Emergency response units conduct search and rescue operations in the Potomac River near Ronald Reagan Washington Airport on Jan. 30, 2025, in Washington, D.C. (Andrew Harnik/Getty Images)
From out of nowhere, a small darting light and then a fireball.
That was the view Wednesday night, what I saw in a video posted to the Washington Post’s website. The fate of American Airlines Flight 5342 from Wichita colliding with a U.S. Army Black Hawk helicopter wasn’t just reported in words but shown in a field of blurry pixels. Overnight, we learned that everyone aboard the plane and helicopter had perished.
From that brief, brutal flicker flew 67 souls.
The shock and grief confounds, a painful jolt amidst frozen month of turmoil.
They were men and women, parents and children, folks known in their communities and families. They were part of our lives, part of our collective story, and now that story continues with only their memories to fill the pages.
“This morning, our hearts are filled with great sorrow as we try to fathom the unfathomable,” wrote Kansas Senate President Ty Masterson.
As someone who lost a loved one unexpectedly more than a decade ago, I know know that wounds opened by such losses do not heal quickly. Survivors will need all of our support and care not just in the weeks and months ahead, but for years to come. There is no convenient way to deal with such sudden agony. No memorial service, no government action will bring them back.
But that’s not all survivors — and all of Kansas — face in coming days.
Already, social media platforms blaze with conspiracy theories about the crash. Human beings entertain ludicrous ideas when the world breaks apart in front of us, when things don’t make sense. Yet for the sake of everyone grappling with these events, just don’t do it. Don’t write little posts “just wondering” what happened. Don’t spread or interact with posts from others that do.
Leave it alone.
Remarkably, the United States has gone almost a full generation — 16 years — since a commercial airline crash. We have taken that remarkable safety record for granted. Pilots and all of those in the aviation field have toiled diligently to keep passengers safe, and they no doubt mourn today as well.
There will be a time for assigning blame and meting out consequences. I don’t believe it’s today.
“Wichitans are mourning and I encourage everyone to show due respect to those who have passed, and those who will grieve their losses for the rest of their own lives,” Rep. Alexis Simmons, a Topeka Democrat, wrote on Facebook. “Please keep your political hot takes and insults to yourself. Be a good Kansan and treat others the way you would hope to be treated.”
All of us deserve time to mourn, to come to terms with the shock and loss of the explosion, and to consider what this state needs in the aftermath.
Words fail. In moments like this I feel the limits of written expression, how sentences and paragraphs cannot hope to express the pain we all feel or the comfort we all yearn to give one another. We can only try, can only tell the survivors that we mourn alongside you today.
I remember the words of President Ronald Reagan from his speech after the space shuttle Challenger exploded in 1986, some four decades ago now. A young speechwriter named Peggy Noonan crafted his remarks.
Reading them today, I find a measure of comfort.
“The crew of the space shuttle Challenger honored us by the manner in which they lived their lives,” Reagan said. “We will never forget them, nor the last time we saw them, this morning, as they prepared for their journey and waved goodbye and ‘slipped the surly bonds of earth’ to ‘touch the face of God.’”
Kansas Reflector is part of States Newsroom, a nonprofit news network supported by grants and a coalition of donors as a 501c(3) public charity. Kansas Reflector maintains editorial independence. Contact Editor Sherman Smith for questions: info@kansasreflector.com.