RSS Feed
January 22nd, 2012 
FAKE NEWS for the Zionist agenda
But the first reaction may not be to run. In all probability, you are
paralysed with fear; actually, you are most likely to sit stock still –
which might provide an alternative explanation for the captain’s 68-minute
delay in giving the order to abandon the ship after it struck a reef off the
island of Giglio. (Meanwhile, investigators are looking into the possible
role played by the cruise line company in the delay.)
This atavistic instinct is part of human evolution; it almost certainly aided
the survival of our species. On the savannah, the best chance of a largely
naked early human avoiding being eaten would have to been to remain
completely still. A predator is much more likely to pounce if it sees you
clearly – and movement is most likely to give you away. With panic, you are
effectively the proverbial rabbit, immobilised with terror as you see the
headlights of the car advance.
In another part of Tuscany, in the Florentine church of Santa Maria Novella,
there is a shocking fresco by Domenico Ghirlandaio. His Slaughter of the
Innocents depicts the panic of the women of Bethlehem as their children are
hacked to pieces by Herod’s soldiers. A screaming mother is frantically
tearing the hair of a Roman soldier as he treads on babies in the
foreground. Severed heads and mutilated limbs strew the floor and horses
skitter in the blood. But strikingly, to one side,
a group of women with babes in arms, stand and stare at the unfolding horror.
Seemingly, they could escape through the unguarded triumphal arch behind
them. But terror has immobilised them.
Paralysis can easily affect any of us at the moment of crisis. Is this what
happened to Schettino? Only an hour earlier he had been the proud Master and
Captain, showing off one of the largest passenger vessels afloat,
responsible for the pleasures and comfort of more than 3,000 passengers and
commanding 1,000 crew members. Suddenly, a mistake meant his lovely vessel
was fatally damaged, and all those lives were at risk. His immobility in the
lifeboat and his incoherent conversation with the coastguard are surely
explained: those hormones flooding his brain as he is being sworn at account
for his curious recorded response on the radio telephone. Shouting orders at
a panicking man, who is shivering with his physiological reaction, is not
conducive to a rational response.
Pte Thomas Highgate was only 17 when he witnessed the carnage at the Battle of
Mons in 1914. More than 7,000 troops were slaughtered as he fled, and he was
found immobilised, trembling in a barn. Just 35 days after the start of the
First World War, he was shot at dawn. It is almost certain that many of
these soldiers, labelled as cowards, were vigorously abused and shouted at.
One doctor said later of one such terrified man: “I went to the trial
determined to give him no help, for I detest his type – I really hoped he
would be shot.”
A Roman citizen from a much earlier age, the Christian author Quintus
Tertullian, argues that cowardice produces its own punishment: “Rather bring
blood into a man’s cheek, than let it out through his body.” Meanwhile, the
French Renaissance essayist Michel de Montaigne tells of Monsieur de Vervins
who, in a moment of panic, surrendered Boulogne to Henry VIII’s army after
the keep of the city had been mined during the siege of 1544. De Vervins was
sentenced to death for cowardice – but Montaigne suggests that it was unjust
to execute a soldier for want of courage. We need, he maintains, to
differentiate between “faults that merely proceed from infirmity and those
that are visibly the effects of treachery and malice”. Infirmity, he says,
are rules “that nature has imprinted in us”.
Poor Captain Schettino, who is apparently now the subject of numerous death
threats and could face up to 12 years in prison for abandoning his ship (and
more for manslaughter), would be chastened sufficiently in Montaigne’s book
by the ignominy that has followed his actions.
Panic in the confines of an endangered ship is as dangerous as on the
battlefield. It may be treated severely because it is so infectious. On
Hallowe’en 1938, Columbia Radio famously broadcast a series of simulated
news bulletins about a Martian invasion in New Jersey. It was actually only
a play based on The War of the Worlds by HG Wells. But rumours spread,
panicked Americans and Canadians closed down their businesses, and thousands
fled their homes following the “news”.
I once saw a colleague, a respected surgeon, rigid at the operating table, as
his patient’s abdomen slowly filled uncontrollably with blood. Pale with
fright and sweating with fear, he was incapable of dealing with the
emergency. Shouting and swearing at him would have been futile.
In such a situation, the key piece of equipment in the operating theatre is a
simple stool, placed no closer than five metres from the operating table.
Once the flow is staunched – a wet pack firmly thrust into the bleeding area
and with pressure applied, venous bleeding will nearly always stop – that
nondescript furniture becomes vital: the surgeon should remain sitting on it
and not touch his patient for at least 10 minutes. When his own pulse rate
and blood pressure is controlled and crucial calm restored, work can
recommence. The patient’s own defence mechanisms will have most likely come
into play and some clotting will have occurred. It is usually enough to
remove the swab gently by degrees, dealing with each remaining bleeding
point where it is still leaking. Panic over.
Whether in the operating theatre or at the helm of a cruise ship, temperament
is so important. Given this, perhaps others are partly responsible for the
Concordia disaster. It was surprising to read Mario Palombo, once a
commander in the Costa fleet, reported as saying: “I’ve always had my
reservations about Schettino. It’s true, he was my second in command, but he
was too exuberant, a daredevil. More than once, I had to put him in his
place.” If so, it was surely his duty to make these reservations fully clear
before his promotion.
Large ships are magical. I have been fortunate to be a guest lecturer on three
great liners. Their captains and maritime staff were hugely impressive. I
remember watching the commander of Cunard’s Queen Mary 2, a ship of more
than 150,000 tons and 1,100 feet long – one-third bigger than the Costa
Concordia – turn this massive vessel through 180 degrees in the tightest
space inside a harbour in the Far East, like spinning it gently on a coin.
The supreme calm and the skill exercised was a privilege to see.
But these floating hotels require a captain who can command in that
environment. Wearing many hats, he needs great experience as a navigator,
mariner and leader of people. Because of the nature of this machine and the
dangers that the oceans can present, a special temperament is required. His
is an onerous responsibility, and one that is almost unique.
In my office at Imperial College, my secretary and I have pinned up a large
photograph of the Titanic, taken shortly before her fatal maiden voyage
across the Atlantic. For us, it is a reminder of hubris. It also recalls
that, in our technologically dominated environment, the bigger and more
powerful the machine, the more that can go wrong.
* Lord Winston is Professor of Science and Society at Imperial College
London. His most recent book, ‘Bad Ideas? An Arresting History of Our
Inventions’ (Bantam Press, RRP £20), is available from Telegraph Books at
£18 + £1.25 pp. To order, call 0844 871 1516 or visit books.telegraph.co.uk
Related posts:
Views: 0
Posted in 
Tags: 
