A 'grossly un-German' act

The morning after a Germanwings passenger plane crashed into the French Alps, native Californian Jennifer Crawford and her German husband Soenke sat down with their 7-year-old daughter Sophie to explain the news. Soenke, a pilot for Germanwings’ parent company, Lufthansa, had to work later that day.

As a frequent flyer who feels just as comfortable in the air as on ground, Sophie’s immediate reaction was wondrous shock that an airplane could crash, a concept she had never considered. Then she turned to her father and asked, “Daddy, can an airplane crash when you’re in it?” Her parents quickly described (and slightly embellished) the five-star training pilots go through, and assured her that Daddy would be OK.

Then Sophie—who, according to her mother, shares the German distaste for broken things—asked: “Mommy, was the airplane kaput?”

Her final question, “Mommy, did someone die?” led to long conversations about heaven.

Crawford, who still tears up as she talks about the incident, told me it took a big element of security out of her daughter’s life.

Perhaps the same thing could be said about her fellow Germans, who have had to swallow the previously inconceivable idea that a Lufthansa pilot—one of a group reputed to be among the most efficient and reliable in the world—could deliberately crash a plane with 149 other people on board.

Over the past week, news of the Germanwings Flight 9525 crash morphed from tragedy to mystery to absolute horror as the details emerged piece by piece. Investigators have determined that 27-year-old co-pilot Andreas Lubitz wanted to commit suicide, taking 144 passengers and six crew members with him. Reports have mostly focused on possible causes: the lock-out cockpit system, the possibly faulty psychological screening, Lubitz’s hidden medical history of suicidal tendencies, possible vision problems, and antidepressant use.

But for Germans—especially employees of Deutsche Lufthansa—the incident has driven a stake in the heart of their cultural pride. Crawford described the overall atmosphere as one of “real devastation, tearfulness, and such despair” that one of their own—and a Lufthansa pilot, no less—might have done something so “grossly un-German,” so utterly “out of character” for a typical German. She said everywhere she went, she heard people talking about the incident with genuine perplexity and sorrow: “You never see Germans express emotion, but when they talked about this, people would cry.”

Crawford, who’s lived in Hamburg for 10 years, first heard about the crash from an American friend who texted her, asking if her husband was OK. As a pilot’s wife, Crawford immediately panicked and had to sit down to gather her thoughts and emotions. Once she found out her husband and their pilot friends were safe, she was able to register the disbelief that a Lufthansa aircraft could plunge into a French valley in perfect weather.

To understand German sentiments toward the tragedy, Crawford said it’s important to understand German culture and the stellar reputation Lufthansa and its pilots have. When a visibly shaken CEO Carsten Spohr proclaimed Lufthansa pilots “are and will continue to be the world’s best,” his belief echoed that of many Germans. Though Lufthansa has had recent tremors over unpopular cost-cutting plans, 22 days of pilot strikes, and profit slumps, its selling point has consistently been its reputation as a coldly efficient, punctual, predictably reliable airline with a top-notch safety record.

What’s more, Lufthansa has always prided itself on its rigorous selection, technical training, and physical and psychological pilot testing. Any candidate with depressive tendencies or any sort of behaviors considered “extreme” (including, in one case, sobriety) are meticulously weeded out in the process. That Lubitz—a half-marathon aficionado described by those who knew him as completely normal, confident, self-assured, professional, reliable, and passionate about flying—would willfully kill 149 people, including high school students and teachers, shocked many Germans.

The sense is that you would maybe expect this from a more emotional culture, “someone from a country of unemployment and disorganization, but Germans! They’re taught from day one when they’re born to be efficient, to not be wasteful, to not break things, to be balanced,” Crawford said. “It ripples through people’s emotions that Lufthansa, who’s sort of the cornerstone of German culture, could have such an imbalanced, crazy, psychotic person in them. It feels a little bit like terrorism. People are saying this does not happen in our country, we don’t do that!”

A spokesman for a German prosecutor said Monday Lubitz had undergone psychotherapy for “suicidal tendencies” before qualifying to be a pilot. On Tuesday, Lufthansa revealed the company knew about his previous depressive episode. Since he obtained his pilot’s license, Lubitz apparently had not shown any signs of noticeable suicidal tendencies or physical illness, and he was able to tuck his psychiatric issues behind the gleaming image of a Lufthansa pilot—until it was too late.