Alex Easton

The right hon. Member makes some very poignant points, and makes them well. I appreciate that they have been made. I will tell you what I do have confidence in, Mr Dowd: I have confidence in the words of Niven Phoenix, a bereaved son who lost a heroic father. He said that if he were choosing the aircrew again, he would choose exactly the same ones. That is the measure of the men we are talking about. The clearing of the pilots did not close the book on the story; it reopened it, raising further fundamental questions. If not pilot error, then what? What combination of factors—technical, procedural and organisational—contributed to this disaster? Why were certain lines of inquiry seemingly resisted or, at best, left under-examined? Why were experts put under a direct order to cease their investigation? For many of the families, and for many observers, those questions remain profoundly unresolved. Let me turn to why a judge-led inquiry is not only desirable but necessary. To the cynics who say, “This has been looked at before; it is time to move on,” let me be absolutely clear that that argument fails on three levels—moral, constitutional and practical. First, I will set out the moral case. There is a clear and unavoidable duty owed to the dead and to their families. The men and women on board ZD576 were in the service of their country; they were doing their duty, often in the most sensitive areas of national security. The very least they deserve in return is something fundamental: if they are killed in the line of duty, the state will move heaven and earth to discover how and why. Instead, for 30 years, the families have had to fight again and again for answers that should have been offered willingly. They have had to endure conflicting official narratives, piecemeal disclosures and technical complexities sometimes being used as a shield and barrier against proper lay scrutiny, as well as long periods of silence, delay and dismissal. All this has unfolded while families have grown older waiting for justice, and some parents have died without ever seeing their child fully cleared, or having received a clear and honest account of what happened to them. We cannot change the past or undo this terrible crash, but we can decide how we face it; we can choose either candour or continued evasion. Make no mistake—that is the moral choice that Members of this House are making today. Secondly, there is the constitutional case, which is a question of trust in the state itself. Our democracy fully functions only if our citizens can believe with confidence that when something goes terribly wrong, the state will not close ranks to protect itself. When tragedies such as this aircraft crash occur, in which decisions at the highest level may have played a part, the very minimum that the British public are entitled to expect is that evidence is not buried, mistakes are not quietly airbrushed away, and those in authority are not shielded simply because of their rank or department. A full judge-led public inquiry with powers to compel witnesses and take evidence under oath is the gold standard in our constitutional toolkit for restoring truth and trust—for examining major disasters, exposing state failings in policing, health, security and transport, and confronting painful truths about institutional abuse and misconduct. If the deaths of 29 people, including senior security and intelligence figures, on a military aircraft in the service of their country do not meet the bar for such an inquiry, it is very hard to see what ever would. It would be a profound constitutional error for this House to imply that there are areas of state activity that can never be fully examined, regardless of how serious the consequences are. I do not believe that any Member of this House would be content with that. Thirdly, let me turn to the practical realities. We insist on a judge-led inquiry with powers to compel witnesses and take evidence under oath because it is the only form of inquiry that has tools equal to the task. This House knows that only a full public inquiry can compel serving and former officials to give evidence; require the disclosure of all relevant material across departments and agencies; hear expert and technical testimony with the rigour needed to weigh competing interpretations; test accounts against each other in a structured and forensic way; and place everything within a publicly accessible framework in a clear, reasoned report. Let us be honest: without the power to compel, we rely on voluntary co-operation, which is by its nature selective. Without evidence given under oath, we cannot properly test credibility or consistency, and without judicial leadership, we cannot guarantee the independence, discipline and authority needed to command public confidence. Let me tackle the objections to a public inquiry head on. Some people say, “This happened a long time ago.” Indeed, the crash was in 1994. Time has passed, but it has not healed; it has fomented doubt, leaving a growing sense of injustice. Memories may fade, but documentation does not. Technical records can be scrutinised. Policies, processes and decision making can be examined. Many witnesses are still alive and capable of giving evidence. The delays we have seen to date are not an excuse to fail to act now; they are, in truth, a reason to act. Some people say, “There have already been investigations” —well, yes, of sorts. There have been fragmented processes, internal reviews and limited inquiries, but we have never had the single, judge-led public inquiry that the gravity of this tragedy demands. Those piecemeal processes cannot substitute for a full public reckoning. If previous procedures had been adequate, we would not be standing here now three decades on. The fact that this question remains unsettled is deeply telling in itself. Some people say an inquiry will cost money—of course it will: truth, justice and confidence in democratic processes have a cost, but what is the cost of failing to act? It is the cost to the families in prolonged anguish and uncertainty. It is the reputational cost to the RAF and our democratic institutions, given the inadequacies of past investigations. It is the cost to the wider public’s confidence when it appears that some tragedies receive full scrutiny, while others are expected to be quietly managed and forgotten. When heroic lives have been lost in the service of the Crown, the cost of an inquiry is not a luxury or an optional extra; it is part of the debt we owe. Some people say that an inquiry might endanger national security. We have heard that before in other contexts, yet time and again it has been shown to be possible to balance transparency with legitimate secrecy— inquiries can take sensitive evidence in closed session, for example. Highly classified material can be handled through carefully controlled procedures. Redactions can be made, subject to independent oversight. National security must never be used as a blanket to smother legitimate questions. The families are not seeking operational secrets; they are seeking an honest account of why their loved ones died and whether the actions or omissions of the state played a part. I contend that it is not only possible, but now entirely normal for a public inquiry to both protect the safety of our nation and respect the rights of citizens to the truth. The issue is about far more than one crash, one aircraft and one dark day in 1994; it goes to the heart of how we treat those who serve, and how we respond when they are lost. Failure is not an option because if we continue to fail the families of those who died on Chinook ZD576, we send a chilling message to every current and future member of the armed forces and security services: “We value your service, but if the worst happens the truth about your death may not always be negotiable.” I do not believe that a single member of this House finds that acceptable, let alone tolerable. A proper judge-led public inquiry is not simply about revisiting the past; it is about learning lessons for the future. It is about airworthiness, risk and how we respond to concerns over equipment. Behind each of the 29 lost lives was a unique and irreplaceable story: a pilot who trained for years and took deep pride in his aircraft and his crew; specialist officers who sacrificed family life and health to confront some of the most brutal terrorism western Europe has ever known, placing their own lives between the innocent and those who would harm them. Parents, wives, husbands and children have been left with an empty chair at the table, birthdays never celebrated, and milestones never reached. Children have grown up with treasured photographs and cherished memories instead of a living parent. Then there was a knock on the door, the formal words of condolence and the long, grinding aftermath of unanswered questions. For so many of the families, the search for truth has required them to become unwilling experts in aviation, procedure and bureaucracy, simply so they could argue their case on something approaching equal terms. They have pored over reports, examined technical data and followed every thread of the investigation to date. They have written to Members of the House again and again in the hope that somewhere in authority there might be a listening ear with the courage to act. We should hang our heads in shame that three decades on the families are still having to ask. Their position is not radical or unreasonable; it is, in fact, an appeal to simple integrity. They want a judge-led full public inquiry, with the power to compel witnesses—past and present—to attend, with the ability to take evidence under oath and with access to all the relevant documentation, to produce a public report that clearly sets out what is known, what is not known and what must change. That is not some dramatic departure from constitutional norms; it is entirely in line with the very best of our tradition of providing accountability when things go badly wrong. We face a stark choice today. When the victims’ families knocked on our doors, did we listen politely and then quietly turn our backs or did we take their pain seriously? Did we recognise the limitations and shortcomings of the earlier processes? Did we accept that in a mature democracy the state must submit itself to the discipline of searching, independent scrutiny? What is being sought is a fair route to the truth and to justice: an honest account of what happened and why. It should not be feared. Indeed, it should be embraced if we truly believe in the rule of law, accountability and the dignity of those who served and died. Today, we choose between courage and convenience. I urge Members to choose courage.