Passengers On Flipped Toronto Plane Describe Harrowing Ordeal
On Monday, a Delta Air Lines flight departing from Minneapolis crashed at Toronto's Pearson international Airport, flipping upside-down on the runway.
According to the Federal Aviation Administration, the flight, DL 4819, was carrying 80 people, all of whom made it out alive.
Now, some are speaking out about their harrowing ordeal.
John Nelson, one passenger, recounted to CNN that the plane's occupants 'tried to get out of there as quickly as possible.'
'We hit the ground and the plane went sideways and I believe we skidded on our side and flipped over on our back,' Nelson told the outlet. As the plane came to a halt, the passengers made a swift dash for the nearest exit. He described the scene as 'mass chaos,' and like being on an 'emotional rollercoaster.'
After Nelson escaped, he said, there was yet another explosion. Fortunately, he noted, firefighters were on hand to control the situation.
Another passenger, Peter Koukov, said people onboard were 'hanging like bats' after the plane came to rest. He managed to unbuckle himself, but said others needed assistance.
Peter Carlson, also aboard the flight, told CBC News that the landing felt 'forceful,' and his first instinct was 'to get out of this.'
'What I saw was everyone on that plane suddenly became very close, in terms of how to help one another, how to console one another,' Carlson told the outlet. 'That was powerful, but there was definite: 'What now? Who is leading? How do we find ourselves away from this?''
CNN also reported that flight attendants played a key role in helping passengers escape, assisting them in crawling out through the open exit doors.
This morning on X, formerly Twitter, Delta confirmed that '21 injured passengers were initially transported to local hospitals. As of Tuesday morning, 19 have been released.'
'Our most pressing priority remains taking care of all customers and Endeavor crew members who were involved,' said Delta CEO Ed Bastian. 'We'll do everything we can to support them and their families in the days ahead, and I know the hearts, thoughts and prayers of the entire Delta community are with them.'
After the incident, Deborah Flint, CEO of Greater Toronto Airports Authority, said, 'We are very grateful that there was no loss of life and relatively minor injuries.'
Delta Air Lines Flight Crashes At Toronto Airport, Injuring 21
Delta Airlines Doubles Down On Commitment To DEI Initiatives
Delta Flight Aborts Takeoff, Evacuates On Runway With Emergency Slides
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
CNN
an hour ago
- CNN
Lesley Lokko is on a mission to transform architecture, fostering a new generation of ‘more dynamic thinkers'
When Lesley Lokko was a young student in 1990s London, architecture was a place of openness and experimentation. And yet, she felt the discipline was incapable of thinking beyond European concepts of space. 'We were being taught… in a very predominantly Eurocentric way, about the difference between inside and outside, between privacy and publicity, or even simple things like a family structure,' said the renowned Scottish-Ghanian architect, now in her 60s. She noted the difference between her experience growing up around extended family and the small 'two-up, two-down' homes common among nuclear families in the UK. Even her way of thinking about building materials was at odds with the curriculum: in the tropics, concrete rots and metal rusts. 'The way you think about weather and materials and circulation and ventilation is very different,' Lokko told CNN over a video call from Ghana's capital Accra. Fast forward three decades and Lokko is now the educator leading the classroom. Her initiative, the African Futures Institute (AFI), is an effort to radically re-imagine what a design education should look like for younger generations. The institute, based in Accra, was initially going to be an independent post-graduate school of architecture. But Lokko soon realized the logistics and resources needed to start an entirely new school might be out of reach. 'Also, I'm not sure that the world needs another architecture school… what it needs are more ambitious, more creative, more dynamic thinkers and makers,' she said. Instead, the AFI will host the Nomadic African Studio, a series of annual studio sessions offering new ways to think about architecture and design as they relate to pressing global issues, like climate change and migration. Over half of the first group of participants are from Africa, with another 25% from the diaspora. Part of the project aims to turn narratives about Africa on their heads. Echoing post-colonial thinkers like Frantz Fanon, the West Indian psychiatrist and philosopher, Lokko laments how the continent has long been 'positioned as the recipient of knowledge.' 'We're the producer of raw materials, but we are the recipients of finished products — whether that's intellectual products or cars,' she said, expressing her desire for the project to demonstrate that Africa is also 'the generator of ideas… and knowledge.' Last year, Lokko became the first African woman to be awarded the Royal Institute of British Architects' Royal Gold Medal in its 176-year-history. The year before, she became the first Black architect to curate the Venice Biennale, with her program widely celebrated as one of the most politically-engaged, environmentally aware and inclusive in the event's history. (Her attempts to stretch the boundaries and reach of the discipline were not without criticism, however: architect Patrik Schumacher, principal of the late Zaha Hadid's firm, lamented that the event from his perspective did 'not show any architecture.') Lokko's achievements signal a breakthrough for diversity in the discipline (in the UK, nearly 80% of registered architects are White). But how does Lokko feel about being the 'first' to receive these prestigious accolades and appointments? 'The constant refrain, the first Black, the first woman, the first African, they've always seemed to me to be other people's descriptions. It's not how I would describe myself,' she said. 'The 'first' only really makes sense when you're not living here,' she added, referring to her home in Ghana. 'When I left Accra, I was half-Scottish, half-Ghanaian,' she said of leaving the country at 17 for boarding school in England. 'When I arrived in London the next morning, I was Black.' But she acknowledges the monumental achievements are a 'massive leverage' enabling her to pursue projects like AFI. 'Whatever the descriptions are, they give you access to supporters, donors, funders, philanthropists, in a way that you probably wouldn't have without it. It's a bit of a double-edged sword,' Lokko added. The future — and preparing younger generations for it — are at the forefront of Lokko's practice today. When she curated the Biennale, the average age of participants was 43 (significantly younger than previous editions). Half the practitioners on the program hailed from Africa or the African diaspora. The Biennale also centered the continent through its central exhibition theme: Africa as the Laboratory of the Future. 'It was an attempt to say that so many of the conditions that the rest of the world are now beginning to face, Africa has been facing those for 1,000 years and, in some ways, we're ahead of the present,' said Lokko, who used the word 'laboratory' to convey the continent as a workshop 'where people can come together to imagine what the future can look like.' The Nomadic African Studio appears to take a leaf from the same book. The first of its annual month-long programs will launch in Fez, Morocco this July. Around 30 participants under the age of 35 were either chosen from an open call or invited by a nomination committee to join the free program. (Lokko admitted there was pushback about the age limit but she wanted to use the inaugural studio to address Africa as 'a continent of young people.') Working in small groups, participants will be given a topic — like city-making or cultural identity — to interpret and produce a model, design, film, or performance around. The focus, for Lokko, is not on the outcome. She is critical of architectural education for its tendency to fixate on finished products. The point here is not about producing speedy outputs, it's about 'teaching people how to think.' 'You can have a huge impact on the way someone thinks about really important, difficult topics,' said Lokko, who hopes that after five iterations, hundreds of people will have benefitted from its rigorous, exploratory environment. 'Maybe, eventually, a new form of school will emerge,' she said. Lokko herself had no plans of becoming an architect. She studied Hebrew and Arabic for a term at the University of Oxford before studying sociology in the US. She considered becoming a lawyer, and was working as an office manager when an offhand comment set her on the path to becoming an architect. While helping a colleague sketch countertops for his side businesses (a restaurant and dry cleaners), he became struck by her drawings. He told her: ''You're mad. Why do you want to be a sociologist or a lawyer? You should be an architect,'' Lokko recalled. 'It was literally the first time it had ever occurred to me.' At 29, she found herself back in the UK and enrolled in an undergraduate degree program at University College London's famed Bartlett School of Architecture. Lokko felt 'fortunate' to study there at a time of what she called great experimentation and academic open-mindedness — though the field remained male-dominated and lacking in diversity. 'I think there were maybe six or seven women in the class… there was only one other person of color,' she recalled. Beyond the demographics, aspects of the discipline felt restrictive and didn't reflect the experiences Lokko had with built spaces growing up in Ghana. 'The rules seemed to be that you conformed to architecture, rather than architecture conforming to what you might have known,' she explained, referencing ways of learning about space that didn't account for the world outside of Europe. 'I was very conscious all the time of having to forget all that in order to excel at what I was being taught,' said Lokko, adding that those first few years pursuing her degree were a matter of 'suppressing my instincts and experiences.' In the early 2000s, Lokko decided the architecture field wasn't for her and left a teaching job in the US to become a writer. For 15 years, she worked full time writing novels that explored themes of racial and cultural identity through romance and historical fiction. It was an unorthodox move that ended up broadening her perspective as an architect. '(Fiction) allowed me to develop certain ideas around identity, around race, around belonging, around history that I think I would have really struggled to articulate in architecture,' she explained. After so much time away from the discipline, she was called back when she was asked to be an external examiner for the University of Johannesburg's graduate program. It was at a time when South Africa was undergoing profound change with the Rhodes Must Fall and Fees Must Fall movements, when university students demanded the removal of 19th century colonist Cecil Rhodes' statue at the University of Cape Town and refused tuition hikes — eventually securing a freeze on their fees. The student activist movement also called for the 'decolonization' and 'transformation' of higher education institutions across the country, where academia was a predominantly White space. (In 2012, White academics made up 53% of full-time permanent academic staff despite White people making up 8% of South Africa's population.) Lokko stayed on, becoming an associate professor in the university's department of architecture, which she remembers as having low enrollment and little diversity. The opportune timing meant the atmosphere was ripe for change, leading her to found a new graduate school of architecture at the university in 2014. 'Suddenly, the flood gates opened, and Black students started pouring into the school,' she said, the experience allowing her to develop a way of teaching that was relevant to Africans and post-colonial identities. But what made all these Black students enroll in a discipline that had been dominated by White students for so long? 'At a really basic level — having role models, having professors of color,' said Lokko. 'Female students would say to me: 'We'd never encountered somebody like you before.'' The enrollment numbers were also bolstered by her efforts to center the curriculum around student interests and the cultural context they were approaching architecture from. It was all part of a broader ethos Lokko uses to approach education, the job of which is, she said, to 'dream about possibilities for a future that's not yet here.'
Yahoo
an hour ago
- Yahoo
Jamaica's ‘crocodile guardian' is fighting to save the island's feared predators
Editor's Note: Call to Earth is a CNN editorial series committed to reporting on the environmental challenges facing our planet, together with the solutions. Rolex's Perpetual Planet Initiative has partnered with CNN to drive awareness and education around key sustainability issues and to inspire positive action. In the heat of the Jamaican sun, where the wetlands glisten and buzz with life, an ancient predator is vanishing. There are around 28 species of crocodiles found throughout the world's tropical and subtropical regions. But there is only one species in Jamaica, found primarily along the southern coast from St. Thomas to Westmoreland. Once revered and feared across the island, the American crocodile (Crocodylus acutus) has long ruled the mangroves and coastal lagoons. But in recent years, its population has been decimated, due to illegal hunting, habitat loss and plastic pollution, as well as killings prompted by a lingering fear among locals. Lawrence Henriques has made it his life's mission to change that. Known as 'The Crocodile Guardian,' Henriques has spent the past four decades fighting for their survival. He runs the Holland Bay Crocodile Sanctuary, a grassroots conservation project in the southeast of the island, perched on the edge of what he says is one of Jamaica's last viable crocodile habitats. From this remote corner of the island, he's trying to undo years of damage: nursing sick crocs back to health, raising juveniles and restoring their numbers in the wild. 'There's a real fear of crocodiles in Jamaica,' says Henriques. 'They're not tolerated by a lot of people. So if one turns up in someone's backyard, it's often killed for meat or just because people are afraid.' Although crocodiles are often seen as aggressive and dangerous, attacks are few and far between. While reliable figures are hard to come by, according to the global database CrocAttack, there have been 11 incidents reported over the past decade in Jamaica, including one fatality in 2018. That's why Henriques is working to change the narrative about the animal and help people understand that they are far less threatening than their reputation suggests. Born and raised in the Jamaican capital, Kingston, during the 1960s, Henriques always had a penchant for 'creepy crawlies,' such as spiders, scorpions and snakes. But it was crocodiles that truly captured his attention. 'We had a lot more crocodiles and a lot more habitat in those days,' he recalls. 'I always had a half a dozen or so baby crocodiles rearing in my bedroom.' That fascination eventually became a vocation. After studying overseas and learning more about reptiles when working with the Scientific Exploration Society, a UK charity, in Belize, Henriques returned to Jamaica in 1980. He was startled to find that despite crocodiles being classified as endangered in 1971 under the Wildlife Protection Act, there was little practical conservation happening. 'The laws were there, but nobody was doing anything,' he says. 'The environmental agency was very under-resourced and still is to this day. And there was nobody really with expertise or knowledge on reptiles.' Henriques volunteered to assist the Jamaican government, carrying out crocodile rescues and providing rehabilitation, all while holding down a job in the citrus industry. He continued like this for almost 20 years, before a brief relocation to London, UK. When he returned to Jamaica in 2010, he launched what would become the Holland Bay Crocodile Sanctuary — a facility dedicated to rescue, rehabilitation and public education. The sanctuary, which lies on the edge of a wetland, is home to 27 adult crocodiles along with 18 baby crocs. The juvenile crocs have been bred on site and are typically released into the wild after three years, while the adults have been rescued and rehabilitated after being hit by cars, caught in traps, or found living in squalid conditions. Over the past three years, around 90 have been successfully released back into the wild according to Henriques. One of the crocodiles living at the sanctuary currently is Xena, who was discovered guarding her eggs in an area littered with trash, her skin slimy and her teeth gray from pollution. Savannah Boan, an international ambassador from Gatorland Global, the conservation arm of the Florida-based wildlife park which helps to fund the sanctuary, says that since being relocated, Xena's skin has healed and her teeth are white again. Her babies have also been raised at the facility and released into safe areas, helping to boost wild populations of the species. 'Lawrence is doing extraordinary work with very limited resources,' she tells CNN. Despite legal protections, crocodiles in Jamaica face growing threats. Poaching is rampant, often driven by demand for meat or misguided fear, according to officers from the country's National Environment and Planning Agency (NEPA). 'Poaching is definitely a huge problem,' says Leighton Mamdeen, an environmental officer at NEPA. 'We try to limit it through enforcement measures such as regular monitoring and we partner with the Jamaica Constabulary Force and the Jamaica Defence Force to do patrols.' According to media reports, there is a thriving black market for crocodile meat and eggs in Jamaica, with the meat sold for as much as 5,000 Jamaican dollars ($31) a pound (450 grams) – more than 10 times the price of chicken meat. This could stem from a widespread misconception in some rural communities that crocodile meat has aphrodisiac properties. Damany Calder, another environmental officer at NEPA, says he has noticed a troubling pattern during callouts, when crocodiles are discovered with their tails removed. 'There's a rumour about the crocodile tail… it's (used) either for sexual performance, fertility or longevity,' he says. In other cases, crocodiles have been found in backyard ponds, kept as pets, or used as props for TikTok stunts or music videos. There was even a time when a small live crocodile was found stuffed in a broken fridge, says Calder. He believes it may have been part of a ritual referred to as Obeah, a Jamaican religious tradition similar to voodoo. Social media videos have occasionally resulted in prosecutions but only if culprits are caught in the act, Calder says. Individuals found guilty of killing crocodiles may be charged a maximum fine of $100,000 or face one-year imprisonment. 'The police are heavily involved, and they're trying to improve the penalties,' says Henriques. 'But like everything else, it's catching the person and proving it in court. It's a very long, drawn-out process.' Development is another killer. Jamaica's mangroves and wetlands are currently being cleared for tourism and residential development according to The Forestry Department. This affects the country's coastal resilience, as mangroves reduce wave energy and storm surges, helping to prevent flooding, and it damages biodiversity, as they are serve as nurseries for fish and provide essential habitat for species like crocodiles. As this territory shrinks, crocodiles are forced closer to humans. 'These animals are ending up in places they've always lived,' Henriques says. 'But now those places are towns and roads … We've taken their habitat.' To Henriques, the crocodile isn't a menace — it's a keystone species that has been on the island for millions of years. It even features on the Jamaican coat of arms, which shows a crocodile perched atop a royal helmet and mantling, designed to symbolize the island's unique wildlife and natural heritage. 'They're like engineers of the ecosystem,' he says. 'They dig channels, control fish populations and keep the wetlands healthy.' He explains that the presence of these apex predators helps to regulate biodiversity within aquatic ecosystems by controlling prey populations and creating microhabitats that support various flora and fauna. But Henriques warns that because of poaching and habitat loss, the island no longer has many large male crocodiles left along the coastline: 'Most now are smaller. It's a serious shift.' 'What's happening in Jamaica reflects a global pattern — wetland species are disappearing, and with them, the health of the entire ecosystem,' he adds. Despite the challenges, there's a cautious sense of hope. Henriques and NEPA have ramped up community outreach and education programs, especially in areas near crocodile habitats. 'One of the most impactful things we've done is visit schools,' says Mamdeen. 'If you start with the kids, you'll have a greater chance of securing the animal's future.' When reports of a crocodile in a pool of water near a school caused panic among parents and children, NEPA directed its outreach efforts toward local students. 'We told them: crocodiles would rather run (from you) than rush (towards) you,' he says. 'If you're near water at night, walk with a stick. If the animal is touched, it moves.' Henriques added: 'People are beginning to understand these animals have a place … They're not pests. They're survivors.' Still, the sanctuary is one of only a few conservation efforts on the island, and without continued support, Henriques fears Jamaica's crocodiles may not survive the next few decades. 'We can't afford to lose them,' he says. 'They've been here longer than we have. They're part of this land.'
Yahoo
9 hours ago
- Yahoo
Lake Contrary weed treatment begins
ST. JOSEPH, Mo. (News-Press NOW) — After a 24-hour delay, a Buchanan County contractor was able to take on the task of spraying weeds at Lake Contrary. A helicopter pilot sprayed Clearcast Aquatic Herbicide, an EPA-approved product, on more than 300 acres of land. High winds delayed the two-day project that was supposed to start on Monday and turned it into a one-day job on Tuesday. I believe that he wanted a drone photo of it sometime last week just to kind of see where the green was and all that stuff because there are certain areas where certain types of vegetation need a little bit more (Clearcast)," Buchanan County Presiding Commissioner Scott Nelson said. A product overview on its website says the growth of sensitive plants will stop 24 hours after application. Nelson estimates that it will be six weeks before the aquatic herbicide kills the vegetation. "I think this takes a little while for it just because it's got to get absorbed, and then it's got to move down the root stem to the root ball, and then it starts to work on the root ball," he said. "I'm assuming that we're going to see the color changes and that sort of thing." The Missouri Office of Administration told the Buchanan County commissioners last October that taking care of the lake was their responsibility once it dried up. Nelson said removing the weeds is primarily to remove fire hazards. "This is the first step since we've been mandated by the state to maintain it," Nelson said. "So this is what we're doing to maintain it." Buchanan County received a permit from the Missouri Department of Natural Resources on Friday to allow weed spraying, but the county still has not received a permit from the Army Corps of Engineers to dredge the lake. "Other things have kind of crept up and overtaken it on the to-do list," Nelson said. "The big one being the (juvenile) detention center." Nelson said the weed spraying on Tuesday is the largest effort to remove vegetation at Lake Contrary that he can think of. Now, the county commission will observe the results over the next couple of months. "This is 300 acres that we want to get beat down and basically see how it does and then how long it lasts, Nelson said.
