Voice Of Reason
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- Sep 21, 2004
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http://www.huffingtonpost.com/roey-rosenblith/over-detroit-skies_b_404255.html
(Below, omitted the lengthy preliminary and ending chatter (still had to break into two posts), go to link above for entire article)
Roey Rosenblith
Director of Village Energy, Uganda
Posted: December 27, 2009 10:30 AM
Over Detroit Skies
...
"Just after they announced that we would be landing I heard two people yelling, screaming, then it grew to a muffled chorus of yells and cries, the words "Fire, there's a fire," drifted back to where I was sitting in economy window seat 38J. I looked at my companion in next seat over, 38I. He was young man in his early 20s, finance major from the University of Ohio who had been studying in Milan. He looked more confused than afraid tilting his head incredulously trying to figure out what was happening. As I recount this I can't even remember his name. Everything up until that point was just so normal and unmemorable. The niceties shared as we sat down. "I work in Uganda starting a solar power business; I'm a student taking a semester abroad." As we listened to the screams I touched his arm and wondered if he was going to be the last person I ever spoke with. My Ugandan cell phone was dead, and probably not going to work in Detroit, so calling my family once last time was not going to happen. I looked out the window and saw nothing but thick white clouds, and water droplets rushing past. The simple fact that there was no escape from whatever was happening quickly set in.
Suddenly a female flight attendant, a middle-aged Asian woman with shoulder-length black hair, rushed past our aisle from the front with incredible speed, grabbed something from one of the overhead compartments in the back, and then ran back up the opposite aisle. Later I would find out she was grabbing a fire extinguisher. I was filled with an intense sense of trepidation, the instinct to run was overwhelming, but there was nowhere to run to in this metal tube filled with almost 300 people. All you could do was look around at your fellow travelers, who were doing just what you were doing: trying not to panic, looking around for some clue in the eyes and faces of other passengers if anyone knew what was happening .
Eventually the screams and sounds of struggle subdued. A voice came on the intercom, a male flight attendant who earlier had served me my breakfast and lunch, then collected my trash. In a voice that was struggling to stay calm he said, "Everything is under control! Your federally trained flight attendants have the situation under control. We are now landing. The landing gear is down! Stay in your seats, we are getting ready to land." Suddenly the plane began a sharp descent. The Asian flight attendant came back to where we were and took her seat opposite the first row in the economy area waving her hands in a downward motion for people to stay seated, and then slumping against the wall before strapping herself in.
As we began descending the worst fear I have ever experienced in my life set in. Not knowing what had happened it was unclear that we were going to land safely. Was there a mechanical failure? Was the fire inside or outside the plane. How did it start? Electrical problems? Why had people been screaming? Did they look out the window and see the wing on fire? How did the smoke spread to inside the cabin? What were our chances of surviving? For ten more minutes as we descended nothing was answered, we all seemed to be trapped in a kind of mental limbo, incapable of speech. Across the aisle from me there was a young mother of Indian descent and her son who looked to be around five. I smiled at him in some sort of attempt to make him believe that everything was normal, he smiled back at me, seeming to be blissfully unaware that his short time on Earth could soon be coming to an end.
As we made our way through the thick cloud cover I begin to see patches of the green and gray, the drab suburbs of Detroit, they seemed as beautiful as a light house beckoning to a ship lost in a stormy sea. For the first time an intense fear gave way to the hope that we might all live to see another day. As the land got closer, that hope grew, and when we hit the runway the airplane broke out in grateful applause.
Another male flight attendant with glasses came in, "For everyone in the back, we had an incident, someone tried to start a fire, but we took care of it. The authorities will be coming on the plane, everyone stay in your seats until they get off." I remember telling my seat mate, the Ohio State guy, that we weren't going to be going anywhere for a while. Everyone is going to need to get screened -- this guy was trying to blow up the plane.
As we began to taxi down the runway, I could see yellow emergency fire vehicles coming in after the plane. After them a white SUV with flashing police sirens on top. The plane taxied to a gate, and immediately up ahead I could see security officials enter the plane and take someone off. Shortly afterward a young man with sandy blonde hair and a striped green-and-white shirt stood up and walked out as well. As he made his way down the aisle, there was more applause and a few cheers.
For about thirty more minutes we stayed in our seats. An old African man stood up, to pull something out of his overhead compartment. Everyone started yelling at him, but he explained he needed his medication. A flight attendant told him if he didn't sit down he would be the next one escorted off by security officials. Finally the captain spoke, "We apologize for this happening, and we wish incidents like this would never occur. Apparently someone brought firecrackers on the plane. Please prepare to exit, we realize some of you need to make connecting flights and we apologize for the delay. If Detroit is your final destination, please stay seated and let those who are making connecting flights get off first." No dice, everyone got up at once.
As we were exiting the plane to my immediate right I saw Jasper Schuringa being attended to by paramedics and police, his hands already wrapped in bandages from what appeared to be intense burns. We made our way down to customs, many people complaining about the delay, and not being able to get home for Christmas. But when we got to the customs gate, instead of being met by the usual lines and immigration personnel we found nobody there. We were met by police officers who led us straight past customs to the baggage collection area.
There were hundreds of police officers; eventually they told us there were 250 agents. About 20 of them were directly in front of us, creating a barrier that funneled us into a corner behind the first two luggage carousels. There was no explanation, no time table, and no communication of what was to happen next. People attempting to call their families were told immediately to shut off their phones. When officers were asked what was happening they politely said they didn't know, but were under orders to keep us all in this area until further notice.
As the first hour went by we begin to settle in. I found the British girl who had been sitting in the same row as Abdul Farouk Abdulmutallab. We all just kept talking to each other, trying to piece a story together as to what happened. Slowly a picture began to emerge. After the announcement that we were landing started, there was a popping sound, like a gun that went off. The next thing was a three-foot orange flame from where the suspect was sitting, between an old woman and another man. The man he was sitting next to immediately put this guy in a headlock and then someone, presumably Jasper Schuringa, jumped from two rows back into the man's seat and pulled him into the aisle grabbing whatever was on fire and trying to put it out. People started screaming and passing up bottles of water, then they put a blanket over it, but the blanket caught on fire. Others described the water having very little effect, making a sizzling sound. Apparently the fire extinguisher was what put it out. They stripped him at some point, pulled down his pants and took off his shirt. They then pulled the guy up front and tied him down.
"Firecrackers, the guy was crazy, you 'd have to be crazy to bring something like that on the plane."
Most people seemed to be in denial of what I saw was evident. This guy wanted to kill all of us, he had wanted to blow up the plane. When I said this, they would just shake their heads; even those that had seen it happen didn't want to believe it.
We stayed in the baggage claim area for 3 hours without any word of what happened next. We were only allowed into the bathroom one person at a time by an officer who guarded the door. Behind the line of our immediate security detail there were hundreds of other police officers moving around back and forth, as if they were on they were on the night watch guarding a military base from a potential threat. What they were doing was unclear. The only thing that I recall happening is seeing an Indian guy off to the side, an older gentleman wearing a gray suit leaning against the wall. Suddenly there was a police officer next to him pulling his arms back and pulling handcuffs on him. The man didn't struggle, the bags which seemed to be his were left there, and he and the police officer disappeared around the corner.
Eventually plain clothes officers with necklace badges appeared. We assumed these guys were the head honchos everyone was waiting for, FBI and Homeland Security folks. Shortly after they arrived we were suddenly moved to another location.
(Below, omitted the lengthy preliminary and ending chatter (still had to break into two posts), go to link above for entire article)
Roey Rosenblith
Director of Village Energy, Uganda
Posted: December 27, 2009 10:30 AM
Over Detroit Skies
...
"Just after they announced that we would be landing I heard two people yelling, screaming, then it grew to a muffled chorus of yells and cries, the words "Fire, there's a fire," drifted back to where I was sitting in economy window seat 38J. I looked at my companion in next seat over, 38I. He was young man in his early 20s, finance major from the University of Ohio who had been studying in Milan. He looked more confused than afraid tilting his head incredulously trying to figure out what was happening. As I recount this I can't even remember his name. Everything up until that point was just so normal and unmemorable. The niceties shared as we sat down. "I work in Uganda starting a solar power business; I'm a student taking a semester abroad." As we listened to the screams I touched his arm and wondered if he was going to be the last person I ever spoke with. My Ugandan cell phone was dead, and probably not going to work in Detroit, so calling my family once last time was not going to happen. I looked out the window and saw nothing but thick white clouds, and water droplets rushing past. The simple fact that there was no escape from whatever was happening quickly set in.
Suddenly a female flight attendant, a middle-aged Asian woman with shoulder-length black hair, rushed past our aisle from the front with incredible speed, grabbed something from one of the overhead compartments in the back, and then ran back up the opposite aisle. Later I would find out she was grabbing a fire extinguisher. I was filled with an intense sense of trepidation, the instinct to run was overwhelming, but there was nowhere to run to in this metal tube filled with almost 300 people. All you could do was look around at your fellow travelers, who were doing just what you were doing: trying not to panic, looking around for some clue in the eyes and faces of other passengers if anyone knew what was happening .
Eventually the screams and sounds of struggle subdued. A voice came on the intercom, a male flight attendant who earlier had served me my breakfast and lunch, then collected my trash. In a voice that was struggling to stay calm he said, "Everything is under control! Your federally trained flight attendants have the situation under control. We are now landing. The landing gear is down! Stay in your seats, we are getting ready to land." Suddenly the plane began a sharp descent. The Asian flight attendant came back to where we were and took her seat opposite the first row in the economy area waving her hands in a downward motion for people to stay seated, and then slumping against the wall before strapping herself in.
As we began descending the worst fear I have ever experienced in my life set in. Not knowing what had happened it was unclear that we were going to land safely. Was there a mechanical failure? Was the fire inside or outside the plane. How did it start? Electrical problems? Why had people been screaming? Did they look out the window and see the wing on fire? How did the smoke spread to inside the cabin? What were our chances of surviving? For ten more minutes as we descended nothing was answered, we all seemed to be trapped in a kind of mental limbo, incapable of speech. Across the aisle from me there was a young mother of Indian descent and her son who looked to be around five. I smiled at him in some sort of attempt to make him believe that everything was normal, he smiled back at me, seeming to be blissfully unaware that his short time on Earth could soon be coming to an end.
As we made our way through the thick cloud cover I begin to see patches of the green and gray, the drab suburbs of Detroit, they seemed as beautiful as a light house beckoning to a ship lost in a stormy sea. For the first time an intense fear gave way to the hope that we might all live to see another day. As the land got closer, that hope grew, and when we hit the runway the airplane broke out in grateful applause.
Another male flight attendant with glasses came in, "For everyone in the back, we had an incident, someone tried to start a fire, but we took care of it. The authorities will be coming on the plane, everyone stay in your seats until they get off." I remember telling my seat mate, the Ohio State guy, that we weren't going to be going anywhere for a while. Everyone is going to need to get screened -- this guy was trying to blow up the plane.
As we began to taxi down the runway, I could see yellow emergency fire vehicles coming in after the plane. After them a white SUV with flashing police sirens on top. The plane taxied to a gate, and immediately up ahead I could see security officials enter the plane and take someone off. Shortly afterward a young man with sandy blonde hair and a striped green-and-white shirt stood up and walked out as well. As he made his way down the aisle, there was more applause and a few cheers.
For about thirty more minutes we stayed in our seats. An old African man stood up, to pull something out of his overhead compartment. Everyone started yelling at him, but he explained he needed his medication. A flight attendant told him if he didn't sit down he would be the next one escorted off by security officials. Finally the captain spoke, "We apologize for this happening, and we wish incidents like this would never occur. Apparently someone brought firecrackers on the plane. Please prepare to exit, we realize some of you need to make connecting flights and we apologize for the delay. If Detroit is your final destination, please stay seated and let those who are making connecting flights get off first." No dice, everyone got up at once.
As we were exiting the plane to my immediate right I saw Jasper Schuringa being attended to by paramedics and police, his hands already wrapped in bandages from what appeared to be intense burns. We made our way down to customs, many people complaining about the delay, and not being able to get home for Christmas. But when we got to the customs gate, instead of being met by the usual lines and immigration personnel we found nobody there. We were met by police officers who led us straight past customs to the baggage collection area.
There were hundreds of police officers; eventually they told us there were 250 agents. About 20 of them were directly in front of us, creating a barrier that funneled us into a corner behind the first two luggage carousels. There was no explanation, no time table, and no communication of what was to happen next. People attempting to call their families were told immediately to shut off their phones. When officers were asked what was happening they politely said they didn't know, but were under orders to keep us all in this area until further notice.
As the first hour went by we begin to settle in. I found the British girl who had been sitting in the same row as Abdul Farouk Abdulmutallab. We all just kept talking to each other, trying to piece a story together as to what happened. Slowly a picture began to emerge. After the announcement that we were landing started, there was a popping sound, like a gun that went off. The next thing was a three-foot orange flame from where the suspect was sitting, between an old woman and another man. The man he was sitting next to immediately put this guy in a headlock and then someone, presumably Jasper Schuringa, jumped from two rows back into the man's seat and pulled him into the aisle grabbing whatever was on fire and trying to put it out. People started screaming and passing up bottles of water, then they put a blanket over it, but the blanket caught on fire. Others described the water having very little effect, making a sizzling sound. Apparently the fire extinguisher was what put it out. They stripped him at some point, pulled down his pants and took off his shirt. They then pulled the guy up front and tied him down.
"Firecrackers, the guy was crazy, you 'd have to be crazy to bring something like that on the plane."
Most people seemed to be in denial of what I saw was evident. This guy wanted to kill all of us, he had wanted to blow up the plane. When I said this, they would just shake their heads; even those that had seen it happen didn't want to believe it.
We stayed in the baggage claim area for 3 hours without any word of what happened next. We were only allowed into the bathroom one person at a time by an officer who guarded the door. Behind the line of our immediate security detail there were hundreds of other police officers moving around back and forth, as if they were on they were on the night watch guarding a military base from a potential threat. What they were doing was unclear. The only thing that I recall happening is seeing an Indian guy off to the side, an older gentleman wearing a gray suit leaning against the wall. Suddenly there was a police officer next to him pulling his arms back and pulling handcuffs on him. The man didn't struggle, the bags which seemed to be his were left there, and he and the police officer disappeared around the corner.
Eventually plain clothes officers with necklace badges appeared. We assumed these guys were the head honchos everyone was waiting for, FBI and Homeland Security folks. Shortly after they arrived we were suddenly moved to another location.