I’ll never forget it as long as I live. The images flooded the news as I woke on the morning of December 22,1988. They said it was a tragedy. Pan Am Flight 103, a 747 named The Clipper of the Seas, fell from 31,000 feet onto the peaceful Scottish Village of Lockerbie. Fire rained down on entire neighborhoods, killing 11 townspeople, a tragic addendum to the 259 that fell to their death. The debris would cover over 850 square miles. When the FBI, as part of an international coalition of law enforcement, determined that a bomb was the cause of the tragedy, it became the largest crime scene in history.
The news had warned us not to jump to conclusions about Terrorism. I immediately believed that it was. After all, I had been paying attention to the aftermath of the 1983 Marine Barracks bombing, responsible for the deaths of 214 US Marines and 48 French soldiers in Lebanon. I had paid attention to the banter between Ronald Reagan and Moammar Gaddafi (sp). I remembered the night “The Gipper” lit up the city of Tripoli, causing the Libyan leader to never sleep in the same bed again for the rest of his miserable, corrupt life. I knew that US Soldiers and citizens were targets, even valuable fodder for Islamists.
I was beyond outraged at the incident. Terrorism enrages me as a concept. I hate, and I stand by that word, anyone who believes that the slaughter of innocents is acceptable in the advancement of a political or religious agenda. To me, such people are lower than the gunk that slugs wipe off their feet. It sickened me. Unfortunately, my following of the case, as often happens when new, equally or more disturbing news stories happen, led me to lose my fervor.
I am so grateful that Netflix has released The Bombing of Flight 103. I was hesitant to watch it for concerns over getting too worked up. As I said, it was a formative event in my life. I pressed on, and despite the resurfacing of dormant emotions, I was deeply impressed by the layers of the story previously unknown to me.
First, the investigation.
Given the technology at the time, joint investigation teams from 21 countries (21 countries lost citizens in the disaster) were able, through good old-fashioned Police Work, to track a single radio bomb to a single luggage container, the airport in which it was loaded (there were layovers), and eventually the men who did it, along with every detail of their plan. Over 11 years, investigators tirelessly put together a case that would provide a semblance of justice for the beleaguered families of the victims, who had been treated poorly all around. The airline responsible was less than accountable and not suitably cooperative, as well as miserly in their proposed financial settlements. Also, there was widespread dissatisfaction with the lack of communication and the slow pace of the investigative agencies. I could go into more detail, but I’d rather you give it a watch.
The bright spot for me about the series, despite the attention to detail and historical accuracy, was the people of Lockerbie. Lockerbie, Scotland, is a very small town, essentially a village. Nothing had ever occurred there on the scale of the Pan Am crash. Yet when the fireball engulfed an entire neighborhood, they quickly moved from shock to action. They immediately gathered together and searched as far and wide as possible, tasked with the gruesome task of finding survivors. It would soon become apparent that there were none. With this grim reality at the forefront, teams of volunteers fanned out to recover remains and collect anything that, per authorities, “wasn’t growing”. The extent to which they collected potential evidence was only outdone by the sensitivity and respect paid to the deceased. One woman is known to have stayed with a body, still strapped in his seat, overnight and most of the next day so that the body would not be alone. Because she wouldn’t have wanted that for one of their own.
In addition, the people of Lockerbie volunteered to bag and tag all evidence so it could be categorized and, hopefully, identified. What was supposed to be a few weeks’ project evolved into over 6 months. The locals remained vigilant. Most of the clues that led to piecing together the attack came from their efforts. In addition to their attention to detail, I was impressed at the care and respect they showed for the victims’ families. They cleaned items such as books. They laundered certain items in some cases. They even added dried bouquets of local flowers that grew in the fields that had come to be littered with victims. To this end, one of the many family members who would come to visit the quiet village of Lockerbie regularly would report that they came to view the crash site as a place of beauty and peace, not a grim reminder of destruction and death.
The deeply respectful, tireless volunteers of Lockerbie are the lesson of this tragedy. Their kindness and selflessness perfectly offset the crime itself, even though it does little to soften the blow. In the face of hatred, biases, and willful devastation at the hands of soulless animals, the people of Lockerbie answered with love, compassion, and unconditional kindness.
While I will never get the image of the Clipper Maid of the Seas’ decapitated cockpit lying helplessly in a field in Scotland, I am at least now somewhat comforted by where it landed.
The Tao of Bill 