Houston, we have a problem

In 2017, I co-authored a book with other writers about the Germanwings case. The book was awarded the prestigious Douhet Prize as the best technical-scientific work in 2019.

The core idea of “After Germanwings – The Life of an Airline Pilot” stems directly from the BEA’s final report on the tragic case of the German pilot who committed suicide while at the controls of an Airbus A-320, taking with him 164 passengers and the rest of the crew.

Such a striking case, by itself, wouldn't normally raise concern among those working in aviation safety, as it could be considered a classic "black swan" event, to use an expression coined by Nassim Taleb.

However, an analysis of the French authority’s report revealed that this phenomenon is far from isolated. Several incidents occurred in quick succession between 2012 and 2015. In five cases, one of the pilots on board either attempted or succeeded in taking their own life along with those of the unsuspecting, innocent passengers who had the misfortune of being on that flight.

To those five cases, we must add the suicide of a Chinese pilot from China Eastern in 2022, who took control of the aircraft and crashed it from cruising altitude (the final report was never released), and the case of an off-duty American pilot who, under the influence of hallucinogenic mushrooms, attempted to shut down the engines mid-flight.

Finally, there’s the Air India case, which casts a sinister light on the behavior of the captain, who reportedly shut down the engines intentionally during takeoff. Even allowing for the benefit of the doubt—as the preliminary report is not definitive—there are very few acceptable reasons for a pilot to shut down the engines as the plane lifts off the ground.

So, we’re talking about eight cases in less than thirteen years—essentially, one such event every year and a half.

While it’s understandable that discussing such phenomena may undermine public confidence in air travel, it's equally true that there are thirty-four million flights per year, and aviation is as safe as it is precisely because, when faced with structural issues, the industry doesn't bury its head in the sand, hoping luck will see us through. The phenomenon needs to be understood, analyzed, and effective countermeasures must be developed to prevent its recurrence.

In reality, EASA tried to implement some countermeasures after the Germanwings incident, but these were measures that failed to address the core problem. In fact, the subsequent three cases proved that the proposals from the European Aviation Safety Agency were ineffective.

The proposed measures covered five main areas:

1. 1. At least two pilots in the cockpit at all times.

However, in the American pilot's case, the Chinese pilot's case, and the Air India captain's case, there were at least two people in the cockpit. In the China Eastern case, there were actually three. This shows that determined individuals can still carry out heinous acts despite this measure.

2. Strict checks for alcohol and drugs.

In reality, neither Lubitz (the Germanwings pilot) nor the others were under the influence of alcohol or drugs. In fact, the number of aviation accidents caused by substance abuse is zero. So, it’s a non-issue.

1. 3. Physicians must strike a balance between patient privacy and public safety.

Doctors are already required to notify authorities if they believe a patient poses a real threat. The issue remains thorny. Physicians should communicate prognosis, not diagnosis—this is not just to respect privacy, but to prevent medical records from falling into the hands of insurance companies or others who could discriminate based on that information. In the Germanwings case, the pilot, who was being treated for psychiatric issues, had not been cleared to fly by his doctor. He deceived the airline by claiming his sick leave had ended and that the certificate was on its way by mail. Furthermore, under German law, the doctor could have faced prison for disclosing the diagnosis.

The real protective barrier in such cases is for the doctor to notify the airline once the patient is fit again—not the airman himself. 

1. 4. Training for medical examiners to detect worrying signs.

A pious hope. This process boils down to a form where the pilot self-declares as fit to fly. Declaring otherwise could mean losing one’s license or being enrolled in a recovery program that is hard to exit.

1. 5. Peer support programs.

This is the only rational element among the measures, helping struggling pilots reach out to empathetic peers trained to listen. These programs have proven valuable in helping individuals through temporary psychological difficulties. However, the process is delicate—should the individual request help, or should someone else report their behavior? And if the peer suggests the pilot see a mental health professional and the pilot refuses, then what? It's a slippery slope with no clear-cut answers.

Moreover, the BEA report reveals that over 44,000 American pilots use psychotropic drugs—a worrying sign. We should dig deeper into the root of this unease. Have operational demands become too overwhelming, exposing pilots to unmanageable stress? What protective factors could help prevent individuals from reaching a breaking point?

While we agree that the Germanwings pilot had a history of psychiatric illness, the others didn’t show any such previous issues. In the China Eastern case, three pilots were reportedly in the cockpit: a 35-year-old captain with about 5,000 flight hours, a 25-year-old with 500 hours, and a third pilot with 31,800 hours. When I first read that figure, I assumed it was a typo. A pilot at the end of their career usually logs around 20,000 hours—24,000 at most. I had never heard of such a high number, possibly a record.

Upon further investigation, I learned that this pilot was a former captain for the airline, had introduced the B737 in China, and had trained many pilots—including the one he was flying with. He was critical of the Chinese Communist Party, and his sentiments were captured on the cockpit voice recorder, which in China does not have the same privacy protections as in the West. He came under scrutiny and, after a minor incident, was subjected to a simulator check. He failed, was demoted, transferred, fined—and in the meantime, his wife died of COVID.

This pilot was reportedly a normal, if not above-average, individual. So, the obvious question arises: How much pressure can a person take before reaching their breaking point?

Pilots cannot be treated like they’re made of wire. They have a life, a career, and a psychological structure that is highly reliable—but they are not machines. Treating them disrespectfully, cynically, or abusively may provoke feelings of resentment and revenge against the system, leading to what’s known as a Samsonic suicide. Just as a police officer may use their service weapon to take their own life, imagine how a pilot might direct their frustration—with potentially devastating consequences.

In the EgyptAir suicide crash of 1997, the pilot had been informed the day before the flight, during a layover in New York, that he would face criminal charges and disciplinary action upon return to Cairo. That event, and its personal repercussions, likely pushed him over the edge—taking hundreds of lives with him, including those of his fellow pilots and superiors.

So, we still don’t have a clear answer to this phenomenon. But analyzing these incidents tells us one thing: the professional role of the pilot must not be subjected to excessive stress. Perhaps it’s time to revive that more playful, idealized image of pilots as a privileged caste—a public perception that masked the reality: intense workloads, exhausting schedules, immense responsibility, and near-total disruption of their private lives.

Caring for employee well-being is the foundation of the protective factors that allow pilots to perform their duties with peace of mind, reliability, and efficiency. But it takes enlightened management to understand that.