‘We’re gone’: Hearing the final words from Rescue 116 matters
Criticism of the decision to release a transcript of the last sentences spoken by the helicopter crew is misplaced, writes Eilis O’Hanlon ‘People care deeply when they see lives ended so prematurely’
THE last words of the recently departed have always been recorded for posterity. Comforting or inspiring, or sometimes just plain baffling, their final utterances are deemed to have value in their own right, not only for their families, but for those touched by the death.
It was no different when the last words of the crew of Rescue 116, which went down after impacting with Blackrock Island off the coast of Mayo during a search and rescue operation last month, were recovered from the helicopter’s voice recorder.
Their final conversation was scrutinised for the most basic reason of all — to explain why the helicopter crashed with the loss of four lives.
That remains a mystery, despite a huge search operation for the crew members — two of whose bodies have been returned to their families; two of whom remain missing — and the subsequent investigation.
But the published words of the victims during the last two minutes of the flight, as detailed in the preliminary report by the Air Accident Investigation Unit (AAIU), have been reported in detail by every newspaper, TV and radio station and website not only in this country, but across Britain and further afield too.
There’s something so achingly poignant in Captain Dara Fitzpatrick’s remark about Blackrock: “It’s just a small little island.”
Likewise the growing realisation that they were in danger, with the capital letters in the transcript telling their own awful story: “Come right now, come right, COME RIGHT.” Then co-pilot Mark Duffy’s final words: “We’re gone.”
Captain Duffy’s body was found and recovered by divers in the cockpit of the wreckage 40ft down off the eastern coast of the island nearly two weeks later. He was buried in Co Louth at the end of March.
The audio has not been publicly heard, nor will it be; but the written words are powerfully moving. Now a group representing Irish pilots has criticised the decision to make the transcript public.
Evan Cullen, president of the Irish Air Line Pilots’ Association, said: “There is absolutely no justification for, or benefit from, publishing specifically the last two minutes of this flight.”
He also claimed that doing so breached EU accident investigation regulations regarding confidentiality.
Fellow pilots will inevitably be more affected by these tragedies than ordinary members of the public. They may well know the dead by name or sight, as well as feel a natural comradely solidarity that comes from doing the same job. If Cullen’s words are representative of how Irish pilots at large feel, then they deserve a fair hearing.
That’s especially true since the bodies of two of the crew members, winch operator Paul Ormsby and winchman Ciaran Smith, have yet to be found.
The timing might seem insensitive for that reason alone. The report would have been published in the fullness of time, once the investigation is complete, so why not wait?
At the same time, it’s important not to play into a narrative that the only reason people have been consumed by this story is because of a ghoulish fascination with disaster. The ability to care about the fate of people we’ve never heard of before their names and faces appear on the news is not a symptom of callousness, but the opposite.
People care deeply when they see lives being ended so prematurely, and in such random circumstances.
It suits the cynical to think those sitting at home are merely consuming a form of infotainment, as if what happened was a tasteless reality TV show exploiting tragedy to fill an hour of prime time. In fact, they’re engaging with a deeper sense of what connects us all as human beings, especially when death strikes those who risk their lives to serve the public. That’s probably why those who criticise the release of this transcript of Rescue 116 crew’s last moments have taken it as a slight on fallen colleagues. They no doubt feel it dishonours those who lose their lives when the news hones in on the harrowing details of how they died.
I would respectfully argue the opposite: that knowing the actual words that the victims spoke in the seconds before their deaths humanises them, and, by extension, others who do the same work, meaning that we appreciate what they do all the more.
Fiction writers rely on the rule: “Show, don’t tell.” That’s why the real words matter.
“Looking at an island just in, directly ahead of us now, guys, you want to come right… OK, come right just confirm… we’re gone.”
No third-hand account would include that word “guys”, but it’s such a familiar bit of verbal punctuation in everyday Irish speech that seeing it written down brings the reality of that night home.
Whether it’s even possible to keep these details secret in an age where tragedies increasingly happen in real time on the news is doubtful.
Mobile phone footage was coming from the scene of the murder of a policeman in Paris on Thursday before it was even known if the attack was over or the other injured officers would live or die.
The dead man’s name was Xavier Jugele, and some details of his life have emerged, including that he was sent to the Bataclan theatre on the night of a previous terrorist attack and had been to Greece twice to help refugees; but if a transcript also happened to be released reporting what Jugele and his colleagues were talking about in the van before terrorist Karim Cheurfi walked up and opened fire on them with a Kalashnikov, that would not disrespect his memory, but be a powerful reminder that he was not just another name and face, but, like the victims of Rescue 116, a man with a life he deserved to enjoy for years to come.