“I am a rock, I am an island” is a Simon & Garfunkel lyric I often think of while experiencing the miracle of flight. Up there, high above the clouds, is the final frontier of unreachability. “Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t take that meeting,” one could say, “I’ll be in the air.” But alas, nothing good can stay.
As British Airways launches high-speed Starlink internet across the entirety of its fleet, the airline has announced that it will allow passengers to make and receive video and phone calls aboard their planes. The disappointment here is twofold: one, that we are willingly giving up the sanctity of the temporary isolation that flights offer, and allowing phones into them just like everywhere else; and two, that British Airways thinks all of its passengers can be trusted to enjoy this new privilege without foisting their voices and the tinny din of their devices upon those with whom they’re sharing space.
Think, dear reader, of the actor Matthew Rhys, who just this week gave an interview to the Wall Street Journal decrying, quite rightly, the lack of headphone use running rampant among video watchers in public spaces the world over. Even in the quiet car of the Amtrak Northeast Regional, from within which I write this rant, a person was watching America’s Funniest Home Video-style highlights on Youtube at full volume, nary an earbud in use, until approached by the conductor and ordered to stop. On Mother’s Day, on the Metro North, I sat inches from a woman playing slots on her phone, the jangling coin sound effects blaring.
British Airways, for their part, make a plea on their website while outlining how they hope this will work: “Please be considerate.” Guidance for potential video callers asks them to use headphones and speak in a low voice: “Please always use headphones when watching or listening to content on your device,” they request, and so do I.
They’re not the only airline to engage in this social experiment. While many airlines that have in-flight Wi-Fi prohibit video calling, Etihad has encouraged its passengers to make calls since 2023.
I’m not the only Traveler editor in dismay over the news. Abigail Malbon, our global manager of audience development, says: “Planes are a special type of oblivion, where you cross time zones and have a rare, but legitimate, excuse not to be in constant contact with the world. And when I’m not in contact with anyone, I certainly don’t want to hear other people’s conversations. The noise of a business meeting, or worse, an argument, would push me over the edge. Time to invest in some really good noise-canceling headphones.”
Arati Menon, global digital director and therefore no Luddite, dislikes in-flight Wi-Fi altogether. “I’m one of those people who secretly hopes [it] doesn’t work,” she says. “No one needs to be clearing their work inbox when they could be watching Anne Hathaway’s unscripted fall on wet bleachers in Princess Diaries while drinking a subpar Chardonnay and eating 10 tiny pretzels. Having someone make a completely unnecessary, non-urgent call from their plane seat—just because they’re bored—is my worst nightmare. Flights are hard, especially for those of us not flying in the upper cabins, and I’d rather airlines not go out of their way to make them harder. Smaller seats, less legroom, meals on a budget, and now someone whispering indiscreet sweet nothings to their lover in my ear. Pure hell.”
For senior features editor Megan Spurrell, it’s the final transmogrification of airplanes into city buses. “As much as I love eavesdropping, the last thing I need is to pay $600 to spend a red-eye beside a stranger dissecting a Real Housewives reunion with their bestie. Spare me.”
Call us when the—actually, wait, don’t call us at all.
