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As investigations begin following the implosion of the Titan submersible at the location of the Titanic wreckage in the North Atlantic, the days since the tragedy have allowed an opportunity to reflect on how we consumed the story as it unfolded. Reviewing a variety of reactions paints a picture of our inability to quite process what was going on at such unimaginable depths under such bleak conditions.
When we first learned of the loss of contact with the ill-fated vehicle, I was among those wondering how we could know the exact location of astronauts on the moon, or our teenagers as they drive, but were left so clueless in a search for people who had dropped into the ocean at a location we knew.
Lessons came fast. Space is in some ways easier to scan and has seen more human visitors than the ocean floor two and a half miles below the surface, where the Titanic lies. And in retrospect, we spent days looking for an intact craft when evidence points to an implosion mere hours after Titan submerged.
The fate of those aboard was the dark question that gripped our imaginations for the days of the search. The prospect of five people ticking off the hours toward an inevitable loss of air was disconcerting enough; the hyper-attentive media coverage also graced us with so-called "experts" musing as to what the doomed travelers were doing in powerless cold and total darkness as their lives ebbed.
If traditional media made some missteps, the predictably foul trenches of social media outdid themselves. Even a sliver of monstrous attitudes will be magnified in that click-addicted world, but it was nonetheless dispiriting to see plenty of people ambivalent—if not pleased—that people of such wealth were facing a horrific end.
As it happens, it appears that end was not the days of dread followed by nightmarish suffocation we had tried to wrap our heads around. Those familiar with the massive pressures at 12,500 feet down concluded that the implosion would have been instantly fatal, a detail that did not change the tragic result but removed the most chilling narrative that stretched across the days of attempted rescue.
Now, as searches begin to turn up debris and even human remains, we are left to weigh for ourselves what we take away from this calamity.
Cost aside, what do we think of adventurers who undertake such risks? Are they living life to the fullest, or foolishly endangering themselves?
Is this an industry that cries out for more regulation? OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush positively boasted about having "broken some rules" to make Titanic tourism possible. His death instantly transformed that quote from rakish trailblazing charm to catastrophic short-sightedness. Titan's fate may shut the door on further similar enterprises, but once this memory fades, the marketplace may return and other entrepreneurs will offer similar high-price exploits. I am not in the habit of seeking additional government oversight in our lives, but perhaps future CEOs should not be able to cobble together the next generation of vehicles on a whim.
One remaining question invites a look in the mirror. What was it that wrapped our hearts and minds around the Titan far more tightly than the watery deaths of hundreds more just days earlier? As the submersible began its journey, waves of grief still churned the waters 50 miles off the coast of Greece, where a boat from Libya crammed with migrants capsized, leaving as many as 500 dead or missing.
Explanations crackled as to why the tragedy of the Adriana occupied less space in our media, and our attention spans. Are Middle Eastern and South Asian migrants less worthy of our sympathy than rich thrill-seekers? Attempts to paint a racial angle were met with replies drawing attention to Pakistanis present on both craft. And memories are still fresh from the emotion expressed toward trapped Chilean miners in 2010 and Thai soccer players stuck in a cave in 2018, events which ended in rescue.
But the difference has less to do with race or class than with the unique nature of the Titan tragedy. There is something singularly riveting about a vigil spent in the hope of rescue from a claustrophobic hell. America paid more attention to Baby Jessica, a single child wedged in a pipe in Midland, Texas, in 1987 than we would afford to a jetliner crash tomorrow. Sometimes it is the smaller, more relatable dramas that burn stories onto our national psyche.
This was the case with the Titan submersible and the many questions and lessons left in its wake. Within the usual decent window of prayers and regret, there is no single best way to react. But as they will do any time such a story occurs, the gutters of the online world have delivered a master class on how not to.
Mark Davis is a talk show host for the Salem Media Group on 660AM The Answer in Dallas-Ft. Worth, and a columnist for the Dallas Morning News and Townhall.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
