Why authority and accountability no longer align in modern shipping. By Sunil Kapoor.
A 20-year-old ship is often judged by her age. In reality, age matters far less than how a vessel has been maintained and operated. After more than forty years in shipping, at sea and ashore, I have learned that paperwork rarely tells the full story.
I was once offered such a vessel for management—one that others had quietly chosen to avoid. At the time, we had little choice. On paper, everything appeared in order. Certificates were valid, surveys completed, and by all records the vessel was seaworthy.
Within days of sailing, reality proved otherwise.
The ship sailed via Cape Town to China, closely following weather routing advice. Today, Masters are expected to comply strictly with routing instructions. Any deviation can result in commercial consequences. For a while, the voyage appeared uneventful.
Then came the message.
The vessel had suffered structural damage, with possible seawater ingress into the cargo holds. The Master’s reply was straightforward. The vessel had been in severe weather for nearly ten days.
That raised further questions. Why was this not been reported earlier? Why was no corrective action taken? Why was the routing not challenged?
His answer was simple. Noon reports had been sent regularly. Owners, charterers, managers, everyone had been copied.
“Someone should have seen it and advised,” he said. “From my side, I was just following instructions.”
This pattern was not unique.
On another vessel—a reefer carrying bananas—the cargo was loaded in good condition. The Master followed instructions and sent daily reports covering temperatures, ventilation, and cargo condition to charterers and an appointed expert, copying the managers.
Over time, the cargo began to ripen faster than expected. The trend was clearly visible in the reports. Yet there was no response—no guidance and no intervention. The Master had concerns, but he was not the cargo expert and had complied with the instructions given to him.
When the vessel arrived, much of the cargo was already overripe. Once again, attention turned to the Master. He had followed instructions and kept everyone informed—yet he was the one expected to explain the outcome.
Everyone had been involved. Everyone had been informed. When things went wrong, responsibility was easy to place—and impossible to share.
Things were not always like this. Earlier in my career, problems were handled on board.
Today, it is common to receive a call saying, “Main engine stopped. Please advise.” Responsibility has gradually shifted from ship to shore. Problems once solved at sea are now reported, copied, and circulated.
The same gap appears in compliance. The United States has adopted a strict approach to MARPOL violations, yet ships continue to operate oily water separators that are difficult to run reliably at sea. This raises a basic question: where does responsibility truly sit—with the shipyard, the equipment manufacturer, the classification society, the regulators, or the owners?
The same pattern is seen in safety. Enclosed space fatalities continue to occur. The risks are well known. Procedures exist. Training is repeated. Yet the deaths continue.
When incidents lead to injury, loss of life, or pollution, investigations begin and attention quickly turns back to the ship. What did the Master do?
What did the crew fail to do?
In one discussion, a superintendent told me that shore staff and the company were not responsible for incidents on board. Responsibility, in his view, rested entirely with the ship. That mindset explains much of what we see today.
Ships operate in real time. Weather does not wait. Machinery does not pause for approval. Yet decisions are increasingly delayed, waiting for someone to take responsibility.
On paper, responsibility rests with the Master. In practice, authority is dispersed. Many shape the decision. One carries the consequence.
Responsibility without authority is not leadership; it is liability.
