Standing in line at a large amusement park has a subtle unnerving quality. Laughter, funnel cake smoke wafting through the summer air, and kids straining against their parents’ hands to get a better look at the ride ahead are all around you. Everything seems under control. created. secure. However, when you examine how these parks are governed—or not—the picture becomes much less clear.
The majority of Americans are unaware that fixed amusement parks are not subject to federal regulation. Traveling fairs and carnivals are covered by the Consumer Product Safety Commission, which oversees everything from lawn mowers to baby strollers. However, Six Flags? Cedar Point? Disney? It has no jurisdiction over those. That gap has existed for a long time. Due in large part to the amusement park industry’s strong and well-funded lobby in Washington, this structural decision has withstood decades of legislative opposition.
Since 1999, Massachusetts Senator Edward Markey has worked to reduce this disparity. The bill continues to die despite more than 20 years of efforts. He once made the observation that a baby stroller is subject to stricter federal regulations than a roller coaster moving at more than 100 miles per hour, with a frustration that doesn’t quite fit the wording of a press release. The next time you click into a lap bar, it’s difficult to hear that without feeling at least a little uneasy.
A disjointed patchwork of state agencies, each with its own regulations and rhythms, fills the void. The Department of Fair Ride is responsible for ride inspections in Florida. It’s the Department of Industry Relations in California. In Texas, the Department of Insurance is in charge but doesn’t carry out the inspections. Rather, it hires a private safety engineer who submits reports on a regular basis. It is a completely different matter whether those reports are regularly monitored, recorded, and made available to the public.
Pennsylvania provides a partial example of what accountability might entail. Lawmakers became involved after an investigation found that the state’s agriculture department—yes, agriculture—was missing inspection records for over half of its permanent parks in a single year. Eventually, the state released a searchable database that allowed riders to find out the most recent inspection date of their preferred coaster. Even the spokesperson defending it called it “bare bones,” but it did exist. That was important.
The Pennsylvania case is notable for how unremarkable the failures were. Reports sent via email or fax were disappearing. No centralized system was being used to enter records. There was simply no system that was strong enough to fill in the gaps; no one was doing anything particularly wrong. These things frequently operate in this manner. Just an absence, not a villain.
That absence still exists for the majority of states. Parks investigate accidents on their own. When rides can reopen is decided by state agencies, but private engineers hired specifically for this purpose sign off. Meanwhile, there are few ways for the general public to confirm any of it. Public databases that can be searched usually do not contain inspection records from well-known American amusement parks. You put your faith in a procedure that is difficult to audit.
The majority of rides may be operating within acceptable safety margins most of the time. The industry would contend that its track record is self-evident. However, there is a distinction between an industry that is generally safe and one that is openly accountable, and it’s still unclear whether America has managed to demand both.⁖※
