Wide awake in Every Day Life, Chapter 1, Part 1

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Chapter 1, Part 1
The accident, the driving force and the silent victims
For Helena
“Hope is not the conviction
that things will turn out well,
but the certainty
that things have meaning,
no matter how they turn out.”
•    Vaclav Havel
Motorways are more than just roads.
They are the lifeblood of our country’s daily life.
People drive to work.
Families drive off on holiday.
Goods are transported.
And freight transport keeps many things running.
For many, the motorway is simply a route from A to B.
For others, it is a place where many things converge:
Time pressure.
Routine.
Technology.
Carelessness.
And sometimes, even death.
Anyone who has been involved in road safety for a long time realises at some point:
Some dangers are no longer the exception.
They become part of everyday life.
Part of a system.
This was evident long before 2018.
More transport.
More time pressure.
More roadworks.
Too few parking spaces.
Too little relief.
Too little leeway.
This is how risk grows.
This was particularly noticeable around the Walldorfer Kreuz.
Heavy traffic.
Lots of lorries.
Risk of traffic jams.
Blind spots.
And stretches of road where stationary vehicles are often spotted too late.
Then a single moment is all it takes.
And then it happens.
On 12 February 2018, a family was on their way home.
In the car were the father, the mother and their two daughters.
The older daughter, Helena, is 15 years old.
Shortly before the Walldorfer Kreuz, the traffic comes to a standstill.
The family stops.
Then everything happens very quickly.
A lorry crashes into the back of the queue almost without braking.
The force of the impact is enormous.
Several vehicles are pushed into one another.
The father, mother and younger sister die.
Helena survives, seriously injured.
What the emergency services witness that day is almost unbearable.
The vehicles are crammed together.
The destruction is immense.
Added to this is an image that leaves a deep impression:
Pig’s blood is leaking from a damaged tanker trailer.
It spreads across the carriageway.
The smell and the whole scene make the operation even more distressing for everyone involved.
And then something emerges that hardly anyone would expect at that moment:
Amidst the destruction, there is still life.
It is only realised much later that a seriously injured girl is still conscious in the back seat of the completely wrecked car.
Helena is alive.
She is aware of what is happening around her.
From this point on, nothing is abstract anymore.
From this point on, it is no longer just about recording the details of an accident.
It is no longer just about numbers.
It is no longer just about technology.
From this point on, it is about people.
Anyone who has worked in the traffic service for many years experiences serious accidents. You see suffering. You see death. And you learn to remain objective despite it all. That is necessary. Accidents must be recorded. Events must be reconstructed. Responsibility must be established.
But professionalism does not protect you from being shaken to the core.
There are events that stay with you.
This accident was one such event.
The clearer it became what exactly had happened, the deeper the shock became. Not just because of the number of fatalities. Not just because of the young survivors. But because this single accident brought together many factors that have been evident in heavy goods transport for years:
the fatal consequences of a brief moment of distraction,
the enormous impact energy of a lorry and trailer,
the risk posed by roads prone to traffic jams,
the acceptance of dangerous conditions,
and the far too belated action taken where the danger had long been known.
This leads to a statement that sticks with you:

Death at the end of a traffic jam is not inevitable.

It is not simply fate.
And it is not merely the failure of a single person in a single second.
Accidents like this have a history.
They have causes.
They have contributing factors.
And they arise where human error meets structural weaknesses.
That is precisely why we must not simply accept them.
This marked the beginning of a new phase for me.
My sense of shock turned into a driving force.
Even before that, it was clear just how much freight transport had changed. Increasingly, the motorway was no longer just a place of free-flowing traffic, but a place of gridlocked, overburdened and heavily congested traffic. Convoys of lorries, packed service stations, time pressure, inadequate infrastructure and fierce economic competition had long been part of everyday life.
But this accident put a face to the issue.
That face was Helena’s.
Through her, it became even clearer what lies behind every accident statistic:
a person,
a family,
a life shattered into a ‘before’ and an ‘after’.
This is precisely where what I call the ‘silent victims’ come in.
The silent victims are not just the dead and the seriously injured.

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Chapter 1, Part 1 The accident, the driving force and the silent victims For Helena “Hope is not the conviction that things will turn out well, but the certainty that things have meaning, no matter how they turn out.” • Vaclav Havel Motorways are more than just roads. They are the lifeblood of our country’s daily life. People drive to work. Families drive off on holiday. Goods are transported. And freight transport keeps many things running. For many, the motorway is simply a route from A to B. For others, it is a place where many things converge: Time pressure. Routine. Technology. Carelessness. And sometimes, even death. Anyone who has been involved in road safety for a long time realises at some point: Some dangers are no longer the exception. They become part of everyday life. Part of a system. This was evident long before 2018. More transport. More time pressure. More roadworks. Too few parking spaces. Too little relief. Too little leeway. This is how risk grows. This was particularly noticeable around the Walldorfer Kreuz. Heavy traffic. Lots of lorries. Risk of traffic jams. Blind spots. And stretches of road where stationary vehicles are often spotted too late. Then a single moment is all it takes. And then it happens. On 12 February 2018, a family was on their way home. In the car were the father, the mother and their two daughters. The older daughter, Helena, is 15 years old. Shortly before the Walldorfer Kreuz, the traffic comes to a standstill. The family stops. Then everything happens very quickly. A lorry crashes into the back of the queue almost without braking. The force of the impact is enormous. Several vehicles are pushed into one another. The father, mother and younger sister die. Helena survives, seriously injured. What the emergency services witness that day is almost unbearable. The vehicles are crammed together. The destruction is immense. Added to this is an image that leaves a deep impression: Pig’s blood is leaking from a damaged tanker trailer. It spreads across the carriageway. The smell and the whole scene make the operation even more distressing for everyone involved. And then something emerges that hardly anyone would expect at that moment: Amidst the destruction, there is still life. It is only realised much later that a seriously injured girl is still conscious in the back seat of the completely wrecked car. Helena is alive. She is aware of what is happening around her. From this point on, nothing is abstract anymore. From this point on, it is no longer just about recording the details of an accident. It is no longer just about numbers. It is no longer just about technology. From this point on, it is about people. Anyone who has worked in the traffic service for many years experiences serious accidents. You see suffering. You see death. And you learn to remain objective despite it all. That is necessary. Accidents must be recorded. Events must be reconstructed. Responsibility must be established. But professionalism does not protect you from being shaken to the core. There are events that stay with you. This accident was one such event. The clearer it became what exactly had happened, the deeper the shock became. Not just because of the number of fatalities. Not just because of the young survivors. But because this single accident brought together many factors that have been evident in heavy goods transport for years: the fatal consequences of a brief moment of distraction, the enormous impact energy of a lorry and trailer, the risk posed by roads prone to traffic jams, the acceptance of dangerous conditions, and the far too belated action taken where the danger had long been known. This leads to a statement that sticks with you: Death at the end of a traffic jam is not inevitable. It is not simply fate. And it is not merely the failure of a single person in a single second. Accidents like this have a history. They have causes. They have contributing factors. And they arise where human error meets structural weaknesses. That is precisely why we must not simply accept them. This marked the beginning of a new phase for me. My sense of shock turned into a driving force. Even before that, it was clear just how much freight transport had changed. Increasingly, the motorway was no longer just a place of free-flowing traffic, but a place of gridlocked, overburdened and heavily congested traffic. Convoys of lorries, packed service stations, time pressure, inadequate infrastructure and fierce economic competition had long been part of everyday life. But this accident put a face to the issue. That face was Helena’s. Through her, it became even clearer what lies behind every accident statistic: a person, a family, a life shattered into a ‘before’ and an ‘after’. This is precisely where what I call the ‘silent victims’ come in. The silent victims are not just the dead and the seriously injured.

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