Support in the Skies: How Pilots Stand Together Against Sexism

Let’s talk about the elephant in the room: Is there sexism in aviation? Yes, sexism exists in every sector of society. But is it prevalent in the cockpit? No, I don’t think so. I find that the average Joe or Joanne in society is more likely to be sexist about my chosen career, often assuming I must be cabin crew.

However, there are still some men who don’t believe a woman’s place is in the cockpit. But in my over two decades in the industry, I think these men are few and far between, and they are often not well-liked by most people in the industry.

A lot has also evolved over the years. In my intake, I was the only woman on the course, and there was only one female instructor. Now, in the classes I teach, there are always several women on the course.

I have also found that we protect our own, and pilots are like a family. On the rare occasions when I’ve experienced sexism, my colleagues have stood up for me without me having to say anything.

For example, there was a time when a refueller refused to let me sign the fuel credit card slip because he didn’t believe I could possibly be the captain. Although my first officer could have signed it, he refused and told the refueller that only the captain has signatory authority on the card. He added that if I didn’t sign it, the bill wouldn’t be paid, and he was sure the company would make the refueller foot the bill. The refueller promptly asked me to sign. Later, during the cruise, I asked my FO why he didn’t just sign it since it would have been quicker and easier. He replied that it might have been, but it wouldn’t have been right—I deserved the respect I had earned by becoming the captain of a single-aisle aircraft.

I have many stories like this, where my crew or my company stood by me, especially given that I often flew in parts of the world where women didn’t have equal rights.

However, the incident that stands out most in my mind happened early in my career. I was just starting my instrument rating training, and the school had a procedural-based simulator.

This simulator was old at the time, nothing like the simulators we are used to now—it was more like two chairs in front of a TV screen, with an early version of Microsoft Flight Sim and a PC-type yoke and rudder pedals.

I am generally a proficient stick-and-rudder pilot. I soloed at nine hours and got my PPL and night rating at the minimum legally required hours. However, this simulator beat me—I could barely keep it straight and level. My regular instructors were not available, so I was assigned to a different instructor—let’s call him Paul.

Paul didn’t give me much of a briefing on how to fly this simulator. He just told me we were going to fly an NDB (Non-Directional Beacon) approach, which is generally considered more challenging compared to VOR (VHF Omnidirectional Range) and ILS (Instrument Landing System) approaches.

The more lost I got, the more sarcastic Paul became, and the worse my flying became. It was a total disaster, and the session should have been stopped. If it had happened now, when I was older and wiser, I would have called for it to stop. However, this turned out to be one of the longest and worst two hours of my life.

At the end, Paul wrote in my training file, "Flew like a F@!king woman." I didn’t comment—I figured some battles aren’t worth fighting.

It was a Friday evening, and a bunch of us usually went down to the pub on campus. My friend, who was also an instructor—let’s call him Matthew—saw me walking back to the accommodation and called out to me.

I stopped, and he asked why I wasn’t heading towards the pub. I told him I’d had a bad day and wanted to skip it. I needed to go over NDB approaches in my head and sort them out.

He asked what went wrong. I said I didn’t really know and needed to work it out. He then asked what feedback my instructor gave, and I replied, "Not much," and left it at that.

About half an hour later, my phone rang—it was Matthew. He said he went back to the flight school, pulled my file to see what went wrong so he could help, and saw what Paul had written. He told me I needed to make a formal complaint because it wasn’t right.

I told Matthew that I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Paul wasn’t my regular instructor, and I hadn’t had the best sim session anyway.

As with most families, nothing stays secret for long, and all the instructors soon knew what Paul had written in my file. It was made clear to him that this was not acceptable.

Life went on, and many years later, I had pretty much forgotten about the incident. Matthew and I had stayed friends, but as we worked for different companies in different countries, months could go by without us speaking.

One day, my phone rang, and it was Matthew. He had worked his way up into a fairly large company and was sitting on an interview panel. He said, "You’ll never guess whose CV landed on my desk today." "Who?" I asked. "Paul," he replied, "but don’t worry, it was filed in the bin."

This story, to me, best explains sexism in the cockpit—it may happen from time to time, but it is not the norm. Generally, the person who is sexist is also everything else-ist, and only those exactly like them support their views. However, as I said before, pilots are a family, and most of them find sexism unacceptable. Like every good brother, they totally have your back.