Titan submersible implosion: another safety lesson learned through tragedy

A fter the sinking of the RMS Titanic in 1912 and the deaths of 1,500 passengers and crew, many countries rushed to update their maritime safety laws, culminating two years later in the first International Convention for the Safety of Life at Sea. Among other things, the convention required vessels to carry enough lifeboats for everyone aboard — something that was tragically lacking the night the Titanic struck an iceberg.

This week, another horror played out in the dark waters of the North Atlantic — smaller in scale, to be sure, but again highlighting a regulatory weak spot, this time loopholes in the way extreme high-risk adventure tourism is regulated. By a grim coincidence, it involved a dive to the wreck of the Titanic, which was found in 1985 more than 2 miles underwater and has become a macabre sightseeing draw for wealthy tourists in recent years.

Five men were aboard Titan, a 21-foot submersible that went missing on Sunday about 900 miles east of Cape Cod. On Thursday, after US, Canadian, and French rescuers combed a large swath of ocean, authorities said they had found debris from the submersible and concluded that it had imploded and that none of the five passengers could have survived.

Those who venture to the Titanic site know the risks, and in general people should be free to make their own choice to go skydiving or spelunking or pursue other dangerous hobbies. But the massive response to the Titan’s disappearance was a reminder that some types of risk-taking by individuals can impose costs on others — and not just financial ones. All the crew members who braved rough weather to search for the Titan were taking risks of their own.

The dangers for others creates a legitimate reason to limit the most risky ventures, or at the least hold operators to higher safety standards than OceanGate, the company that sold rides on the submersible for $250,000 apiece, seems to have observed.

Just as observers knew full well that the Titanic didn’t have enough lifeboats before it sailed, there was ample warning that the Titan was unsafe. In 2018, a former employee alleged in a lawsuit that the company hadn’t properly tested its technology and that the dives could “subject passengers to potential extreme danger.” A passenger who traveled aboard the Titan to see the Titanic wreck in 2022 said the company required him to sign a waiver acknowledging that the vessel had not been “approved or certified by any regulatory body, and could result in physical injury, emotional trauma, or death.” Unlike most submersibles that are made out of steel and titanium, its hull was made from a carbon fiber composite.

At a bare minimum, Canada and the United States could demand that operators of future high-risk ventures like deep-sea submersible dives or trips into outer space carry insurance that would cover rescue costs. Space tourism flights are generally uninsured. It’s unclear whether OceanGate had insurance for the Titanic trip or required its passengers to be insured (the company’s CEO, Stockton Rush, was one of the five who died in the submersible). But requiring insurance might at least help governments recoup rescue costs that in this case are expected to run into the millions of dollars.

Governments could also close the loopholes that have allowed such trips to remain outside the reach of safety regulators. For instance, the Federal Aviation Administration is specifically prohibited from regulating passenger safety aboard commercial spaceflights. That moratorium is due to expire in October — but only if Congress allows it. There is an existing federal law regulating submersibles (which are commonly used by the oil and gas industry) — but it did not apply to OceanGate, which operated Titan in international waters. It would take action by the United Nations’ International Maritime Organization to bring submersibles under its purview.

The dilemma has echoes of a familiar problem in New England, where rescues of lost or injured hikers in the White Mountains sometimes involve serious risks for the rescuers. One solution that’s been devised to deter overly risky behavior is financial: In New Hampshire, lost hikers found to have behaved recklessly can be billed for their rescue costs (unless they’ve paid for a “hike-safe” card — which amounts to a kind of insurance). Billing for rescues after the fact can seem cruel, but in some cases it should be considered.

Whatever approach national and international authorities choose, these deaths should be a wake-up call to stop letting wealthy tourists gallivant in outer space or the deep seas without any regulation at all. When the Titanic sank, the ship was part of a necessary and vital industry: Ocean liners were the only way to travel between the continents. Regulating ships involved economic tradeoffs. But that’s not a factor for extreme adventure tourism: No tourist needs to see the Titanic. If they want to visit the ruins, they need to be prepared to pay a price that reflects the cost of going there safely — and for a system to allow rescuers to reach them safely in case of calamity.

The massive response to the Titan’s disappearance was a reminder that some types of risk-taking by individuals can impose costs on others — and not just financial ones.