By K Raveendran
As expected, the United States Federal Aviation Authority (FAA) has absolved Boeing of any mechanical fault in the Air India 787 jetliner crash at Ahmedabad that killed 260 people, in a move that seems both premature and all too familiar. The FAA’s basis for clearing Boeing is rooted in a puzzling declaration: “We feel very comfortable that this isn’t an issue with inadvertent manipulation of fuel control,” a spokesperson said, referencing tests purportedly conducted by FAA employees and inspectors. This assertion comes even before the completion of a full and independent investigation into the crash, raising questions not just about the thoroughness of the FAA’s process but also its impartiality.
What is at play here is not a mere bureaucratic misstep or an unfortunate rush to judgment; it is the latest manifestation of a long-standing pattern in which the FAA appears more as Boeing’s institutional guardian than as a neutral safety regulator. The Ahmedabad crash—devastating in its human cost—now becomes yet another incident where the FAA’s early public conclusions risk shaping the global narrative before hard evidence has had a chance to speak.
This wouldn’t be the first time the FAA has positioned itself in Boeing’s corner in the immediate aftermath of a disaster involving the American aircraft giant. The most infamous case in recent memory is the Boeing 737 MAX fiasco, where two catastrophic crashes—Lion Air Flight 610 in Indonesia and Ethiopian Airlines Flight 302—claimed a total of 346 lives. In both cases, preliminary findings increasingly pointed to Boeing’s flawed design of the MCAS (Manoeuvring Characteristics Augmentation System), a software automation system that essentially pushed the nose of the aircraft down erroneously, overriding pilot input.
Yet, despite mounting evidence and growing international scrutiny, the FAA delayed grounding the 737 MAX fleet. Countries across the world, including Canada, the European Union, and China, moved far faster than the US in taking the MAX out of the skies. It was only after overwhelming public pressure and data from the second crash in Ethiopia that the FAA reluctantly followed suit. Even then, it tried to defend its certification process rather than admit regulatory capture or failure. In subsequent investigations, including those by the US Congress and the Department of Transportation’s Inspector General, the FAA’s deep entanglement with Boeing was laid bare—underscoring how FAA engineers had delegated crucial oversight functions to Boeing itself under an “Organization Designation Authorization” (ODA) program, which essentially allowed the manufacturer to vouch for its own safety compliance.
The current FAA statement in the Ahmedabad crash bears an eerie resemblance to the narrative architecture employed during the 737 MAX saga. It pre-empts the conclusion of the formal investigative process, implicitly shields Boeing from culpability, and leaves the global public with a predetermined interpretation: the problem is not with the aircraft, it’s with something—or someone—else.
In this case, the “someone” appears to be the flight crew. The US media, particularly publications with close ties to aviation sources and Boeing insiders, have been quick to suggest pilot error as the cause. Reports citing unnamed sources have floated the theory that the senior pilot may have inadvertently toggled the fuel control switch to the “cut-off” position. Though the official investigation has yet to confirm this, the FAA’s comfort with ruling out any mechanical or software error seems to offer convenient support to this narrative.
It is crucial to underscore what such premature declarations do in the broader ecosystem of aviation safety. First, they compromise the credibility of the investigation. If one of the most powerful regulatory bodies in the world has already declared a major stakeholder faultless, how independent can the rest of the inquiry be? Second, they influence insurance liabilities and litigation outcomes. Assigning blame to pilots, particularly those from non-Western countries, is a recurring theme in post-crash narratives. It shifts the axis of accountability away from manufacturing flaws and systemic regulatory failures toward human error, which is more legally manageable and financially containable for companies like Boeing.
Third, and perhaps most insidiously, such moves perpetuate a system of asymmetric global aviation politics. Airlines in countries like India often operate under an implicit burden of defending themselves against narratives constructed in Western regulatory and media ecosystems. When an Indian carrier like Air India is involved, the scrutiny disproportionately targets its personnel, training standards, or operating protocols—while the American manufacturer involved is quickly declared technically sound.
To be sure, pilot error is a real and sometimes decisive factor in aviation disasters. But to foreground that theory in the absence of a complete investigative process—while ignoring the potential for system flaws, software bugs, or mechanical design issues—undermines the very purpose of aviation safety science, which is rooted in impartial inquiry, not PR containment.
The FAA’s role, therefore, must be seen in a larger context. It is both regulator and protector of a vital national industry. Boeing is not just a commercial entity; it is a cornerstone of American industrial capability, a massive employer, and a central player in the US export economy. The FAA, while technically independent, operates in a political and economic environment where Boeing’s stability is often seen as synonymous with national interest. In such a setting, the FAA’s objectivity can—and often does—get compromised.
This is not merely speculative; it is borne out by the way the FAA has historically reacted to Boeing crises. After the TWA Flight 800 disaster in 1996, involving a Boeing 747, the FAA quickly backed Boeing’s assertions that fuel tank explosions could not occur under normal operating conditions, despite later findings that exposed vulnerability in the tank’s design. In the case of United Airlines Flight 232 in 1989, a catastrophic engine failure on a DC-10 resulted in a massive crash in Iowa. Though the National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) noted design issues with the engine’s titanium fan disk—manufactured by General Electric and used in Boeing’s aircraft—the FAA’s response was subdued, delayed, and lacked the urgency one might expect from a regulatory body charged with public safety.
In each of these cases, as with the 737 MAX and now the Ahmedabad crash, the FAA’s default posture has been one of deference to the manufacturer until contrary evidence is overwhelming and irrefutable. That threshold—of overwhelming evidence—often only arrives after months or years of investigation, public inquiry, and pressure from international bodies.
What makes the Ahmedabad case particularly disturbing is the swiftness of the FAA’s pronouncement and the silence that has followed it. Boeing has not commented, which is telling. Neither has Air India, which finds itself in an uncomfortable position: shouldering reputational damage while its pilots are under informal suspicion, yet without the tools to challenge the FAA’s statement on equal footing. Meanwhile, Indian aviation authorities remain spectators in a global drama where their agency is limited and their voice often ignored. (IPA Service)
