Showing posts sorted by date for query Invasion. Sort by relevance Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by date for query Invasion. Sort by relevance Show all posts

Saturday, March 28, 2026

Ultimatum

Ultimatum (pronounced uhl-tuh-mey-tuhm or uhl-tuh-mah-tuhm)

(1) A final, uncompromising demand or set of terms issued by a party to a dispute (used especially of governments and WAGs (wives & girlfriends)), the rejection of which may lead to a severance of relations, the imposition of sanctions, the use of force etc.

(2) A final proposal or statement of conditions; any final or peremptory demand, offer or proposal.

1731: From the New Latin, a specialized use of the Medieval Latin ultimatum (a final statement), noun use of neuter of Latin adjective ultimātus (last possible, final; ended, finished), past participle of ultimāre (to come to an end), from ultimus (extreme, last, furthest, farthest, final).  The Latin plural ultimata was used by the Romans as a noun in the sense of “what is farthest or most remote; the last, the end”.  In mid-1920s slang ultimatum described also “the buttocks” (a use which deserves to be revived).  In English, the plural form had an interesting trajectory.  Although the Anglo-Irish satirist & Anglican cleric Jonathan Swift (1667–1745) used “ultimatums”, that didn’t until the twentieth century convince the OED (Oxford English Dictionary) to displace ultimata as the recommended form.  In diplomacy (a world of “gray areas”), the comparative is “more ultimative”, the superlative “most ultimative”.  Ultimatum is a noun, ultimating & ultimated are verbs and ultimative is an adjective; the noun plural is ultimatums or ultimata. 

The first ultimatum would have been issued in prehistoric times and there have been many since.  History suggests a great many have been bluffs which can be a successful tactic if perceived as plausible but often the “bluff was called” and the ultimatum proved a hollow threat, thus the language of diplomacy including also the (sometimes darkly) satirical or humorous (1) penultimatum (plural penultimatums or penultimata) which describes a statement of terms or conditions made by one party to another, commonly expressed as an ultimatum in the hopes of compelling immediate compliance with demands, but that then is superseded by more negotiation instead of actual dire consequences and (2) antepenultimatum (plural antepenultimatums or antepenultimata) which describes a statement of terms or conditions made by one party to another, essentially a penultimatum, but even more tentative and more repeatedly abandoned in favour of subsequent ignominious compromises.  The trouble with unfulfilled ultimatums is that while rapidly they can lose their persuasive power (in a manner analogous with Aesop's Fable The boy who cried wolf), at some point a party issuing unenforced ultimatums may one day make good on their threats, the high stakes gambler Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) and the rather dim-witted Joachim von Ribbentrop (1893–1946; Nazi foreign minister 1938-1945) both in September 1939 genuinely surprised when the Anglo-French ultimatum guaranteeing the sovereignty of Poland was honoured, the previous back-downs no longer a guide.  Of course, six year later, Polish sovereignty was sacrificed to political necessity but a war which began with the RAF (Royal Air Force dropping leaflets politely asking the Germans to stop what they were doing and ended with the USAAF (US Army Air Force) dropping A-bombs of Japanese cities had many unintended consequences.

CD cover art for Lindsay Lohan's Spirit in the Dark (2008) album.

For centuries, the word “ultimatum” seems to have been avoided by poets, librettists and lyricists.  Ultimatum is a Latinate “formal” word so perhaps not well-suited to love songs but beyond the register and tone, those studying structural linguistics note the prosody: It’s a four-syllable word with a stress pattern (ul-TIM-a-tum) difficult to “fit into” common meters and melodic phrasing.  That said, while there’s a semantic narrowness, the idea of the ultimatum (a final demand backed by consequences) is hardly rare in opera and poetry but it tends to be described or implied rather than labelled with the specific word.  However, one niche was found in the definitely modern genre of rap, hip-hop and such and that’s attributed to the material putting a premium on conflict, violence and the technique of rhyming on the final syllable.  Undaunted however was Kara DioGuardi (b 1970) who included “ultimatum” in the opening verse of the Lindsay Lohan song Stay (2008).  Its inclusion is a genuine rarity.

Verse 1 of Stay (2008) Kara DioGuardi, sung by by Lindsay Lohan.

Baby, take your coat off and your shoes and just relax
Let your body sink into these arms, that's where it's at
I'll open up a bottle and slip into something else
I hope tonight's the night that all these walls are gonna melt
'Cause when we're out, you're sending me mixed signals all the time
You want me, but you don't just wanna lay it on the line
So baby, here's your ultimatum, are you in or out?
All you have to do is wanna turn this all around, and...

If it was for poets a challenge to splice “ultimatum” into the body of a work, without any discordance it could be used as a title and Philip Larkin (1922-1985) choose it for his first published poem which appeared in The Listener on 28 November, 1940:

Ultimatum (1940) by Philip Larkin.

But we must build our walls, for what we are
Necessitates it, and we must construct
The ship to navigate behind them, there.
Hopeless to ignore, helpless instruct
For any term of time beyond the years
That warn us of the need for emigration:
Exploded the ancient saying: Life is yours.
For on our island is no railway station,
There are no tickets for the Vale of Peace,
No docks where trading ships and seagulls pass.
Remember stories you read when a boy
- The shipwrecked sailor gaining safety by
His knife, treetrunk, and lianas - for now
You must escape, or perish saying no.

Unknown previously, “ultimatum” did occasionally appear in twentieth century poetry, a product probably of the big, multi-theatre wars and the use in modern and experimental poetry of language which borrowed from abstract or formal vocabularies.  While the terrible first half of the twentieth century gave poets plenty of scope to explore the concept (it was an age of ultimatums), in print, it was done almost without mention of the word.

The issuing of ultimatums has shaped a number of turning points in history; variously they have proved decisive, stabilizing or catastrophic.  Probably the most infamous was the “July Ultimatum”, served on Serbia by Austria-Hungary after a Serbian nationalist assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand (1863–1914; heir presumptive to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire).  While such a procedure was orthodox politics, what was notable about what Vienna did in 1914 was to make demands it was certain Serbia would be unable to fulfil.  The Austrians hankered for war because they wanted permanently to put an end the “Serbian threat” and Berlin, anticipating a traditional, short, sharp, limited war of a few weeks, gave Vienna the infamous “German blank cheque” of support.  Belgrade accordingly turned to its traditional supporters in Moscow who agreed to offer military support; that came after the Kremlin had received confirmation from Paris that France would honor its treaty arrangement with Russia.  From all this came the outbreak of war in August 1914 by which time the British (for a variety of reasons) had become involved and by 1917 the US had become a belligerent; this was conflict which came to be called “The World War” before in the 1940s being renamed “World War I” (1914-1918).

Even in 1945, the phrase “unconditional surrender” (the origin an apparently chance remark (although subsequently he would cite a precedent from the US Civil War (1861-1865)) by Franklin Delano Roosevelt (FDR, 1882–1945, POTUS 1933-1945) at the Casablanca Conference (January 1943)) had been controversial because of the concern it had lengthened the war against Germany by dissuading (the probably chimerical) opposition forces within the country from staging a coup with a view to negotiating peace.  Despite that, at the Potsdam Conference (July-August 1945) the Allied powers (China, the UK & US, the Soviet Union not then at war with Japan) served Tokyo with the Potsdam Declaration demanding exactly that.  After the two A-bombs were dropped, the Japanese agreed to a surrender that fell a little short of being “unconditional” but the Americans decided to accept the offer, concluding having a “puppet emperor”.

Trump: The Art of the Deal (First Edition, 1987) by Donald J. Trump with Tony Schwartz.

One once improbable text in 2016 added to the reading lists of political analysts was Trump: The Art of the Deal (1987) by Donald J. Trump (b 1946; POTUS 2017-2021 and since 2025) with Tony Schwartz (b 1952).  It’s a useful book because in it Mr Trump (or Mr Schwartz depending on one’s spin of choice) provided examples of negotiating techniques.  That book was about commerce, notably property deals, but it gave an insight into why Mr Trump later succeeded so well in reality TV, his understanding of the potency of mixing fact, threats, spectacle and blatant untruths underlining that second career.  He may not, while the book was being drafted, have been contemplating politics as a third career but he did find many of its techniques could be adapted to international diplomacy.  In that he proved an innovator but there are limitations to how well things translate.  One weapon in the arsenal is the ultimatum which can be used in real-estate deals with few consequences beyond the relatively few individuals concerned but in international relations, such things can have cascading global effects.

If within the White House there were any doubts the issuing of ultimatums might have consequences other than what was desired, the path of the conflict in the Middle East should have given them some interesting case studies.  What’s also interesting is whether in the White House the possible reactions to ultimatums were discussed prior to them being presented.  Giving the Ayatollahs 48 hours to reopen the Strait of Hormuz or face withering new airstrikes on Iran’s power generation infrastructure sounded decisive on Truth Social (which definitely is part of the modern calculation in such matters) but Tehran responded by threatening to target the energy and water desalination facilities in the neighboring Gulf states.  As threats go, it was a stark warning because those nations can rely on desalinated water for as much as 90% of their needs and have no practical alternative so it would have been an escalation with potentially devastating regional consequences.

Not a model easily translatable to Iran.  Nicolás Maduro (b 1962; President of Venezuela 2013-2026, right) and his lawyer Barry Pollack (b 1964, left), US Federal Court, Manhattan, New York City, March 2026, illustration by Jane Rosenberg (b 1949).

Accordingly, prior to the deadline, Mr Trump announced he’d “temporarily” called of the strikes, claiming that was induced not by Tehran’s counter-threat but by “productive” talks with “the right people”.  He didn’t descent to specifics (something not unusual in back channel diplomacy) but did add the talks had revealed “major points of agreement” and “they want very much to make a deal, we'd like to make a deal, too.  Apparently unimpressed, Iranian state media, claimed the president had backed down in the face of their threats and denied talks of any significance were taking place.  Again, in diplomacy of this kind, denials are standard procedure.  A few hours later, Mr Trump assured an audience the US was conducting “very, very good discussions” with Iran.  So it’s competing narratives and analysts made no attempt to try to work out how much truthfulness was coming from either side but more than one observed that if the president had realized he’d painted himself into a corner by delivering the ultimatum, revealing previously unannounced back-channel discussions was a quick and face-saving way to buy some time to hope plan A (missiles and bombs) works.  There was though from some sources the notion the mention of “the right people” may put in the mind of the regime the audacious kidnapping of Nicolás Maduro (b 1962; President of Venezuela 2013-2026), an operation made possible by the cooperation of “the right people” in Caracas.  Some suspicion of one’s colleagues might be understandable given the extraordinary success achieved in assassinating leading figures in the Iranian political establishment and the IRGC (Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps).

While it can be guaranteed US-Iran “talks” are taking place in some form, trying to predict the course of this conflict is difficult because there are relatively few models from the past which might provide something of indicative value.  Since the end of the Cold War, one endlessly repeated admonition issued by those in the Middle East to successive occupants of the White House has been not to do this or that because “you will open the gates of Hell”.  Many probably suspect that at some point in that last few years, those gates were at least pushed ajar but if things do escalate they could be torn from their hinges and the most worrying scenario is that US land forces will be deployed against Iran with the active cooperation of the Gulf States, something unthinkable as recently as a few weeks ago.  The theory supporting this is based on the notion that the attacks on Iran conducted over the past year have made irrevocable the Ayatollah’s determination to acquire an IND (independent nuclear deterrent), a quite rational response by any regime reviewing military matters since 1945.  Of course, ayatollahs with A-bombs would trigger a chain reaction because a number of states in the region would also demand their own IND with a genuinely autonomous launch capacity because, just as Charles de Gaulle (1890-1970; President of France 1959-1969) felt compelled to acquire the capacity because he doubted “a US president would risk New York to save Paris” the same concerns would extend to the fate of Dubai and Riyadh.

The power behind the curtain: Ayatollah Mojtaba Khamenei (b 1969; Supreme Leader, Islamic Republic of Iran since 2026, left) looking at his father Grand Ayatollah Ali Khamenei (1939-2026; Supreme Leader, Islamic Republic of Iran 1989-2026).  Mojtaba Khamenei’s nickname is reputed to be “The power behind the robes”, an allusion to the power he exercised while his father was supreme leader (something like the role fulfilled by Lieutenant General Oskar von Hindenburg (1883–1960) while serving as ADC (aide-de-camp) Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg (1847–1934; President of Germany 1925-1934).

What Mr Trump has done is to abandon the “power realist” approach to dealing with the Islamic Republic.  As explained by its high priest (Dr Henry Kissinger (1923-2023; US national security advisor 1969-1975 & secretary of state 1973-1977)), the approach was an acknowledgment that “solving” some problems was either impossible or so dangerous to attempt that the preferred approach was endlessly to “manage” things, thereby either maintaining the problem at an acceptable level or allowing it, over time, to “solve itself”.  Mr Trump probably genuinely believes there is not a problem on the planet he can’t solve by “making a deal”, achieved by a combination of threats, inducements, spectacle and ultimatums.  In some fields, such optimism is a virtue but when dealing with Ayatollahs with a nuclear weapons programme and the dream of a global caliphate under their interpretation of Shi'i Islam, it’s at least potentially dangerous.  One can argue about whether the ayatollahs had, prior to the last two rounds of attack, already decided to develop a deliverable nuclear weapon but now there can be no doubt.  No US president before Mr Trump would have dared do what’s been done in the last twelve months but now he’s in the position of not daring to stop because nothing short of regime change can now make things better; all alternatives are worse.  On paper, given the regime’s internal contradictions and the widespread dissatisfaction among the population, there should be paths to regime change without a land invasion but the Ayatollahs and IRGC appear still to possess a formidable defensive apparatus.  As the missile exchanges continue, Mr Trump has announced a ten-day extension to the deadline to re-open the Strait of Hormuz.  Whether this will come to be regarded as ultimatum 1.1 or 2.0 will be one of the footnotes when the histories of this conflict are written.

Sunday, January 18, 2026

Corduroy

Corduroy (pronounced kawr-duh-roi)

(1) A cotton-filling pile fabric with lengthwise cords or ridges.

(2) In the plural as corduroys (or cords), trousers made from this fabric.

(3) Of, relating to, or resembling corduroy.

(4) A method of building an improvised road or causeway, constructed with logs laid together transversely (used by military forces, those operating in swampy ground areas etc); the result was described originally as “ribbed velvet” and when intended for sustained use, earth was thrown into the gaps and compacted, thus rendering a relatively smooth, stable surface.

(5) To form such a “road” by arranging logs transversely.

(6) In ski-run maintenance, a pattern on snow resulting from the use of a snow groomer to pack snow and improve skiing, snowboarding and snowmobile trail conditions (corduroy thought a good surface for skiing).

(7) In Irish slang, cheap, poor-quality whiskey (based on the idea on the fabric corduroy not being “smooth”).

1776: Of uncertain origin.  There’s no consensus among etymologists but the most support seems to be for the construct being cord + duroy (one of a number of lightweight, worsted fabrics once widely produced and known collectively as “West of England Cloth”).  Cord (A long, thin, flexible length of twisted yarns (strands) of fiber) was from the late thirteenth century Middle English corde (a string or small rope composed of several strands twisted or woven together; bowstring, hangman's rope), from the Old French corde (rope, string, twist, cord), from the Latin chorda (string of a musical instrument, cat-gut), from the Doric Ancient Greek χορδά (khordá) (string of gut, the string of a lyre) and may be compared with the Ionic χορδή (khord), from the primitive Indo-European ghere- (bowel; intestine).  The adjective cordless (of electrical devices or appliances working without a cord (ie powered by a battery) dates from 1905 and was augmented later by “wireless” which described radios so configured.  Cordless is still a useful word now that the meaning of “wireless” in the context of computing has become dominant.  The curious use of cord as “a unit of measurement for firewood, equal to 128 cubic feet (4 × 4 × 8 feet), composed of logs and/or split logs four feet long and none over eight inches diameter (and usually seen as a stack 4 feet high by 8 feet long)” dates from the 1610s and was so-called because it was measured with a cord of rope marked with the appropriate measures.

Lindsay Lohan as fashion influencer: In burnt red corduroy pants & nude platform pumps, Los Angeles, December 2011 (left) and leaving Phillippe Restaurant after dinner with Woody Allen (b 1935), New York, May 2012 (right).  It's said that before he met Lindsay Lohan, the film director had never worn corduroy trousers and he still prefers brown, seemingly unable to escape the 1970s when he was perhaps at his happiest.

Until well into the twentieth century, the old folk etymology was still being published which held the word was from the French corde du roi (cloth of the king”), which seems never to have be used in France, the correct term for “cloth of the king” being velours côte.  It’s not impossible there’s some link with cordesoy, from the French corde de soie (“rope of silk” or “silk-like fabric”) because that form is documented in an advertisement for clothing fabrics dating from 1756.  The spelling corderoy appears in commercial use in 1772 but the modern “corduroy” became the standard form in the 1780s.  The origin of duroy is obscure and the earliest known use (in print) of the word appeared in the early seventeenth century; it may be from the French du roi (of the king), a 1790 trade publication in France including the term duroi (a woolen fabric similar to tammy).  So, although the case for cord + duroy seems compelling, etymologists note (1) duroy was fashioned from wool while corduroy was made with cotton and there’s no other history of the two words being associated, (2) grammatically, the compound should have been duroy-cord and (3) this does not account for the earlier corderoy.

None of that of course means cord + duroy was not the source and many English words have been formed in murky ways.  There’s also the possibility of some link with the English surname Corderoy (although there is no evidence of a connection); the name was also spelt Corderey & Cordurey, the origin lying in the nickname for “a proud person” (of French origin, it meant “king’s heart”).  Some are more convinced by a suggestion made in 1910 by the English philologist Ernest Weekley (1865-1954) who speculated corduroy began life as folk-etymology for the trade-term common in the sixteenth century: colour de roy, from the French couleur de roi (king’s colour) which originally was a reference to both a cloth in the rich purple associated with the French kings and the color itself. Later, it came to signify a bright tawny colour and a cloth of this hue.  Corduroy as an adjective came into use after 1789 and the use to describe roads or causeways improvised by means of with logs laid together transversely (usually to provide wheeled vehicles passage over swampy ground) dates from the 1780s.  Corduroy is a noun, verb & adjective, corduroying & corduroyed are verbs and corduroylike is an adjective; the noun plural is corduroys.

1975 Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL 6.9 (V116, 1975-1980) trimmed in classic 1970s brown corduroy.

The top-of-the-range variant of the W116 (1972-1980 and the first formerly to be styled "S-class"), the 6.9 had been slated for release in 1974 but introduction was delayed a year because of the first "oil crisis".  It used a version of the 600's (W100, 1963-1981) M100 V8, enlarged from the 6.3 litre (386 cubic inch) unit used in the 300 SEL 6.3 (1967-1972) to 6.8 (417).  Unfortunately, uncertainty over the future of the oil supply (and the consequent effect on the world economy) meant the 7.4 litre (452 cubic inch) version of the V8 never left the drawing board.  Very few 6.9 sold outside of Europe were trimmed in cloth, leather almost universal in most markets.  

By the 1960s most Mercedes-Benz were being trimmed in their famously durable MB-Tex, a robust vinyl which was not only easy to maintain but closely resembled leather, lacking only the aroma (and third-party manufacturers soon made available aerosols for those who found the olfactory appeal too much to forgo).  However, leather and velour (of mohair in the most exclusive lines) were either standard or optional on more expensive models and when exported to first-world markets beyond Europe (such as North America or Australia), MB-Tex or leather was standard and the fabrics were available only by special order.  A notable exception was the Japanese market where buyers disliked the way their prized “car doilies” slid of the hide; they always preferred cloth.  The velour was certainly better suited to harsh northern European winters and testers would often comment on how invitingly comfortable were the seats trimmed in the fabric.  To add to the durability, the surfaces subject to the highest wear (ie those at the edges on which there was the most lateral movement during ingress and egress) used a corduroy finish (the centre panels also trimmed thus, just for symmetry).

A just completed corduroy road constructed by the Wehrmacht’s (German military, 1935-1945) Pioniertruppen (Pioneer troops, who performed similar duties to sappers or combat engineers in other armies), the photograph said to have been taken in 1942 in the Eastern Front’s Volkhov sector during the Continuation War (1941-1944 and known also as the Second Soviet–Finnish War).  Although labour-intensive, the attraction of the corduroy road was if the logs were conveniently to hand and manpower was available, functional roads could be built more quickly than any other method.  On the Eastern Front, the Wehrmacht usually had ready access to forests and prisoners who could be used as forced-labour so many corduroy roads were built and their need was anticipated by some of the staff who planned the invasion of Russia, well away two of the greatest threats they would face would be "Major Mud" and "General Winter".  Unfortunately for them, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) envisaged the campaign being successfully concluded before the winter of 1941-1942 and the German forces were equipped neither for the cold nor the impassable conditions. 

The corduroy road (a more recent name for the “log road” or “log track”) gained its name from the appearance; the logs arrayed in the perpendicular, thereby, when viewed at a distance, resembling the fabric.  Because in concept a corduroy road is essentially a deck or floor writ large, on a small (certainly domestic) scale such things doubtless existed thousands of years ago but in the sense of “major thoroughfares”, excavations suggest they’ve been in use since at least the eleventh century although it seems clear some were constructed atop existing pathways, presumably at times when the weather conditions rendered the surface impassable.  Timber of course can rot but certain types were very long-lasting and in some soils (especially the more acidic) the logs could retain their integrity for decades and, in the pre-motorized era, they were not subject to the heavy loads or high speeds which would come in the twentieth century.  For obvious reasons, many corduroy roads were constructed during wartime by military engineers and the term “corduroy road” is also used in slang to refer to a rutted-road in a poor state of repair.

Saturday, January 3, 2026

Defiant

Defiant (pronounced dih-fahy-uhnt)

Characterized by defiance or a willingness to defy; boldly resistant or challenging.

1830s: From the French défiant, from the Old French, present participle of the verb défier (to challenge, defy, provoke), the construct thus def(y) + “i” + -ant.  Defy dates from the mid thirteenth century and was from the Middle English defien, from the Old French desfier, from the Vulgar Latin disfidare (renounce one's faith), the construct being dis- (away) + fidus (faithful).  The construct in French was thus des- (in the sense of negation) + fier (to trust), (from the Vulgar Latin fīdāre, from the Classical Latin fīdere (fidelity),  In the fourteenth century, the meaning shifted from “be disloyal” to “challenge”.  The suffix –ant was from the Middle English –ant & -aunt, partly from the Old French -ant, from Latin -āns; and partly (in adjectival derivations) a continuation of the use of the Middle English -ant, a variant of -and, -end, from the Old English -ende ( the present participle ending).  Extensively used in the sciences (especially medicine and pathology), the agent noun was derived from verb.  It was used to create adjectives (1) corresponding to a noun in -ance, having the sense of "exhibiting (the condition or process described by the noun)" and (2) derived from a verb, having the senses of: (2a) "doing (the verbal action)", and/or (2b) "prone/tending to do (the verbal action)".  In English, many of the words to which –ant was appended were not coined in English but borrowed from the Old French, Middle French or Modern French.  The negative adjectival forms are non-defiant & undefiant although there is a kind of middle ground described by quasi-defiant, semi-defiant & half-defiant, the latter three sometimes used in military conflicts where, for whatever reason, it’s been necessary (or at least desirable) for a force to offer a “token resistance” prior to an inevitable defeat.  The adjective over-defiant refers to a resistance or recalcitrance, the extent or duration of which is not justified by the circumstances; in such cases the comparative is “more defiant” and the superlative “most defiant”.  Defiant is a noun & adjective, defiantness is a noun and defiantly is an adverb; the noun plural is defiants.

Defiance in politics: use with caution

The commonly used synonyms include rebellious, direful, truculent, insolent, rebellious, recalcitrant, refractory, contumacious & insubordinate but in diplomacy, such words must be chosen with care because what is one context may be a compliment, in another it may be a slight.  This was in 1993 discovered by Paul Keating (b 1944; Prime Minister of Australia 1991-1996) who labelled Dr Mahathir bin Mohamad (b 1925; prime minister of Malaysia 1981-2003 & 2018-2020) one of the “recalcitrant” when the latter declined to attend a summit meeting of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC).  For historic reasons, Dr Mahathir was sensitive to the memories of the imperialist oppressors telling colonized people what to do and interpreted Mr Keating’s phrase as a suggestion he should be more obedient (the most commonly used antonym of defiant, the others including obedient & submissive).  Things could quickly have been resolved (Dr Mahathir of the “forgive but not forget” school of IR (international relations)) but, unfortunately, Mr Keating was brought up in the gut-wrenching “never apologize” tradition of the right-wing of the New South Wales (NSW) Labor Party so what could have been handled as a clumsy linguistic gaffe was allowed to drag on.

Circa 1933 Chinese propaganda poster featuring a portrait of Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek (Chiang Chung-cheng).  Set in an oval frame below flags alongside stylized Chinese lettering, the generalissimo is depicted wearing his ceremonial full-dress uniform with decorations.

The admission an opponent is being “defiant” must also sometimes be left unsaid.  Ever since Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek (1887-1975; leader of the Republic of China (mainland) 1928-1949 & the renegade province of Taiwan 1949-1975) in 1949 fled mainland China, settling on and assuming control of the island of Taiwan, the status of the place has been contested, most dramatically in the incidents which flare up occasionally in the in the straits between the island and the mainland, remembered as the First (1954–1955), Second (1958) and Third (1995-1996) Taiwan Strait Crises which, although sometimes in retrospect treated as sabre rattling or what Hun Sen (b 1952; prime minister (in one form or another) 1985-2023) might have called “the boys letting off steam”, were at the time serious incidents, each with the potential to escalate into something worse.  Strategically, the first two crises were interesting studies in Cold War politics, the two sides at one stage exchanging information about when and where their shelling would be aimed, permitting troops to be withdrawn from the relevant areas on the day.  Better to facilitate administrative arrangements, each side’s shelling took place on alternate days, satisfying honor on both sides.  The other landmark incident was China’s seat at the United Nations (UN), held by the Republic of China (ROC) (Taiwan) between 1945-1971 and the People’s Republic of China (PRC) (the mainland) since.

Jiefang Taiwan, xiaomie Jiangzei canyu (Liberate Taiwan, and wipe out the remnants of the bandit Chiang) by Yang Keyang (楊可楊) and Zhao Yannian (趙延年). 

A 1954 PRC propaganda poster printed as part of anti-Taiwan campaign during first Taiwan Strait Crisis (1954-1955), Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek depicted as a scarecrow erected on Taiwan by the US government and military. Note the color of the generalissimo’s cracked and disfigured head (tied to a pole) and the similarity to the color of the American also shown.  The artists have included some of the accoutrements often associated with Chiang’s uniforms: white gloves, boots and a ceremonial sword.  The relationship between Chiang and the leaders of PRC who defeated his army, Chairman Mao (Mao Zedong. 1893–1976; paramount leader of PRC 1949-1976) and Zhou Enlai (1898–1976; PRC premier 1949-1976) was interesting.  Even after decades of defiance in his renegade province, Mao and Zhou still referred to him, apparently genuinely, as “our friend”, an expression which surprised both Richard Nixon (1913-1994; US president 1969-1974) and Henry Kissinger (b 1923; US national security advisor 1969-1973 & secretary of state 1973-1977) who met the chairman and premier during their historic mission to Peking in 1972.

A toast: Comrade Chairman Mao Zedong (left) and  Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek (right), celebrating the Japanese surrender, Chongqing, China, September 1945.  After this visit, they would never meet again.

Most people, apparently even within the PRC, casually refer to the place as “Taiwan” but state and non-governmental entities, anxious not to upset Beijing, use a variety of terms including “Chinese Taipei” (the International Olympic Committee (IOC) and the Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA, the International Federation of Association Football) & its continental confederations (AFC, CAF, CONCACAF, CONMEBOL, OFC and UEFA)), “Taiwan District” (the World Bank) and “Taiwan Province of China (the International Monetary Fund (IMF)).  Taiwan’s government uses an almost declarative “Republic of China” which is the name adopted for China after the fall of the Qing dynasty and used between 1912-1949 and even “Chinese Taipai” isn’t without controversy, “Taipei” being the Taiwanese spelling whereas Beijing prefers “Taibei,” the spelling used in the mainland’s Pinyin system.  There have been variations on those themes and there’s also the mysterious “Formosa”, use of which persisted in the English-speaking world well into the twentieth century, despite the Republic of Formosa existing on the island of Taiwan for only a few months in 1895.  The origin of the name Formosa lies in the island in 1542 being named Ilha Formosa (beautiful island) by Portuguese sailors who had noticed it didn’t appear on their charts.  From there, most admiralties in Europe and the English-speaking world updated their charts, use of Formosa not fading until the 1970s.

All that history is well-known, if sometimes subject to differing interpretations but some mystery surrounds the term “renegade province”, used in recent years with such frequency that a general perception seems to have formed that it’s Beijing’s official (or at least preferred) description of the recalcitrant island.  That it’s certainly not but in both the popular-press and specialist journals, the phrase “renegade province” is habitually used to describe Beijing’s views of Taiwan.  Given that Beijing actually calls Taiwan the “Taiwan Province” (sometimes styled as “Taiwan District” but there seems no substantive difference in meaning) and has explicitly maintained it reserves the right to reclaim the territory (by use of military invasion if need be), it’s certainly not unreasonable to assume that does reflect the politburo's view but within the PRC, “renegade province” is so rare (in Chinese or English) as to be effectively non-existent, the reason said to be that rather than a renegade, the island is thought of as a province pretending to be independent; delusional rather than defiant.  Researchers have looked into the matter when the phrase “renegade province” was first used in English when describing Taiwan.  There may be older or more obscure material which isn’t indexed or hasn’t been digitized but of that which can be searched, the first reference appears to be in a US literary journal from 1973 (which, it later transpired, received secret funding from the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA)).  It took a while to catch on but, appearing first in the New York Times in 1982, became a favorite during the administration of Ronald Reagan (1911-2004; US president 1981-1989) and has been part of the standard language of commentary since.  Diplomats, aware of Beijing's views on the matter, tend to avoid the phrase, maintaining the “delusional rather than defiant” line.

Picture of defiance: Official State Portrait of Vladimir Putin (2002), oil on canvas by Igor Babailov (b 1965).

The idea of a territory being a “renegade province” can be of great political, psychological (and ultimately military) significance.  The core justification used by Mr Putin (Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin; b 1952; president or prime minister of Russia since 1999) when explaining why his “special military operation” against Ukraine in 2022 was not an “invasion” or “war of aggression” (he probably concedes it may be a “state of armed conflict”) was that he denied Ukraine was a sovereign, independent state and that Volodymyr Zelenskyy (b 1978, president of Ukraine since 2019) was not a legitimate president.  In other words, Ukraine is merely a region of the modern Russia in something of the way it was once one of the 15 constituent SSRs (Soviet Socialist Republic) of the Soviet Union.  Although the Kremlin doesn’t use the phrase, in Mr Putin’s world view, Ukraine is a renegade province and he likely believes that applies also to the Baltic States (Latvia, Lithuania & Estonia) and possibly other former SSRs.  Lake many, the CCP is watching events in Ukraine with great interest and, as recent “exercises” seem to suggest the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) have sufficiently honed their techniques to execute either a blockade (which would be an “act of war”) or a “quarantine” (which would not), the attention of Western analysts is now focused on the hardly secret training being undertaken to perfect what’s needed for the triphibious operations demanded by a full-scale invasion.  The US think-tanks which think much about this possibility have suggested “some time” in 2027 as the likely point at which the military high command would assure the CCP’s central committee such a thing is possible.  What will happen will then depend upon (1) the state of things in the PRC and (2) the CCP’s assessment of how the long-term “strategic ambiguity” of Washington would manifest were an attempt made to finish the “unfinished business” of 1949.

Lindsay Lohan, who has lived a life of defiance.

The objectification of women’s body parts has of course been a theme in Western culture since at least Antiquity but rarely can as much attention been devoted to a single fingernail as the one photographed on Lindsay Lohan’s hand in July 2010 (during her “troubled starlet” phase).  The text printed on the fingernail was sufficiently explicit not to need a academic deconstruction of its alleged meaning, given image was taken when she sitting in court listening to a judge sentence her for one of her many transgressions; the consensus was the text was there to send a “defiant message” the internet’s collective conclusion (which wasn’t restricted to entertainment and celebrity sites) presumably reinforced by the nail being on the middle finger.  Ms Lohan admitted to fining this perplexing, tweeting on X (then known as Twitter) it was merely a manicure and had “…nothing to do w/court, it's an airbrush design from a stencil.  So, rather than digital defiance, it was fashion.  Attributing a motif of defiance to Ms Lohan wasn’t unusual during “troubled starlet” phase, one site assessing a chronological montage of her famous mug shots before concluding with each successive shot, “Lindsay's face becomes more defiant — a young woman hardening herself against a world that had turned her into a punch-line”.

The Bolton-Paul Defiant (1939-1943)

The Parthian shot was a military tactic, used by mounted cavalry and made famous by the Parthians, an ancient people of the Persian lands (the modern-day Islamic Republic of Iran since 1979).  While in real or feigned retreat on horseback, the Parthian archers would, in full gallop, turn their bodies backward to shoot at the pursuing enemy.  This demanded both fine equestrian skills (a soldier’ hands occupied by his bows & arrows) and great confidence in one's mount, something gained only by time spent between man & beast.  To make the achievement more admirable still, the Parthians used neither stirrups nor spurs, relying solely on pressure from their legs to guide and control their galloping mounts and, with varying degrees of success, the tactic was adopted by many mounted military formations of the era including the Scythians, Huns, Turks, Magyars, and Mongols.  The Parthian Empire existed between 247 BC–224 AD.  The Royal Air Force (RAF) tried a variation of the Parthian shot with Bolton-Paul Defiant, a single-engined fighter and Battle of Britain contemporary of the better remembered Spitfire and Hurricane.  Uniquely, the Defiant had no forward-firing armaments, all its firepower being concentrated in four .303 machine guns in a turret behind the pilot.  The theory behind the design dates from the 1930s when the latest multi-engined monoplane bombers were much faster than contemporary single-engined biplane fighters then in service. The RAF considered its new generation of heavily-armed bombers would be able to penetrate enemy airspace and defend themselves without a fighter escort and this of course implied enemy bombers would similarly be able to penetrate British airspace with some degree of impunity.

Bolton-Paul Defiant.

By 1935, the concept of a turret-armed fighter emerged.  The RAF anticipated having to defend the British Isles against massed formations of unescorted enemy bombers and, in theory, turret-armed fighters would be able approach formations from below or from the side and coordinate their fire.  In design terms, it was a return to what often was done early in the World War I (1914-1918), though that had been technologically deterministic, it being then quite an engineering challenge to produce reliable and safe (in the sense of not damaging the craft's own propeller) forward-firing guns.  Deployed not as intended, but as a fighter used against escorted bombers, the Defiant enjoyed considerable early success, essentially because at attack-range, it appeared to be a Hurricane and the German fighter pilots were of course tempted attack from above and behind, the classic hunter's tactic.  They were course met by the the Defiant's formidable battery.  However, the Luftwaffe learned quickly, unlike the RAF which for too long persisted with their pre-war formations which were neat and precise but also excellent targets.  Soon the vulnerability of the Defiant resulted in losses so heavy its deployment was unsustainable and it was withdrawn from front-line combat.  It did though subsequently proved a useful stop-gap as a night-fighter and provided the RAF with an effective means of combating night bombing until aircraft designed for the purpose entered service.

The Trump class "battleships"

In a surprise announcement, the Pentagon announced the impending construction of a “new battleship class” the first of the line (USS Defiant) to be the US Navy’s “largest surface combatant built since World War II [1939-1945]”.  The initial plans call for a pair to be launched with a long-term goal of as many as two dozen with construction to begin in 2030.  Intriguingly, Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025) revealed that while the Department of Defense’s (it’s also now the Department of War) naval architects would “lead the design”, he personally would be involved “…because I’m a very aesthetic person.  That may sound a strange imperative when designing something as starkly functional as a warship but in navies everywhere there’s a long tradition of “the beautiful ship” and the design language still in use, although much modified, is recognizably what it was more than a century earlier.  The Secretary of the Navy certainly stayed on-message, announcing the USS Defiant would be “…the largest, deadliest and most versatile and best-looking warship anywhere on the world’s oceans”, adding that components for the project would “be made in every state.”  It won't however be the widest because quirk of ship design in the US Navy is that warships tend to be limited to a beam (width) of around 33 metres (108 feet) because that’s the limit for vessels able to pass through the Panama Canal.

Depiction of Trump class USS Defiant issued by the US Navy, December, 2025.

By comparison with the existing surface fleet the 35,000 ton Defiant will be impressively large although, by historic standards, the largest (non-carrier) surface combatants now in service are of modest dimensions and displacement.  The largest now afloat are the 15,000-ton Zumwalt class destroyers (which really seem to be cruisers) while the 10,000 ton Ticonderoga class cruisers (which really are destroyers) are more numerous.  So, even the Defiant will seem small compared with the twentieth century Dreadnoughts (which became a generic term for “biggest battleship”), the US Iowa class displacing 60,000 ton at their heaviest while the Japanese Yamato-class weighted-in at 72,000.  Even those behemoths would have been dwarfed by the most ambitious of the H-Class ships in Plan-Z which were on German drawing boards early in World War II.  Before reality bit hard, Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) left physics to the engineers and wasn't too bothered by economics.  After being disappointed the proposed successors to the Bismarck-class ships would have the bore of their eight cannons (the main armament) increased only from 380 mm (15 inch) to 405 (16), he ordered OKM (Oberkommando der Marine; the Naval High Command) to design bigger ships.  

That directive emerged as the ambitious Plan Z which would have demanded so much steel, essentially nothing else in the Reich could have been built.  Although not one vessel in Plan Z ever left the slipway (the facilities even to lay down the keels non-existent), such a fleet would have been impressive, the largest (the H-44) fitted with eight 508 mm (20 inch) cannons.  Even more to the Führer’s liking was the concept of the H-45, equipped with eight 800 mm (31.5 inch) Gustav siege guns.  However, although with guns, cars, tanks, buildings and much else, Hitler found it hard to resist gigantism, the bitter experience of war at sea convinced him the battleship was not only obsolete but had become an expensive strategic liability.  After the Bismarck was lost in May 1941, Hitler made his change of view clear to Großadmiral Erich Raeder (1876–1960; head of the German Navy 1928-1943), paraphrased by historians usually as: “I was always a supporter of the big ships but they've had their day, the risk of attack by air is too great.”  That ended the prospect of any more being built but further failures darkened even more the Führer’s view and in 1943 he demanded the Navy scrap the entire surface fleet, devote all construction resources to Unterseeboots (literally “under-sea boat” ie submarine and referred to usually as “U-boat) and re-allocate the crews to ground warfare or the U-boats.  On that, Raeder’s successor persuaded him to relent because merely by inertly existing, the big ships did have a strategic effect of forcing the Royal Navy to keep on stand-by a battle-fleet which could otherwise usefully be deployed.  The decision during the 1930s to build the big ships certainly had a profound effect on the path of the war.  Had U-boat construction been afforded a priority in 1937-1939, the Kriegsmarine (German Navy) could have entered World War II with the ability permanently to have 100 U-boats engaged in high-seas raiding rather than barely the dozen initially possible and the early course of the war might radically have been different.  In was another indication of the way German policy had been directed by the assumption a war with the UK could be avoided or at least long-delayed.  Germany indeed entered the war without a single aircraft carrier (the only one laid down never completed), such was the confidence the need to confront the Royal Navy either would never happen or was years away.

The US Navy in 1940 began construction of six Iowa class battleships but only four were ever launched because it had become clear the age of the aircraft carrier and submarine had arrived and the last battleship launched was the Royal Navy’s HMS Vanguard which entered service in 1946.  Although the admirals remained fond of the fine cut of her silhouette on the horizon, to the Treasury (an institution in the austere, post-war years rapidly asserting its authority over the Admiralty) the thing was a white elephant, something acknowledged even by the romantic, battleship-loving Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) who, when in November, 1953 planning a trip to Bermuda for a summit meeting with Dwight Eisenhower (1890-1969; US POTUS 1953-1961), opted to fly because “it costs Stg£30,000 if we go by Vanguard, and only £3,000 by air.  In 1959, Vanguard was sold for scrap and broken up the next year while the last of the Iowa class ships were decommissioned in 1992 after having spent many years of their life in a non-active reserve.  Defiant is of course a most Churchillian word and after World War I, he was asked by a French municipality to devise the wording for its war memorial.  He proposed:

IN WAR: RESOLUTION

IN DEFEAT: DEFIANCE

IN VICTORY: MAGNANIMITY

IN PEACE: GOODWILL

At the time, old Georges Clemenceau (1841–1929; French prime minister 1906-1909 & 1917-1920) wasn’t feeling much magnanimity towards the Germans (he called them: le boche) and nor was he much in the mood to extend any goodwill so Churchill’s suggestion was rejected.  

Depiction of Trump class USS Defiant issued by the US Navy, December, 2025.

The conventional wisdom therefore was the days of the big warships were done and the Soviet Navy’s curious decision in the 1980s to lay down five (four of which were launched) Kirov class battlecruisers seemed to confirm the view.  Although the Kremlin called the ships тяжёлый атомный ракетный крейсер (heavy nuclear-powered guided missile cruisers), admiralties in the West, still nostalgic lot, choose to revive the old name “battlecruiser”.  The battlecruiser (essentially a battleship with less armor) was a brainchild of the naval theorists of the early twentieth century but while the concept was sound (and in practice may have proved so if the theory had been followed at sea) but in service was a disappointment and none were commissioned after 1920 until the Soviets revived the idea.  As recently as 2018, NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization) sources were sceptical any of the Russian ships would ever return to service but in 2025 the Admiral Nakhimov (ex-Kalinin) emerged from a long and expensive re-fit & modernization to serve as the world’s biggest warship.  Although fast and heavily armed, concern remains about her vulnerability to missiles and torpedoes.

Depiction of Trump class USS Defiant issued by the US Navy, December, 2025.

The US Navy seems confident about the protection afforded by the Trump class’s systems, claiming “the battleship [the Pentagon’s term] will be capable of operating independently, as part of a Carrier Strike Group, or commanding its own Surface Action Group depending on the mission and threat environment.  In other words, unlike an aircraft carrier, the security of the vessel does not depend on a flotilla of destroyers and other smaller escort vessels.  The first of the Trump class is projected to cost between US$10-15 billion although, on the basis of experience, few will be surprised if this number “blows out”.  The Trump class will be the flagships for the Navy’s “Golden Fleet” initiative (an old naval term dating from days of the Spanish colonial Empire and nothing to do with Mr Trump’s fondness for the metal).  In an age in which small, cheap, UAVs (unmanned aerial vehicles, usually referred to as drones) have revolutionized warfare (on land and at sea), the return of the big ships is as interesting as it was unexpected and analysts are already writing their assessments of the prospects of success.

Although the concept wasn’t new, it was late in the nineteenth century naval architects began to apply the word “class” systematically to group ships of the same design, the pioneers the Royal Navy but other powers soon adopted the practice.  It had long been the practice for warships to be constructed on the basis of substantially replicating existing designs and some truly were “identical” to the extent a series would now be called a “class” but before the terminology became (more or less) standardized, warships usually were described by their “Rate” or “Type” (first-rate ship of the line, corvette, frigate etc) but, in the usual military way, there was also much informal slang including phrases such as “the Majestic battleships” or “ships of the Iron Duke type”.  The crystallization of the “class” concept was really a result of technological determinism as the methods developed in factories which emerged during the industrial revolution spread to ship-building; steam power, hulls of iron & steel and the associated complex machinery made design & construction increasingly expensive, thus the need to amortize investment and reduce build times by ordering ships in batches with near-identical specifications.

Navies in the era were also becoming more bureaucratic (a process which never stopped and some believe is accelerating still) and Admiralties became much taken with precise accounting and doctrinal categorisation.  The pragmatic admirals however saw no need to reinvent the wheel, “class” already well-established in engineering and taxonomy, the choice thus an obvious administrative convenience.  The “new” nomenclature wasn’t heralded as a major change or innovations, the term just beginning to appear in the 1870s in Admiralty documents, construction programmes and parliamentary papers in which vessels were listed in groups including Devastation class ironclad turret ships (laid down 1869), Colossus class battleships (laid down 1879) and Admiral class battleships (1880s).  In recent history tests, warships prior to this era sometimes are referred to as “Ship-of-the-line class”, “Three decker class” etc but this use is retrospective.  The French Navy adopted the convention almost simultaneously (with the local spelling classe) with Imperial Germany’s Kaiserliche Marine (Imperial Navy) following in the 1890s with Klasse.  The US Navy was comparatively late to formalise the use and although “class” in this context does appear in documents in the 1890s, the standardization wasn’t complete until about 1912.

As a naming convention (“King George V class”, “Iowa class” etc), the rule is the name chosen is either (1) the first ship laid down, or (2) the lead ship commissioned.  According to Admiralty historians, this wasn’t something determined by a committee or the whim of an admiral (both long naval traditions) but was just so obviously practical.  It certainly wasn’t an original idea because the term “class” was by the late nineteenth century well established in industrial production, civil engineering, and military administration; if anything the tradition-bound admirals were late-adopters, sticking to their old classificatory habit long after it had outlived its usefulness.  With ships becoming bigger and more complex, what was needed was a system (which encompassed not only the ships but also components such as guns, torpedoes, engines etc) which grouped objects according to their defined technical specification rather than their vague “type” (which by then had become most elastic) or individual instances; naval architecture had entered the “age of interchangability”.

A docked Boomin' Beaver.

It’s good the US Navy is gaining (appropriately large) “Trump Class” warships (which the president doubtless will call “battleships” although they’re more in the “battlecruiser” tradition).  Within the fleet however there are on the register many smaller vessels and the most compact is the 19BB (Barrier Boat), a specialized class of miniature tugboat used deploy and maintain port security booms surrounding Navy ships and installations in port.  Over the last quarter century there have been a dozen-odd commissioned of which ten remain in active service.  Unlike many of the Pentagon’s good (and expensive) ideas, the Barrier Boats were a re-purposing of an existing design, their original purpose being in the logging industry where they were used to manoeuvre logs floating along inland waterways.  In that role the loggers dubbed them “log broncs” because the stubby little craft would “rear up like a rodeo bronco” when spun around by 180o.  Sailors of course have their own slang and they (apparently affectionately) call the 19BBs the “Boomin’ Beaver”, the origin of that being uncertain but it may verge on the vulgar.  It’s not known if President Trump is aware of the useful little BB19s but if brought to his attention, he may be tempted to order two of them re-named “USS Joe Biden” and “USS Crooked Hillary” although, unlike those reprobates, the Boomin’ Beavers have done much good work for the nation.

The Arc de Triomphe, Paris (left), Donald Trump with model of his proposed arch, the White House, October, 2025 (centre) and a model of the arch, photographed on the president's Oval Office desk (right).  Details about the arch remain sketchy but it's assumed (1) it will be "big" and (2) there will be some gold, somewhere.

As well as big ships (and the big Donald J Trump Ballroom already under construction where the White House’s East Wing once stood), Mr Trump is also promising a “big arch”.  A part of the president’s MDCBA (Make D.C. Beautiful Again) project, the structure (nicknamed the “Triumphal Arch” and in the style of the Arc de Triomphe which stands in the centre of the Place Charles de Gaulle (formerly the Place de l’Étoile), the western terminus of the avenue des Champs-Élysées) is scheduled to be completed in time to celebrate the nation’s 250th anniversary on 4 July 2026.  Presumably, on that day, it will be revealed the official name is something like the “Donald J Trump Sestercentennial Arch” which will appear on the structure in large gold letters.  The arch is said to be “privately funded”, using money left over from what was donated to build the ballroom, a financing mechanism which has attracted some comment from those concerned about the “buying of influence”.

Adolf Hitler's (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) sketch of an arch (1926, left) and Hitler, Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) and others examining Speer's model of the arch, presented 20 April, 1939 upon the occasion of the Führer’s 50th birthday (right; note the pattern in carpet).  As usual, the Führer reviewed the display of gifts, surveying the statutes, paintings and porcelain (both good and kitsch) with interest or amusement but the one to which he kept returning was the four-metre model of the arch and that evening, several times he would return “with visible emotion” to examine the details.

A model of Germania.  To give some indication of the scale, within the dome of the huge meeting hall (at top of image), St. Peter's Cathedral in Rome would have fitted several times over; its diameter of the dome would have been 250 metres (825 feet).

Commissioned to honor those who fought and died for France during the French Revolutionary (1792-1802) and Napoleonic Wars (1803-1815), construction of the Arc de Triomphe (officially the Arc de Triomphe de l'Étoile) absorbed 30-odd years between 1806-1836, as a piece of representational architecture the structure is thought perfectly proportioned for assessment by the human eye and perhaps for this reason it has been admired by many.  As early as 1926, Adolf Hitler sketched his vision of a grand arch for Berlin, while bitter experience taught him the big warships were a bad idea because of their vulnerability to air attack, he never lost his enthusiasm for megalomania in architecture and in Albert Speer he found the ideal architect.  Noting the dimensions in Hitler’s sketch, Speer responded with something in the spirit of their blueprint for Germania.  Hitler’s planned the rebuilding of Berlin to be complete by 1950, less than ten years after the expected victory in a war which would have made him the master of Europe from the French border to the Ural mountains (things didn’t work out well for him).  While the 50 metre (163 feet) tall Arc de Triomphe presented a monumental appearance and provided a majestic terminus for the Champs Elysees, Speer’s arch stood 117 meters (384 feet) in height but even though obviously substantial, it would have been entirely in scale with the rest of Germania, the whole place built in a way to inspire awe simply by virtue of sheer size.