Bearing Witness to Pain

On Sunday, August 28, 1988 I went with my parents and brother to an airshow at Ramstein Airbase near Kaiserslautern, Germany. The event was called "Flugtag '88". I didn't know it at the time, but this random Sunday would be a formative one that would stay with me for the rest of my life.

My dad was stationed at Ramstein at the time, and we were very much a family who attended airshows. I had just turned 12 three days prior, and my dad had been a private pilot for all of my 12 years. In fact, he was a pilot long before I was born.

He loved (and still loves) flying. He also enjoyed walking amongst the various aircraft on display at any number of these venues. Whether it be an early biplane from decades long past, or the latest jet fighter, my dad approached each aircraft with what looked to be an equal fascination. I did as well. I really enjoyed, and still enjoy, admiring the sleek designs of aircraft, both old and modern.

One of my absolute favorites has got to be the Staggerwing Beechcraft. The Staggerwing is a biplane that, to me, gives off an air of mid-century modern and Art Deco that I find really aesthetically pleasing. Of all the biplanes I've come across, the Staggerwing is the only one that I can think of that has the lower wing strutting out beyond the upper wing. This is contrarian to other biplanes that have the upper wing further forward; hence the aircraft's namesake.

Mother nature seems to demand an air of grace and beauty from all instruments of sustained flight that dare to grace the skies. I suppose I've indulged in speaking about one of my favorites here to bring home the point that admiring these instruments of flight at airshows had long been a favorite pastime of mine and my family. Airshows were definitely family vacation destinations, and going to these events was always a good time. This late August day in 1988 was no exception. My parents and brother were all having a fine time as I recall.

Well, invariably at these events there comes a point — usually in the afternoon — where the "show" portion of these airshows takes center stage. Pilots and teams of pilots take to the skies and perform acts of derring-do to wow and amaze the attending onlookers. My family, as well as much of the families in attendance had set out lawn chairs to watch the excitement. Several performances were slated for the afternoon, and we had already enjoyed a few before the Italian Air Force's acrobatic team took to the sky.

As I recall, the Italian team performed only a few technical maneuvers before catastrophe struck. I remember two separate formations of jets each careening towards each other, with a lone jet set to meet the two formations from another angle. Something sank in the pit of my stomach as I watched all the jets seemingly aimed to intersect a solitary point in the sky at the exact same time. Despite seeing similar displays at a number of other airshows, I felt a shot of terror run through me as I observed the planes racing toward each other. A collision occurred. Two of the planes disintegrated into a ball of flames that ran along the stretch of the runway. A third jet — the lone jet that had been racing toward the two formations — got clipped and as such, hovered in the air momentarily, before falling precipitously into the crowd of spectators nearest the flightline.

What followed after the catastrophe is a bit of a blur... Looking back upon the event, I'm revisited by the shock and terror of what had taken place. I remember panic, a lot of walking... the sound of "Polizei" sirens rang in my mind long after we had departed the scene. I remember crying. My 12-year-old mind couldn't quite grapple with the arbitrary nature of death I had witnessed that day. Dozens of people who were in perfect health were now dead, with only a fraction of an instant separating these two very divergent states of being. The only thing that separated me and my family from those now deceased was a geography of just a few hundred yards or so. My family and I just happened to be standing at a spot in the crowd the damaged aircraft didn't fall into.

All told, 3 pilots and 67 spectators perished that day. 346 onlookers sustained serious injuries. At the time, it was the deadliest airshow accident in history.

Prior to this day, I suppose I thought there was some sort of divine order to who died and who lived... some careful contemplation on the part of God or the universe. The event I saw before me gave no evidence of that notion. Death had come and it seemed to have been indiscriminate and random in its choosing of who it took and who it left behind. I think it was the inextricable absurdity of the event that brought about my tears. My young mind was just overwhelmed and bewildered. There was just no making sense of what had just taken place.

In the weeks and years that followed, I came to understand and accept that life is delicate and transitory, and that death is the inescapable fate all of us share. I learned too that death operates on its own timetable, and its timing is not for me to understand.

Holding these truths at the forefront of my mind this passing week, I couldn't help but approach each life with which I came into contact with a certain degree of solemn reverence. Just existing as a human being — regardless of circumstance — is hard.

Contemplating the challenge of simply existing as a human, the concept of "namaste" comes to mind. Used commonly by Hindus in South Asia, namaste is an expression of respectful greeting performed by placing one's palms together, bowing before another and saying, "namaste". From what I understand, the term "namaste" means, "The Devine within me recognizes the Devine within you." Expanding on this concept, I think the lesson I continue to extract from my experience at Flugtag '88 is that coming into contact with a life — any life — is to encounter an opportunity to empathize, and in some sense, hold dear the soul that stands before me... to say with everything but the tongue, "Oh, you're human! So am I. Isn't this such a wonderous, difficult, extraordinary thing to experience?"

“Don’t rush to escape the dissonance.
You can bear witness to pain without being consumed by it.
Lament is sacred.
Grief is an honoring.” ~ Cole Arthur Riley, Black Liturgies

Works Cited:
“Ramstein Air Show Disaster.” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 23 July 2026, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramstein_air_show_disaster.
Riley, Cole Arthur. Black Liturgies: Prayers, Poems, and Meditations for Staying Human. Convergent Books, 2024.