A Sad Pilot Story

By Charlie

“This is so Mongolian.” You hear that a lot from foreigners living in UB as they share stories about encounters with Mongolian friends and colleagues.

A Mongolian high roller called my cell phone at 10:45pm the other night to get my thoughts on a totally insane scheme to fund Mongolian public broadcasting with profits from commercial radio and TV stations. We had not previously met or talked – ever! He needed an answer, he needed it immediately and he figured that I was the guy to call. Never mind that I was fast asleep. That was very Mongolian.

You’re on the bus and an old woman comes up behind you and totally manhandles you on her way to get a seat. Also very Mongolian.

I’m writing this now as I’m waiting for a plumber. He said yesterday that he’d like to do some work in our apartment this afternoon. When? 3:00pm? 4:00pm? “Maybe,” was the answer. “I will call you,” he said. Again, very Mongolian.

There are little things like this that are responsible for minor inconveniences and some annoyance. And then there are much larger applications of this very Mongolian way of doing things.

For the past several weeks, I have been aware of at least one MIAT jet pilot who is grounded because his English is not up to acceptable standards. The Airbus instructors in Germany failed him last spring because they felt that his lack of English proficiency was a threat to flight safety. And they were right.

This guy is the most diligent student I have among the pilots. Even though he is part of the Airbus group, he also attends classes for the Boeing and Antonov pilots. He has tried many times to make me understand that he must learn English.

Today, I gained a broader understanding of this guy’s predicament.

After flying Antonov aircraft for a decade or more, this pilot was promoted into the Airbus pilot corps. He was sent to Europe for Airbus transition training. He learned about the Airbus 310-300 that MIAT flies. It is a large, sophisticated, brilliant aircraft. Learning how to fly this plane is no small feat and this pilot did it. But when it came time to pass the final check rides, his poor grasp of English washed him out.

He returned to Mongolia last April. The young American-educated pilots who run MIAT’s flight standards office suggested that the airline should pay for this guy to get English training. He could go abroad or even work with an English teacher in Mongolia. The young American-educated pilots suggested that this pilot should be assigned to ride along in the jump seat of the Airbus cockpit so that he could practice his air traffic control communication skills in English.

And what has happened since last spring? Absolutely nothing.

The big bosses now need to decide what to do with this guy. Will they send him to Europe this spring for more training and check rides? If they do that, will he pass? If they send him and he fails, then what? The training tuition is due soon and nobody knows what to do.

The sad thing is that this guy is not ready for another check ride. Until my recent arrival, he had benefited from no English training at all. And even if I worked with him 24 hours a day for the next few weeks, that would not be enough practice for him.

As it was explained to me today, nobody in management feels comfortable making a decision about this because no manager wants to be held accountable for what happens next. If the guy goes to Europe and fails, some middle manager will be blamed. If they decide to cut their losses and not send him, some other manager fears that he will be criticized for promoting this guy in the first place. It has been suggested that I gave him an English test that will determine whether or not he goes to Europe.

This guy’s aviation career is on the line and his company has spent a year doing nothing for him.

This, dear readers, is very Mongolian and very sad.