Cockpit Confidential, page 30
No matter the reasons, time and time again, and against their best interests, airlines fail at getting the truth out, and that’s a problem. Not only does it violate the common sense protocols of customer service, it also allows rumors, myths, and conspiracy theories to flourish unchecked. It stokes anger and distrust, and it aids and abets the fears of anxious flyers. Airlines have a terrible habit of responding to anomalies—be it a minor schedule disruption or something more serious—in one of two ways: either with total silence or, perhaps worse, resorting to hideous oversimplifications. The result is nearly total lack of respect from the public. People dislike airlines and don’t believe anything they say—partly because they never actually say anything. Or, when they do, it’s condescending or even terrifying:
A flight is cancelled because “it’s too hot to fly.” A crew aborts a landing because “a plane crossed in front of us.” In Flagstaff, Arizona, one day, counter staff informed a group of delayed passengers that volunteers were needed to give up their seats. When passengers asked why, they were told, “We need to lighten the load. The plane has been having problems and we’re afraid one of the engines might cut out.”
Of all front-line employees, pilots are potentially the most valuable for soothing anxieties and explaining the nuances of abnormal situations. Unfortunately, thanks to fears over liability, much of this potential is squandered. Pilots are wary of saying the wrong thing, of being blamed, punished, or otherwise called to the carpet should something be misconstrued or taken from context. It’s true that people write letters and threaten lawsuits over the damnedest things, but really this is an airline culture and training problem. Too often the emphasis is on how not to communicate—which phrases never to say, which terms and scary-sounding buzzwords to avoid. The result is a tendency to say as little as possible—a default policy of evasive simplification.
This is obviously counterproductive, and never more so than those times when minor abnormalities are made to sound harrowing: One time I was riding in economy class on a flight into Boston. Just before landing, the pilots aborted the landing and went around. There was no reason to believe anything remotely serious had occurred, but the sense of fright emanating from those around me was palpable. Eventually, one of the pilots gave an explanation. “Ah, well, sorry about that,” he began. “Another plane cut in front of us on the runway, so we needed to break off the landing. We’re circling back and will be landing in a few minutes.”
Nothing else was offered. I sat there in silent anguish. “Please, say more,” I thought. “You need to say more.” But he didn’t, and rather than quell the passengers’ anxieties, he had made them worse. “A plane cut in front of us?” came a raised voice from a few rows down, followed by nervous laughter. A college kid sitting diagonally from me was visibly shaken. Later that evening, no doubt, he’d be regaling friends with the harrowing tale of his “near miss.” Which it was not. The go-around (see aborted landings) was the result of a simple spacing issue—not a near miss at all, but a maneuver performed well in advance of one; indeed, to avoid a near miss.
“Carriers in general could do a better job of communicating,” admits one airline spokesperson. “In fact, you might say it’s difficult to over communicate.” Admittedly, however, there’s the proverbial can of worms when it comes to full disclosure; lawsuits can arise from what appear to be harmless, even helpful, remarks or actions. And there’s little benefit to overwhelming people with the arcana of aircraft operations. Layering things in technical mumbo-jumbo can leave people suspicious and shaking their heads. “If you try to get too technical about something,” adds the spokesperson, “it can come across as serious when it’s actually routine. My sense is that most customers would like to have timely updates about a delay, and a general, honest sense of what caused it. Beyond that, I don’t think drilling down into a lot of details adds much.”
He may have a point. When those aboard jetBlue flight 292 were faced with a stuck undercarriage and an impending emergency landing back in 2005 (see jetBlue incident), the crew made every effort to let customers know they were in very little danger. Yet rather than accept this, according to some who were there, many passengers assumed the pilots were lying. I receive letters all the time from people accusing airline staff of falsifying the “truth” of supposedly life-threatening situations. However wrong, it’s a notion that’s deeply ingrained.
Perhaps at the heart of the matter, though, is the simple fact that carriers pay little penalty for acting as their own worst enemies. Fostering and reinforcing skewed perceptions of air travel has little effect on their balance sheets. Profitability is another issue altogether, but planes remain full, and a majority of people, intellectually if not emotionally, grasp that flying is safe. Why stir the pot?
Which are the largest airlines?
It depends how you measure it. The easiest method is just to tally up the number of passengers carried in a year. The trouble is, this neglects the scope of an airline’s network—the number of cities it serves, how far it flies, etc.
A second calculation uses what are known as available seat-kilometers (ASK). This is the total number of seats an airline has for sale, multiplied by the total number of kilometers it flies. (ASKs are often called ASMs, using miles in lieu of kilometers.) A 777 flying from New York to London is good for approximately 1,200,000 ASKs; a 757 going from LAX to Chicago is worth about 450,000. Larger planes on longer routes, in other words, are worth more than shorter planes on shorter routes—though an airline can make up the difference by operating more flights. The problem with ASKs is that they include empty seats. A four-hundred-seat 747 scores more ASKs than a two-hundred-seat 767 over the same route, but what if the latter is full while the 747 is empty?
A third metric is the revenue passenger-kilometer, or RPK. These are basically ASKs corrected for occupancy, or “load factor” as it’s called in the business. One passenger traveling one kilometer equals one RPK. To me, this is the most accurate and equitable gauge, as it takes in everything: distances flown (network size), available seats (aircraft size and fleet size), as well as the actual occupancy of those seats (passenger totals).
At the moment, Delta is the world’s largest carrier in terms of both passengers boarded (164 million annually) and RPKs (310 billion). Once its merger with US Airways is complete, American Airlines will sit second, knocking United to third. As we go down the list, those measuring techniques can make a big difference. Emirates is now the world’s fifth biggest carrier in RPKs, yet fails to crack the top twenty in passengers. Ryanair holds sixth place in passengers but doesn’t make the top twenty-five in RPKs.
The ten largest airlines in the world, ranked by RPKs
1. Delta Air Lines
2. American Airlines (includes US Airways)
3. United Airlines
4. Southwest Airlines
5. Emirates
6. Lufthansa
7. Air France
8. China Southern
9. Qantas
10. Cathay Pacific
Looking up there at Southwest, is it not amazing that the number-four airline—number three in passengers—is one without a single widebody jet or a single route beyond U.S. borders?
Carriers swap places year to year, and by the time you’re reading this, it’s not out of the question that another merger will have occurred. Nevertheless, the list above is apt to look roughly the same for the foreseeable future. (Note: the list deducts KLM’s data from that of Air France. The companies merged in 2004 but have kept separate operational structures, with independent fleets and employee groups.)
It’s tempting to think of the biggest airline as the one with the most aircraft, but capacity differences make this unreasonable. American Eagle has more planes than half the names on that top-ten list, but every one of them is an RJ. For the record, the American/US Airways combo places first, with about 960 jetliners, followed by Delta at 715. China Southern’s 368 aircraft represent the largest fleet outside the United States. (The numbers change as planes are bought, sold, mothballed, and retired, but as with RPKs, the field looks pretty much the same year to year.) The largest all-widebody carriers are Emirates, Cathay Pacific, and Singapore Airlines. The smallest plane in these airlines’ fleets is the Airbus A330.
Currently, fewer than a dozen airlines worldwide are able to claim membership in what I call the “Six Continent Club”—providing scheduled service to at least one destination in each of North and South America, Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia. At the moment, Delta and United are the U.S. representatives, alongside Emirates, British Airways, South African Airways, Singapore Airlines, Qatar Airways, Korean Air, and Etihad Airways. In terms of total number of countries served, Turkish Airlines is the winner. Turkish is a much bigger player than people realize. Its service is top-notch, and its network now extends to ninety-five countries—more than any other airline in the world.
Size is one thing, profitability something else. Here are the ten best-performing airlines as of publication time, measured in net profit:
1. Japan Airlines
2. Air China
3. China Southern
4. Delta Air Lines
5. United
6. China Eastern
7. Ryanair
8. Cathay Pacific
9. Aeroflot
10. Emirates
Plenty of stars on that list, but not many stars and stripes. To be fair, American carriers do earn periodic profits, but we seem to have a much harder and inconsistent time of it. The reasons for this would require an entire book of its own to conclusively discuss. Competitive environment, state ownership and subsidies, and the price of labor all play a role.
Of the airlines above, not all of them are privately run, which brings up the issue of governments providing tax breaks, subsidies, and other favors for airlines they sometimes own outright. Consider the words of Tim Clark, president of Dubai-based Emirates, which has quickly become one of the fastest-growing and most profitable airlines in the world: “The Dubai government’s progressive and unrelenting policy support for aviation is at the heart of this steady, long-term growth,” Clark said at an industry luncheon in 2012. The U.S. government, for its part, does much to hinder and handicap its own commercial aviation infrastructure. But we’re foolish to go searching overseas for answers. The real problem isn’t between U.S. airlines and those in other countries; it’s between the U.S. airlines themselves.
Even before September 11, the largest U.S. carriers were suffering from the effects of overcapacity and a dragging economy. Then came the toxic ramifications of terrorism and war, unprecedented spikes in the price of fuel, and a pummeling recession. Between 2001 and 2012, United, Delta, Northwest, American, and US Airways all declared bankruptcy—the latter twice. Losses were in the billions, layoffs in the tens of thousands.
For the most part, that bleeding has stopped, but while the entrenched old-timers were left to shed costs, reshape their business models, and return to profitability—a decade-long process that ultimately resulted in three mega-mergers—opportunistic low-cost carriers (LCCs) like jetBlue, Southwest, Spirit, and AirTran seized the opportunity. Unencumbered by high labor costs or the need to support complex fleets and decades-old infrastructures, these adaptable youngsters were able to offer streamlined service and irresistibly cheap tickets, rapidly winning over a huge segment of the domestic U.S. market. The proliferation of the LCC, more than any other factor, has radically transformed the competitive dynamic.
And this isn’t just a U.S. phenomenon. See Europe, where LCCs like Ryanair and easyJet are giving mainstay carriers a literal run for their money. The Brazilian airline Gol now carries more people annually than British Airways. The ever-expanding AirAsia carries more people than Singapore Airlines, Thai, or Korean Air. Other LCCs have sprung up in Australia, Kuwait, Hungary, Mexico, Canada, and Slovakia, just to name a few.
For the legacies, one survival tactic has been the outsourcing of routes to regional jet operators. RJs today are responsible for a whopping 53 percent of all domestic departures in the United States. At first, their deployment tended to mirror that of their predecessor turboprops—“commuter planes” we used to call them—going hub-and-spoke on routes 300 miles or shorter. But larger, second-generation RJs proved able to capitalize on longer runs previously the sole domain of Airbuses and Boeings. Whether Chicago–Peoria or Chicago–New York, regional planes are profitable across a wide swath of markets.
At any large airport today, legacy jets sit tethered to the gate looking wounded and worried. All around them maneuver nimble packs of RJs and LCCs, either circling voraciously or going happily about their business, depending how you see it.
Has intense competition not provided an upside for the consumer, however?
Passengers have reaped the benefit of dirt-cheap tickets, for one. As I mentioned in this book’s introduction, in 1939, it cost the equivalent of over $6,000 for a round-trip ticket between New York and France. As recently as the 1970s, flying from New York to Hawaii cost nearly $3,000. On my bookshelf at home is an old American Airlines ticket receipt. It’s a flea market find dating from 1946. That year, somebody named James Connors paid $334 to fly each direction between Ireland and New York. That’s equal to $3,690 today—one way. In 2013, you can pick up an off-season round-trip on that route for less than $600.
The real cost of air travel—the price of a ticket adjusted for inflation—has fallen sharply in the years since deregulation, despite tremendous surges in the cost of oil. Between 2005 and 2010, with airlines struggling and fuel prices soaring, the average economy class fare was the cheapest it had ever been. Things have changed little as we move into the next decade, even when factoring in those add-on fees passengers so despise (see next question). Amenities and customer service aren’t what they used to be, but what do you expect when profit margins come down to a few pennies per passenger? Airlines sell what their customers want. And more than anything else, they want rock-bottom fares.
If flying seems expensive, one factor might be the myriad of taxes added to your fare. There’s a domestic flight segment tax, a security surcharge, a passenger facility charge, a jet fuel tax, international departure and arrival taxes, customs fees—and those are just some of them. The U.S. government adds seventeen unique taxes and fees to airline tickets, accounting for a quarter or more of the total cost of a ticket, depending on fare. (On a $300 round trip, they add up to about $60.) Percentage-wise, these taxes are often more than double those carried by tobacco, firearms, or alcohol—products carrying so-called sin taxes meant to dissuade use.
In addition to affordable fares, another seldom-acknowledged benefit of modern-day air travel can be seen in the airlines’ route networks. One can travel between almost any two airports in America with, at worst, a single stopover. A few decades ago, flying even halfway across the country often entailed awkward transfers through two or more cities. Traveling to Europe or Asia once meant having to depart from one of a small handful of U.S. gateway cities; today, you can fly directly from many smaller hubs (Pittsburgh, Portland, Charlotte), saving considerable amounts of time.
Please address the growing practice of airlines charging for things that used to be free. Checked bags, food, a blanket…
As everyone knows, airlines are resorting to the practice known as “unbundling” as a means of increasing revenue. Flying has gone à la carte: $50 for a second piece of luggage; $20 for a take-home fleece blanket and hypoallergenic pillow; that old beef-or-chicken entrée is now a $6 sandwich wrap.
But these ancillaries were never “free.” They were included in the price of your ticket. And that price used to be higher. It’s impossible to have a rational discussion about unbundling without first acknowledging that fares are as low as they are. It’s amusing to hear a passenger whine about the cost of checking in a bag after paying $159 to fly cross-country. And although unbundling can leave customers feeling nickel-and-dimed, it’s a smart idea in that those looking for perks can have them, absorbing a higher share of the cost. Is it not better to charge a premium for specific items, not all of which everybody wants, rather than raise prices across the board?
Nonetheless, it’s a practice that should only be taken so far. In 2010, in a move that ignited controversy, Fort Lauderdale–based Spirit Airlines began charging up to $45 for carry-on bags. This pushes the concept to the edge of the envelope—beyond it, really, and against the spirit (pardon the pun) of unbundling. Let’s be realistic: a carry-on bag is not an optional item, not when the airline already charges for checked bags.
How far will airlines go to maximize revenue? The same month that Spirit unveiled its carry-on fees, Europe’s Ryanair announced it would start charging 1 euro for the use of a lavatory. (The company eventually backed off, but Ryanair’s cost-saving gimmicks are legendary and not to be underestimated.) I once joked that airlines would soon be selling advertising space on their overhead bins and tray tables. No sooner had I opened my mouth when, riding on a US Airways jet, I folded down my tray table and discovered a cell phone ad staring me in the face. Call me a romantic, but perhaps airlines wouldn’t have so much trouble earning respect if they weren’t so willing to sell their souls.
We hear about nightmare delays in which people are stuck on planes for hours at a time. Why does this happen, and what can be done about it?
Marathon tarmac strandings receive tremendous attention and are great for stoking the public’s implacable hatred for airlines. In the grand scheme of things, they are extremely uncommon. Annually, around 1,500 flights in the United States face delays exceeding three hours; that seems like a lot until you remember there are close to ten million departures each year, 85 percent of which arrive on time or earlier. Even so, there are no good excuses as to why the simple act of getting people off a plane and into a terminal, or getting food and water out to a stranded aircraft, has been, at times, such an ordeal. In 2007, after a midwinter snow and ice storm slammed the Northeastern United States, hundreds of jetBlue passengers in New York were stranded aboard grounded planes for as long as ten hours. A few months earlier, an American Airlines jet sat on the ground in Austin, Texas, for more than eight hours. And most memorable of all, in 2000, thousands were stuck aboard Northwest Airlines planes for up to eleven hours during a New Year’s weekend blizzard in Detroit.
