find a seat. “Now she will be back soon,” I said to myself and continued my house cleaning.
About half an hour later Sujatha telephoned. “What time did Kumi leave?” she asked.
“About a quarter to ten.”
“Nilmini left a little earlier. Don’t you think they should be back by now?”
Sujatha was one to get alarmed at the slightest provocation. It was just gone eleven.
“They have probably bumped into each other at Woolworths and are wandering around the shop together.” I said to calm her down. But I must admit I was getting a little worried too.
“Yes,” said Sujatha “let’s give them another half hour, before panicking.”
I agreed. But I found myself running to the porch every few minutes to see whether Kumi was walking up the hill.
About twenty minutes later, to my great relief, I saw the pair of skinny legs with knobby knees trudging up, and quickly went indoors, shut the door, switched on the television and slumped on to the sofa. Minutes later I heard the key turn in the keyhole and the door open. I heard the zip of her coat being pulled down, and a rustling sound of paper.
“I’m back!” shouted a very cheery voice. “And guess what I bought?” she exclaimed bursting into the room. She had something behind her back.
“Chocolate mice?”
“Wrong.”
“Turkish?”
“Wrong again.”
“Milky Way?”
“Wrong, wrong. Give up?”
“Yes,” I said.
She took what she was concealing behind her and held it out to me. “It is for you,” she proudly exclaimed.
I was mighty surprised. It was a beautiful orange Tiger Lily! I knew that she would have spent all her money on this flower. “What a beautiful flower!” I said, taking it from her. “Thank
Y’ you so much. It’s so sweet of you to have brought it for me. Did you not buy any sweets then?” I asked, giving her a hug. “No,” she said, “I didn’t feel like any,” and shrugged her shoulders.
“It’s the nicest present I have ever received,” I said.
What Kumi did not realise was that she had given me a flower that would never fade; for it is still fresh in my memory and reminds me of the day it was presented to me with stick-like outstretched arms, a beaming face and a wide grin. It was also the day she turned adult! At least to her way of reckoning.
“And guess who I bumped into,” she nonchalantly remarked, pretending it was of no significance.
“Who?
“Nilmini!”
“Really?” I said, “What a coincidence!”
(The writer and her family lived for many years in England while her children were small and later relocated to Sri Lanka)
Features
Regime change and the vacuum:Strategic lessons of Iraq and Libya
by Col. (R) Nalin Herath
There is a question that the international community must periodically ask itself: What happens to a State after its regime has been ousted?
The question is particularly relevant when examining Iraq and Libya. Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi were authoritarian rulers. Their governments were associated with political repression, human-rights violations and the suppression of political opposition. None of this should be ignored or excused. But recognising the failures of authoritarian rule does not prevent us from asking another, equally important strategic question:
Did the removal of these regimes adequately prepare for what came next?
The experience of Iraq and Libya suggests that removing a ruler is considerably easier than replacing the political, administrative and security architecture around that ruler.
Danger of confusing regime change with State reconstruction
A state is more than its leader. It consists of institutions, security forces, civil servants, courts, political structures, infrastructure, economic systems and, perhaps most importantly, an accepted monopoly over the legitimate use of force. When an authoritarian system has concentrated enormous power around one individual, removing that individual can expose weaknesses that were previously hidden. The strategic mistake is to assume that once the dictator has gone, a democratic and stable state will naturally emerge. History does not support such an assumption. The aftermath of Iraq demonstrates this particularly clearly. Following the 2003 invasion, the Coalition Provisional Authority issued Order No. 2, formally dissolving the Iraqi Ministry of Defence and the Iraqi Army, among other security institutions. A US congressional report later documented the enormous consequences of this decision, including the disappearance of hundreds of thousands of military personnel from the institutional framework of the state. Whatever the intentions behind the decision, the strategic consequence was that an established security structure had to be rebuilt while the country was simultaneously experiencing political upheaval and growing violence. That is a dangerous combination.
Iraq: Removing the structure before building the replacement
Saddam Hussein’s government was unquestionably authoritarian. It also reflected a complicated sectarian and political structure in which members of the Sunni minority occupied disproportionate positions of power despite being a demographic minority. But the question for strategic planners should not simply be whether Saddam deserved to remain in power. The question should have been:
What institutional structure would replace the system once he was removed?
An army can be politically controlled without being politically representative. A bureaucracy can serve an authoritarian government while still providing essential state functions. A security institution can be reformed without necessarily being destroyed. The distinction between reforming institutions and eliminating institutions is therefore critical. The post-2003 experience demonstrated the consequences of institutional disruption. Security vacuums contributed to insurgency and instability, while the process of rebuilding Iraq’s security forces took place amid an increasingly deteriorating security environment. The lesson is not that authoritarian institutions should never be reformed. The lesson is that state capacity should not be casually destroyed without a credible replacement.
Libya: prosperity, authoritarianism and institutional fragility
Libya presents an even more complicated case. Gaddafi’s government was authoritarian and deeply personalised. Political freedom was severely restricted, and the security apparatus was deliberately structured around regime survival. Yet Libya, under Gaddafi, also used substantial oil revenues to fund education, healthcare, infrastructure and social services. World Bank data from around the end of the Gaddafi era show life expectancy reaching approximately 75 years by 2011, skilled attendance at birth at 100 percent and measles immunisation at 98 percent. This does not prove that Gaddafi’s system was politically legitimate. It demonstrates something different: economic and social outcomes can coexist with authoritarian political structures.
The Great Man-Made River illustrates the scale of Libya’s investment ambitions. The World Bank described the project as one of the world’s largest engineering schemes, involving thousands of kilometres of planned pipelines to transport water from deep desert aquifers toward the populated coastal belt. The original project was estimated at approximately US$ 25 billion over several phases. Again, this should not become nostalgia for dictatorship. It should become a lesson in state capacity.
What happened after Gaddafi?
The post-2011 experience is perhaps the clearest illustration of the vacuum problem. Libya did not simply move from dictatorship to a consolidated democratic state. Instead, competing armed groups, political factions and institutions emerged. A UN economic and social affairs analysis concluded that the fall of the Gaddafi regime exposed weak state institutions and that the post-Gaddafi period was characterised by the proliferation of armed militias and institutional fragmentation.
The World Bank has similarly described how the security vacuum allowed armed groups to expand, while attempts to integrate them into the formal security apparatus produced a hybrid system in which state institutions and powerful armed groups operated alongside one another. This is the heart of the lesson. The consequences of regime change were also evident in Libya. The 2012 Benghazi attack, later portrayed in 13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi, illustrated the security vacuum that emerged after Gaddafi’s fall. The collapse of central authority allowed militias and competing armed groups to fill the space left by weakened state institutions. The lesson is clear: removing a regime may achieve military victory, but without a credible plan to rebuild the state, victory can quickly become a security vacuum.
When the state withdraws, something else occupies the space. If the replacement is not a legitimate national institution, the vacuum can be filled by militias, tribes, ideological movements, criminal networks or competing political authorities. The vacuum does not remain empty.
Terrorism question
There is another uncomfortable issue. Authoritarian regimes frequently suppress political and armed movements through coercive security systems. When those systems disappear abruptly, previously contained organisations can find new operating space. This does not mean that dictatorship is an appropriate method of counterterrorism. It means that counterterrorism cannot be separated from State capacity. The international community therefore needs to distinguish between defeating a particular terrorist organisation and maintaining the institutional conditions that prevent multiple armed actors from competing for power. The destruction of one regime does not automatically eliminate the forces that created insecurity. Sometimes it creates an environment in which those forces multiply.
Strategic mistake: winning the war but losing the peace
Military intervention can have a clearly defined operational objective. State reconstruction does not. A military campaign may successfully remove a government in weeks or months. Building legitimate institutions can take decades.This creates a fundamental strategic asymmetry. The shorter the planning horizon for intervention, the greater the danger of a long-term vacuum. The international community therefore needs to think beyond the first question: How do we remove the regime?
It must ask: Who governs the country the next morning? Who controls the borders? Who controls the security forces? Who pays government employees? Who maintains electricity, water and hospitals? Who protects critical infrastructure? Who administers justice? Who prevents armed groups from becoming alternative governments? Who provides political legitimacy? And perhaps most importantly: Who possesses the authority to enforce the decisions of the new state? If there are no convincing answers, regime change is only the beginning of the problem.
The lesson should not be that the United States or its allies should never intervene. Nor should it be that Saddam Hussein or Muammar Gaddafi should be rehabilitated as models of governance. The lesson is more practical. Regime change must never be confused with state-building.
Before dismantling an established political order, external powers need a credible understanding of the institutions that will replace it. Security-sector reform should normally distinguish between individuals who must be removed and institutions that must be preserved. A national army may need reform. A ministry may need restructuring. A security service may need accountability and civilian oversight. But destroying institutional capacity without having an operational replacement can create consequences far beyond the original objective.
Wider geopolitical lesson
The consequences of Iraq and Libya did not remain within their borders. State fragmentation affects neighbouring countries, migration, organised crime, arms trafficking, terrorism, energy markets and regional power competition. In today’s interconnected world, a failed transition in one country can become a security problem for an entire region. That is why intervention planning should include not only military objectives but also political, economic, humanitarian and security-sector objectives. The most important planning document may therefore not be the operational plan for removing the regime. It may be the plan for Day One after the regime has disappeared.
History should not be written as a simple choice between dictatorship and democracy. The real strategic challenge is more complicated. Saddam Hussein and Muammar Gaddafi were dictators. Their governments committed serious abuses, and their populations had legitimate grievances. But the failures of authoritarian rule do not automatically justify the destruction of state institutions without a credible plan for rebuilding them. The experience of Iraq and Libya demonstrates a fundamental principle of international security: A political vacuum is not neutral space. Someone will fill it. If legitimate national institutions cannot fill that space, armed groups, sectarian interests, extremist organisations or foreign-backed factions may do so. The ultimate lesson for the United States, its allies and the wider international community is therefore straightforward:
Removing a regime may win the immediate battle. Building a legitimate, functioning and secure state determines whether the intervention succeeds in the long term. The world should learn to ask not only “How do we remove the dictator?”. It must also ask:
“What happens to the country when he is gone?”
That may be the most important strategic question of all.
(The writer is the Secretary General of the Ceylon Chamber of Shipping, former Director General of the Institute of National Security Studies (INSS), and former Spokesman of the Ministry of Defence. He is also a Non-Resident Fellow at the London Dialogue. His areas of expertise include international relations, geopolitics, maritime affairs, national security, economic policy, and strategic governance. He is a consultant at JITT Group and a member of World Pace Board.).
Features
‘Death at the Sign of the Rook’
Tales of Mystery and Suspense – 23
By Prof. Rajiva Wijesinha
As I have noted with regard to the adventures of John Rebus, I am indebted to Dinali Fernando and her husband Steve for whole hosts of thrillers. The latter strongly recommended Kate Atkinson when I borrowed four books. I wondered about this, for I had not been too impressed with her debut novel, Behind the Scenes at the Museum, which was amongst the entries I had to judge for the Eurasian section of the Commonwealth Writing Prize. Two decades later, I had forgotten what it had been about.
But I am glad Steve persuaded me to read her. Kate Atkinson is distinctively British, and Death at the Sign of the Rook is set in a country house and the surrounding village, and seems a modern descendant of the laidback Agatha Christies I so much enjoy.
There are, however, many differences in that we have a policeman who can go rogue, like Rebus, with again a female sidekick who has a mind of her own, again like Rebus. But Jackson Brodie has retired and set up as a private investigator, while Reggie, a young lady, is still in the police.
There is a lesbian couple living in the converted dairy of the manor house, as has occurred in Agatha Christie too, in A Murder is Announced. But they are peripheral to the story, unlike Ben, the brother of one of them who left the army after losing a leg in Afghanistan. When he turns up at the Manor House to shelter from a snowstorm, along with its chatelaine, Lady Milton, he is asked to answer the door as various characters turn up, including Jackson and Reggie, who then starts fantasising about him.
The others who turn up are two couples, one from America, who have paid for a murder weekend at the hotel. The family is impoverished, and has sold lots of pictures to survive, but most recently a Turner had been stolen, almost certainly by Lady Milton’s housekeeper Sophie, who vanished one night along with the picture. Reggie had been involved in that investigation, but there had been no trace of either picture or young lady.
Jackson Brodie suspects a connection between that theft and the one he has been called in to investigate, which has not been reported to the police. The picture hung opposite the bed of an old woman whose carer vanished after she died, along with it. Her children, adopted twins, have asked Jackson to investigate and also try to trace the carer, though he suspects something strange in that they did not go to the police.
Brodie, in studying the stolen art, is also struck by the disappearance of a Rembrandt from a house in Scotland, along with a member of the cleaning staff. He thinks the three women might be the same one.
But Brodie’s assumption that the three women who vanished when valuable pictures did were identical would not have helped except that Beatrice, as she was also called, kept turning up, including to the funeral home where the old lady’s body was kept. And then that picture turned up, in the village church, and was found by the local vicar, Simon Cate, whose life story is also a prominent feature of the novel. He was an aspiring actor but then smitten by faith, and became a priest, but in time he lost his faith. His wife left him after the death of their son, and he is now in this backwater, where he feels he is of no use to anyone. But he has a great feel for living beings, and his most successful service has been one in which he blessed pets. And he was deeply concerned about the bees that Ben looks after for his sister and her wife.
He too staggers into the manor house in the midst of the storm, in which everyone concerned loses their way comprehensively. But amongst those Ben lets in is a man in a tracksuit with cuts and bruises, who then vanishes after he has been led to a bedroom, when Ben went in search of brandy. We soon work out that it is the escaped murderer about whom Reggie has been alerted.
Simon also turns up, through the back door, carrying the picture and also a gun, for he has found the dead body of one of his parishioners when he went to her house in search of his mobile phone. She had been shot and he had picked up the gun he found there. But he could not tell the police, for though he called he had lost his voice, and for the last few days had communicated only through writing.
This chaotic mix of characters at the manor house is further complicated by the group of players putting on the murder mystery play though some members have either cried off or died before reaching the venue. So, there is much doubling up and confusion over who is an actor and who is not.
The grand now largely empty rooms of the manor house, and its various odd passages and multiple doors, make it a splendid set for the lunacy that runs on and on. Reggie finds herself in a pantry Atkinsonwith a dead body, though this turns out to be the nanny who fell down the stairs and was put there by Lady Milton’s younger son. And there is high drama on the roof when the murderer nearly kills Ben, but he is saved by Reggie, and when he tries to kill Brody with an axe, he is shot by Beatrice, who has been the maid who served at the dinner before the murder mystery play, and explains to Brody how she has managed all her thefts.
And then in the melee, she vanishes on a motorbike, along with the daughter of the old lady’s adopted daughter, the only person who seemed to grieve at the funeral, and to whom the old lady had left her house in a codicil to
her will, which her children have not known about. She leaves the picture to the carer, but it is brought to Simon Cate as he lies in hospital, recovering from a heart attack which adds confusion to the play.
Wonderfully convoluted, but all very clear, despite the headlong pace of the book and its shifts from one scene to another, from one character to another (or rather combinations of them) and from one-time span to another. A writer and a detective well worth looking out for. e more books by her on Dinali’s shelves.
Features
Safety, security and teamwork in aviation
by Capt. (Ret.).G.A. Fernando, MBA
There are three essential components to a commercial airline operation: safety, security and teamwork.
Aviation and teamwork at the ‘sharp’ end of a commercial aircraft, i.e. the flight deck, is unique. Unlike many other teams, it may be quite literally the first and the last time a particular combination of small teams of two, three, or four individual airmen (or women) will fly together. Sometimes even in the same airline that employs them.
Therefore, to make conditions safe and practical, while understanding and trusting tech other, they have to rely on a series of Standard Operating Procedures (SOPs), and ‘Normal’ and ‘Emergency’ checklists for every conceivable situation. That is, to be able to do the right things, and do things right. In fact, there is a saying in aviation to the effect that ‘if you make a mistake in aviation, be original and make a new one’.
To ensure that safety standards are constantly maintained, airline pilots’ proficiency is tested every six months, in simulators, under the supervision of examiners from the civil aviation regulator. In Sri Lanka that organisaton is the Civil Aviation Authority-Sri Lanka (CAASL). Three simulator checks are conducted every 12 months in keeping with the tenet that ‘practice makes perfect’. A pithy adage not confined to the world of aviation warns that ‘prior preparation prevents piss-poor performance’.
The simulator exercises include rejected takeoffs, including in cross-wind situations, landings, engine fires and/or engine failures from a variety of causes, cabin pressurisation failure, precision and non-precision approaches, and landings in bad visibility – amongst other conditions that could be expected in actual flight.
In addition, a flight in a real airplane, on a regular passenger service under the supervision of an examiner from the airline, is undertaken to ensure that the company’s standard practices and procedures are carried out and maintained as prescribed in the airline’s manuals. These publications are in turn approved by the national regulator.
Finally, flight crew members must take a written test annually, on emergency equipment locations and procedures, with 90% as the pass mark.
Since the mid-1980s it has been mandatory for airline pilots to undertake a Crew Resource Management (CRM) programme once every two years. This training essentially emphasises what to do and what not to do to, in a specific emergency situation, or even during normal operations, to make the team cohesive and effective. During the course, the CRM facilitators discuss recent incidents and accidents that have occurred. Results of those events are recorded and could be retrieved, when necessary, by the official aviation bodies.
Not unexpectedly, it is demanding on a pilot to fulfill these requirements on a regular basis throughout his/her career, along with presenting for a bi-annual medical examination, all with the objective of retaining one’s licence to operate an aircraft. It may not be understood, therefore, by persons outside the aviation industry, or even some working in other aspects of an airline organisation, that it is often the passion for flight that keeps many pilots doing what they do to earn a living.
Security
Another important factor is the challenge of maintaining security in all aspects of airline operations, not least in the cockpit. The challenges are many, with new ones surfacing almost every day. It is therefore essential to be always prepared for the activities and ‘methods’ of perpetrators seeking to wreak evil on an aircraft and its occupants. As it is impossible for any airline or national security organisation to cover all aspects, systematic management of risks to effect a safe outcome becomes imperative.
Flydubai Incident
In the recent Flydubai incident of 30 September, 2026, a first officer (co-pilot) attacked the captain of the flight with a crash axe to accomplish his sinister motives, into which investigations are continuing. For the time being, it prompts the questions: should the crash axe be easily accessible to the flight crew? Or even be there at all? I believe it is a case of assessing the greater risk.
With regard to that event, and the circumstances that led to it, other deterrents could have been applied more thoroughly. For example, more thorough screening of pilots’ and other crewpersons’ backgrounds, with emphasis on their mental health, ideological affiliations and previous employment history. Separately, during a time of conflict in the Middle East, should Flydubai have even been operating between Dubai and Tel Aviv? Notwithstanding that cost-cutting and profit maximisation are key aims of any business, an airline’s apparent failure to conduct adequate psychological profiling of flight crew members, while continuing to operate ‘profitable’ routes, regardless of potential danger, can only be regarded and condemned as greed and disregard for human lives.
( Captain. Fernando, RCyAF, SLAF, Air Ceylon, Air Lanka, Singapore Airlines (SIA), SriLankan Airlines, Former Chief Pilot, Air Lanka Boeing 737, Former Deputy Chief Pilot, Lockheed L 1011, Former Crew Resource Management (CRM) Facilitator, SIA, Former Deputy Director (Air Operations) CAASL, Former President, Aircraft Owners and Operators Association Sri Lanka (AOAOASL), President, The Colombo Flying Club, Representative for Aviation, Organisation of Professional Associations (OPA), Hony, and Member Sri Lanka Society of Transport and Logistics.)
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