When a cargo ship casts off its lines and sets sail towards distant lands and men of strange speech, it vanishes from society’s collective memory and drifts into our unconscious like a dream. So rarely do we think about ships underway that it seems only headlines like “tragedy at sea” reaffirm their existence.[1]

But the ships are out there, beyond the visible horizon delivering our oil, our clothes, our cars, and our phones. Ninety percent of trade is delivered by ships. There are over one hundred thousand ships at sea carrying everything we need to live.[2]

And on those ships are people who toil with the unpredictable nature of our oceans.

A sailor’s life is not typically marked by bravery or enthusiasm. It is an existence fraught with industrial hazards in the bowels of sweaty engine rooms and the challenges of navigating unfamiliar waterways. Satisfaction comes by earning respect from your peers but only when the quality of your work is good and your effort sincere. Out there, men and women learn how to be alone in an environment unfavorable to happiness.

Day-to-day existence for sailors is barely discernible, that is, until the proverbial storm catches us.

The presumed sinking of the containership El Faro shakes mariners’ to their core. We quiver when we learn she was adrift without propulsion, slipping down 50-foot waves and battling hurricane force winds. Under that type of tension the ship makes sounds – haunting sounds – that make any man tremble.

The only remnants discovered thus far include a badly damaged lifeboat, some empty life rafts and one life ring with the ship’s name stenciled on it – El Faro – which means “the lighthouse,” the place historically reserved for sailors safe haven after long voyages.

A lone, deceased sailor in an immersion suit was found, but not identified.

Before Americans collectively try to understand why a ship got underway with a tropical storm dead ahead, we should begin the dialogue with a realization. Our needs for cheap gadgets and widgets sometimes push seafarers out to sea into unsafe conditions. Like most delivery businesses, shipping companies depend on transporting their customers’ cargo on time and at a price dictated by the market. When freight is not offloaded when a shipper guaranteed its delivery, customers will inevitably seek a competitor.

But seafaring is different because the terrain is different. It’s uncontrollable. Sometimes safety has to be managed, not avoided. And although market forces put pressure on shipowners, we ought not forget who bares the true burden when the decision to set sail into a storm is made – sailors. They know the oceans are lonely and perilous, but they still muster the courage to say farewell to their families and work in the most challenging environment known to man.

Before El Faro entered the storm, Danielle Randolph, a deck officer aboard the containership, sat down on the ship’s communal desktop and wrote an email to her mother. Despite the ship’s course into almost certain danger, she did not lament or try to cause alarm. It was another day at sea. Outside, the winds were picking up and the waves were growing larger. “There is a hurricane out here and we’re heading straight into it,” she wrote.

All we can do is hope they made it safely to the other side.

[1] “Men of strange speech” from Homer, Book 1.178 in The Odyssey with an English Translation by A.T. Murray, PH. D. in two Volumes. Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press: London, William Heinemann, Ltd. 1919
[2] Rose George, Ninety Percent of Everything (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2013).