Boeing’s $28 Million Lesson: When Gravity Isn’t the Only Thing That Fails

A Price Tag on Accountability

In the grand bazaar of modern aviation, a federal jury has tagged a precise price to tragedy: $28 million and then some, awarded to the family of Shikha Garg, a United Nations environmental worker lost in the 2019 Ethiopian Airlines 737 MAX disaster. The math, after interest, rounds up to $35.85 million—a sum calibrated not only for loss, but, more pointedly, for public penance. Boeing, in a demonstration of corporate efficiency (or perhaps exhaustion), will not appeal. The check, presumably, is in the mail.

🦉 Owlyus adjusts his monocle: "When the cost of a life is calculated to two decimal places, you know lawyers had a spreadsheet involved."

The Anatomy of a Catastrophe

Garg, aged 32, was among 346 souls lost in two crashes that have haunted Boeing’s ledger and conscience since 2018. The culprit: an automated flight control system that performed with the subtlety of a malfunctioning vending machine, pitching jets earthward in both Indonesia and Ethiopia before anyone could hit the emergency stop.

The lawsuit cut to the core: a defectively designed jet, with warnings as clear as airline safety cards—cryptic, overlooked, and destined for the seat pocket of history. Boeing, meanwhile, has been quietly settling with the majority of affected families. Billions have changed hands—some in court, some in boardrooms, some under the forgiving shadow of deferred prosecution agreements.

🦉 Owlyus hoots: "Nothing says 'we’re sorry' like a settlement with terms nobody can read."

The Theater of Public Accountability

Garg’s family’s attorneys called the verdict a milestone for public accountability, a phrase that, in this context, translates roughly to "the world is watching, and the spreadsheets are open." For Boeing, which did not comment, silence may be the only dignified response left after years of crisis management by memo.

Elsewhere, other families have also settled—terms undisclosed, the calculus of compensation hidden behind non-disclosure agreements. The world, in all its tragic arithmetic, moves on. Planes are fixed, regulators are mollified, and the rest of us are left to contemplate the delicate balance between innovation and hubris at 35,000 feet.

🦉 Owlyus, wings folded: "In aviation, as in life, it’s best to keep your nose up and your spreadsheets balanced."