were inspected according to rigid schedules. After a certain number of days, or flight hours, or takeoffs, an aircraft could not legally make another trip until it had had crucial parts checked. This scrutiny pays off—think how often buses, cars, trains, and subways fail, and how rarely commercial airliners do. But as of the early 1990s China’s inspection schedule was still slapdash and largely subject to “the rule of man.”
Perhaps the most important safety-related problem, as the efforts began, was the “check airman” system. In the United States and elsewhere, airlines have evolved the “check airman” system of continuing competency exams for which it is hard to imagine a full counterpart in medicine, the law, academics, or publishing. No matter how experienced and veteran the captain, he must periodically satisfy a specially trained pilot known as the check airman that he is still proficient. And the check airman, in his or her turn, must prove his continued competence through the check airmen’s records, as examiners are also subject to scrutiny by the FAA, to see how the percentage of passes and failures they are awarding compares with national norms.
Much as with MELs and scheduled inspections, the need forcheck airmen and check rides was observed more in form than in reality in China. (For airliners the check rides are conducted in simulators rather than real airplanes, in order to present pilots with a wider range of emergencies and stressful situations than would be practical or safe to undergo in real airplanes.) Check rides are meaningful only if pilots are held to consistent, objective standards—and, in practice, if some of them fail. But in China the standards varied widely, and often all pilots passed. In 1997, a Chinese airliner plane crashed in Shenzhen, just north of Hong Kong, killing thirty-five people and injuring dozens more. 9 The crash investigation indicated basic errors by both the pilots aboard, who made two landing attempts in the middle of a thunderstorm rather than diverting to a safer landing site. Things like this happen elsewhere—for example, the Colgan Air crash in Buffalo, in 2009, led to a reevaluation of how regional airlines trained and supervised their pilots. But within the Chinese system it highlighted existing concerns that the system was not doing enough to ensure that planes—or pilots—were safe to fly.
“The check airman system was a problem,” Joe T told me, not long after the Colgan incident. “The check airmen lived with all the other pilots, their wives were friends, their kids went to the same schools, they had the same housing.” If a check airman judged one of his neighbors on a test flight, and failed him, he knew that the unfortunate pilot would lose face, would be subject to remedial training, and might possibly lose his job—all very disruptive consequences within a tight-knit community.
Through the late 1990s, the shared imperative of reducing crashes created an improbable alliance of Chinese, American, and international businesses and organizations. In 1997, two Chinese airlines—Air China and China Eastern—had already been approved for prestigious and strategically important routesto the United States. China Southern had applied for approval to be the third, and had taken delivery of new Boeing 777s in anticipation of launching service from Guangzhou to Los Angeles. Because Guangzhou was a center of the outsourcing business, direct service there was expected to be attractive to business travelers and be lucrative for the airline.
But routes to the United States required approval from the U.S. Department of Transportation, parent body of the FAA. At the urging of the FAA, the department decided to use the application as leverage to force—or encourage—a broader improvement in Chinese safety standards. The FAA had no direct regulatory power over China Southern or any other foreign airline. But it could ask for confirmation that
Perhaps the most important safety-related problem, as the efforts began, was the “check airman” system. In the United States and elsewhere, airlines have evolved the “check airman” system of continuing competency exams for which it is hard to imagine a full counterpart in medicine, the law, academics, or publishing. No matter how experienced and veteran the captain, he must periodically satisfy a specially trained pilot known as the check airman that he is still proficient. And the check airman, in his or her turn, must prove his continued competence through the check airmen’s records, as examiners are also subject to scrutiny by the FAA, to see how the percentage of passes and failures they are awarding compares with national norms.
Much as with MELs and scheduled inspections, the need forcheck airmen and check rides was observed more in form than in reality in China. (For airliners the check rides are conducted in simulators rather than real airplanes, in order to present pilots with a wider range of emergencies and stressful situations than would be practical or safe to undergo in real airplanes.) Check rides are meaningful only if pilots are held to consistent, objective standards—and, in practice, if some of them fail. But in China the standards varied widely, and often all pilots passed. In 1997, a Chinese airliner plane crashed in Shenzhen, just north of Hong Kong, killing thirty-five people and injuring dozens more. 9 The crash investigation indicated basic errors by both the pilots aboard, who made two landing attempts in the middle of a thunderstorm rather than diverting to a safer landing site. Things like this happen elsewhere—for example, the Colgan Air crash in Buffalo, in 2009, led to a reevaluation of how regional airlines trained and supervised their pilots. But within the Chinese system it highlighted existing concerns that the system was not doing enough to ensure that planes—or pilots—were safe to fly.
“The check airman system was a problem,” Joe T told me, not long after the Colgan incident. “The check airmen lived with all the other pilots, their wives were friends, their kids went to the same schools, they had the same housing.” If a check airman judged one of his neighbors on a test flight, and failed him, he knew that the unfortunate pilot would lose face, would be subject to remedial training, and might possibly lose his job—all very disruptive consequences within a tight-knit community.
Through the late 1990s, the shared imperative of reducing crashes created an improbable alliance of Chinese, American, and international businesses and organizations. In 1997, two Chinese airlines—Air China and China Eastern—had already been approved for prestigious and strategically important routesto the United States. China Southern had applied for approval to be the third, and had taken delivery of new Boeing 777s in anticipation of launching service from Guangzhou to Los Angeles. Because Guangzhou was a center of the outsourcing business, direct service there was expected to be attractive to business travelers and be lucrative for the airline.
But routes to the United States required approval from the U.S. Department of Transportation, parent body of the FAA. At the urging of the FAA, the department decided to use the application as leverage to force—or encourage—a broader improvement in Chinese safety standards. The FAA had no direct regulatory power over China Southern or any other foreign airline. But it could ask for confirmation that
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