Unrestricted

Unrestricted (pronounced uhn-ri-strik-tid)

(1) Not restricted or confined.

(2) In the classification of documents, having no security classification.

1766: The construct was un-+ restrict + -ed.  The un- prefix was from the Middle English un-, from the Old English un-, from the Proto-West Germanic un-, from the Proto-Germanic un-, from the primitive Indo-European n̥-.  It was cognate with the Scots un- & on-, the North Frisian ün-, the Saterland Frisian uun-, the West Frisian ûn- &  on-, the Dutch on-, the Low German un- & on-, the German un-, the Danish u-, the Swedish o-, the Norwegian u- and the Icelandic ó-.  It was (distantly) related to the Latin in- and the Ancient Greek ἀ- (a-), source of the English a-, the Modern Greek α- (a-) and the Sanskrit अ- (a-).  The verb restrict was in use by at least the 1530s in the sense of “to limit, bound, confine (someone or something), prevent from passing a certain limit in any kind of action” and was from the Latin restrictus, past participle of restringere (bind fast, restrain) and perfect passive participle of restringō (draw back tightly; restrain, restrict), the construct being re- (back, again) + stringō (press, tighten, compress); as an adjective, it was a doublet of ristretto. By the eighteenth century, the word had come to be regarded as a Scotticism but the infection spread quickly to Standard English.  As the past-participle adjective from restrict (in the sense of “limited, confined”), restricted has become associated with the classification of government documents, in the sense of “not for public release”, use seems not to have been routine until 1944 when a system of classification was codified by the US government.  Prior to that, although restrictions of distribution were common, concepts such as “Restricted to [names or designations]”, “Secret”, “Top Secret” etc were used but there was no standardization within departments or even between branches of the military.  When used as a suffix to form possessional adjectives from nouns, -ed was from the Middle English -ed, from the Old English -od (the adjectival suffix), from the Proto-Germanic -ōdaz, from the primitive Indo-European -ehtos.  It was cognate with the Latin -ātus. 

Glory road: A “Derestricted” sign in Australia's Northern Territory from the days of “no speed limits”.

In use, the older adjectival use was simply “restrict” and although “unrestricted” would seem an absolute (ie something either is restricted or it is not), dictionaries confirm the comparative is “more unrestricted” and the superlative “most unrestricted” although at least one style guide notes those forms can be regarded in a similar way as “very unique” (ie technically incorrect but widely used and well-understood.  The related adverb “restrictedly” was and remains rare.  In the US, well into the twentieth century, the appearance of the word “restricted” in advertisements, signage and such was verbal shorthand for (depending on context and location): “No Jews”, “No coloreds” etc.  Although the words “unrestricted” & “derestricted” describe similar states, different histories are implied and that’s a product of the ways in which the absence of restrictions came about.  Unrestricted means literally “no restrictions” (access to something or somewhere; rights to engage in trade etc).  “Derestricted” means that previously restrictions must have been imposed but those have since been removed.  The use applies to document classifications and in the now rare cases of roads with no speed limits (although some of those were something of a linguistic outlier because in many cases they never had any restrictions to be derestricted.  For obvious reasons, in English, “unrestricted” is the more commonly used form.  Unrestricted, unrestrictive & unrestrictable are adjectives, unrestrictedness is a noun and unrestrictedly is an adverb.

1978 Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL 6.9 on the Northern Territory's derestricted roads.  Although the factory only ever claimed 225 km/h (140 mph), top speed of UK-delivered “Euro spec” 6.9 (ie one not fitted with the power-sapping anti-emission devices fitted to those built for sale in the US or Australia) turned out to be a verified 237 km/h (147 mph) which reflected the experience of European testers who achieved 238 km/h (148 mph) on the German Autobahns.  Unexceptional now, in such pace was in the 1970s a reasonable achievement for a heavy cruiser with pre-modern aerodynamics; at high-speed, the fuel consumption was awe inspiring.    

Idealistic lawyers (they do exist) and others have for centuries argued it is the existence of and adherence to laws which makes possible civilized societies, the alternative often expressed as “the law of the jungle”, best understood in the vernacular “kill or be killed” world in which life of man was “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short”, memorably described in Leviathan (1651) by the very clever and deliciously wicked English philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679).  However, what the lawyers, at least privately, acknowledge is the extent of adherence to laws closely is tied to (1) their enforcement and (2) a layered system of punishments for transgressions.  In domestic legal systems, this is comprehended as the apparatus extending from receiving a fine for overstaying one’s time at a parking meter to being hanged for murder; the existence of laws does not prevent crime but the perception of the chance of detection and the subsequent penalty for many operates as a deterrent and the debates about relationship between certain penalties and their deterrent effect continue.

Mahan's The Influence of Sea Power upon History 1660-1783.  In the last decade of the nineteenth century, probably no book was more read in palaces, chancelleries & admiralties.

In war, although usually the opposing sides have geo-political objectives, for those doing the fighting, historically the business was about killing each other and in practice that of course quickly and understandably came to imply “by whatever means possible” but for many centuries there have been conventions which form of “rules of war”, the most celebrated the various chivalric codes (codified during of the Middle Ages) which sought to regulate the behaviour of soldiers, particularly towards civilians.  However, as US Navy Captain Alfred Mahan (1840–1914) pointed out in the epoch-making The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660–1783 (1890), it’s impossible by mere agreement to outlaw the use of a militarily effective weapon so is it any more plausible for a statute, treaty or agreement to limit “mission creep” in the methods?  Whatever knightly codes may have existed, there seems little doubt that on the battlefield (or the towns subject to rape & pillage) habits do tend towards “unrestricted warfare”, military historians and legal theorists often pondering whether in “existential conflicts”, law reasonably can be expected to retain its intended force.

In what was a rhetorical flourish rather than a substantive legal point, in the dock before the IMT (International Military Tribunal) which in 1945-1946 sat in Nuremberg to try 22 of the surviving senior Nazis, Hermann Göring (1893–1946; leading Nazi 1922-1945, Hitler's designated successor & Reichsmarschall 1940-1945) claimed to be quoting Winston Churchill (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) in citing: “In the struggle for life and death there is in the end no legality.”  Like William Shakespeare (1564–1616), a few phrases have been attributed to Churchill on the basis of “sounding Churchillian” and although there’s nothing in the record to support the case those exact words ever passed his lips, Göring’s paraphrase was not unreasonable.  After the fall of France in 1940, Churchill did make clear his view “there could be no justice if, in a mortal struggle, the aggressor tramples humanity while those resisting remain bound by violated conventions” by which he meant if the Nazis ignored international law, it was an absurdity for the Allies fully to remain constrained by it while fighting for their very survival.  Churchill was not advocating the rejection of established law as a principle; he was saying when a state faces the prospect of destruction at the hand of an enemy ignoring the accepted rules of war, strict legalism must not be allowed to prevent an effective defence.  That wasn’t a novel idea Churchill formed upon assuming the premiership.  Months earlier, when serving as First Lord of the Admiralty (minister for the navy), he’d discussed whether the UK should regard itself still restricted by the legal conventions Germany’s forces were ignoring: “The Germans have torn up the conventions and the usages of war.  We cannot allow ourselves to be bound by rules which the enemy does not observe if by doing so we place our country in mortal danger.”  While not exactly the words used by Göring in the dock, he captured the spirit of Churchill’s meaning.

Lindsay Lohan on the cover of Vogue Arabia, March 2026.  Among the topics raised in discussion about her not uneventful life was “…coming of age in the spotlight in a time of unrestricted paparazzi access and near-constant tabloid scrutiny.”

Of course on 15 March 1946, borrowing the thoughts of “…one of our greatest, most important, and toughest opponents…” to support his argument modern, industrial, total war had rendered irrelevant traditional legal restraints, he was still harbouring the (faint) hope he might escape the noose and thus has a good motive in seeking to undermine the moral authority of the tribunal by suggesting even Churchill had acknowledged that in existential war, legal rules collapse.  This was not the construction of legal theory in the abstract, just as Churchill was explaining the pragmatic nature of military necessity because as he pointed out: “without victory there is no survival” and were the UK unilaterally to obey the rules while its opponents did not, the nation might lose the war.  Neither man ever sought to maintain that in war laws vanish, only that as demanded in extraordinary and reprehensible circumstances, they may need to be ignored.  Essentially, Churchill was asserting he wasn’t prepared to behave with the propriety of Caesar’s wife while Göring cavorted with Caesar’s whores; with that the Reichmarshall gleefully would have agreed and although his hopes the tribunal might find his paraphrased defence exculpatory were by then faint indeed, he still had an eye on the figure he hoped to cut in the history books.  

The doctrine of military necessity of course dates from the first time some prehistoric character picked up a stick or rock to gain tactical advantage in an argument and despite the various codes of warfare promulgated over millennia by philosophers, priests and politicians, that doctrine survived into the age of musketry and later, atomic bombs.  It’s the Prussian general and military theorist Carl von Clausewitz (1780–1831) who often is quoted because, with his commendable economy of phrase, succinctly he explained why necessity so often prevails over legality in existential war.  In On War (1832), he observed “War is an act of force, and there is no logical limit to the application of that force” and, anticipating the idealists, added: “Kind-hearted people might of course think there was some ingenious way to disarm or defeat an enemy without too much bloodshed… Pleasant as it sounds, it is a fallacy.”  What Clausewitz called Kriegsräson (necessity in war) meant in practice was (1) war has an inherent tendency toward escalation, because each side must use whatever means are necessary to defeat the other and (2) “arms races” will tend to ensue.

Imperial Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg in field uniform including the famous Prussian Pickelhaube (spiked helmet, the construct being Pickel (pimple, pickaxe) +‎ Haube (hood, cap)), Berlin, 1915.  Even when serving as chancellor (prime minister) von Bethmann Hollweg sometimes wore military uniform; Germans adore uniforms (note the jackboots).

Later in the century, German military jurists expressed this logic through the principle Kriegsräson geht vor Kriegsmanier (military necessity overrides the customary rules of war) by which they meant the laws and customs of war could be followed only to the extent adherence did not impose an unacceptable military cost; if survival (and in practice: “immediate advantage”) demanded those rules be violated, necessity prevails.  What was at the time the most outrageous admission of the application of the doctrine came in 1914 after Germany violated Belgium’s neutrality and was delivered by Theobald von Bethmann Hollweg (1856–1921) who between 1909-1917 served as one of a series of inadequate replacements of Otto von Bismarck (1815-1989; chancellor of the German Empire (the “Second Reich”) 1871-1890); imperial chancellor of the German Empire 1909-1917).  In what must remain among the more ill-advised statements delivered by a politician, von Bethmann Hollweg on 4 August 1914 stood in the Reichstag (lower house of the imperial parliament) and explained to assembled members the German war-plan required the army marching Belgium to attack France and that Germany being a signatory to the Treaty of London (1839) which guaranteed Belgium’s neutrality had been rendered irrelevant by military necessity, the always quoted passage being: “We are violating international law, but necessity knows no law.”  Not all historians agree Realpolitik held a greater fascination for Germans than others but for students of the art, the chancellor’s speech appears in just about every text-book on the subject.  Warming to his theme, when the British ambassador to Germany protested the violation, von Bethmann Hollweg responded it would be an absurdity were Britain to go to war “just for a scrap of paper” (that scrap being the treaty the Germans had in 1839 signed as co-guarantors of Belgian neutrality).  That cynical turn of phrase was echoed a generation later when, under cross-examination in the dock at Nuremberg, Göring almost gloatingly admitted he and the other leading Nazis had regarded the many treaties they’d signed as “just so much toilet paper.”

Like many a defendant, the defrocked Reichmarshall was at times evasive or dissembling but on the matter of the regime’s attitude to treaties, he was truthful.  A highlight of the 50^th birthday celebration for Joachim von Ribbentrop (1893–1946; Minister of Foreign Affairs of Nazi Germany 1938-1945) had been the presentation to the minister of a diamond-studded casket containing facsimiles of all the treaties he had signed during (his admittedly busy if not productive) tenure.  When one of his aides remarked that there were only “a few treaties we had not broken”, Ribbentrop was briefly uncertain how to react until he saw “…Hitler’s eyes filled with tears of laughter.”  It was said to be a good party which must have been welcome because by 1943 there wasn't much to celebrate in Berlin.  Like Göring, Ribbentrop, was convicted on all four counts (planning aggressive war, waging aggressive war, war crimes & crimes against humanity) and sentenced to be hanged; his life did end on the gallows, unlike Göring who, in circumstances never explained, cheated the hangman by taking poison.

Periscope cam: Footage of USN submarine strike on the Iranian Navy’s frigate IRIS Dena (released by the Pentagon (unclassified)).

One of the intriguing legal matters explored before the IMT was the matter of the lawfulness of “unrestricted submarine warfare” and those discussions were recalled when, early in March, 2026, the Pentagon announced a USN (US Navy) submarine had torpedoed and sunk the Iranian Navy’s IRIS Dena (a Moudge-class frigate) with the loss of more than half the ship’s compliment of 130-odd.  Pete Hegseth (b 1980; US Secretary of Defense (and War) since 2025) described the act as one of “quiet death” although that was a reference to the torpedo’s stealthy approach rather than the explosions which doomed ship and crew.  It was the USN’s first sinking of an enemy warship by torpedo since World War II (1939-1945) and because (1) the US and Iran undeniably are in a “state of armed conflict” (any legal distinction between that and “war” as traditionally defined ceasing decades earlier much to matter), (2) the Dena was a warship and (3) the action took place in international waters, the attack doubtlessly was within the rules of war and the reaction of Tehran in branding it an “atrocity at sea” was a political rather than legal claim.

Defendants in the dock, Nuremberg, 1946.  All were guilty of something and a dozen were sentenced to be hanged (including one in absentia) but the IMT acquitted three who subsequently were prosecuted by German courts.

What however remains of interest is the recent change in tactics by the US which now uses military-level missiles to target and sink what appear to be civilian vessels from Central America, the White House claiming the boats are being used to smuggle narcotics.  When considering the lawfulness of “unrestricted submarine warfare”, the IMT in 1946 held that while international law did limit the conduct of navies in their interactions with non-military (ie merchant craft, fishing boats etc) vessels, because the British merchantmen were from the beginning of the war armed and captains had been ordered by the Admiralty to if possible ram U-boats, they were not entitled to the warning provisions of the protocol.  Beyond that, with reference to the failure on the part of German U-boat (submarine) commanders to rescue their shipwrecked victims, the tribunal observed:

“The evidence further shows that the rescue provisions [of the Protocol] were not carried out and that the defendant [Großadmiral Karl Dönitz (1891–1980; head of the German Navy 1943-1945, German head of state 1945)] ordered that they not be carried out.  The argument of the defense is that the security of the submarine is, as the first rule of the sea, paramount to rescue and that the development of aircraft made rescue impossible.  This may be so, but the Protocol is explicit.  If the commander cannot rescue, then under its terms he cannot sink a merchant vessel and should allow it to pass harmless before his periscope.  These orders, then, prove Doenitz is guilty of a violation of the Protocol.”  Had the judgement at that point ended the legal position would have been clear in that having at least tacitly conceded the defense’s point that rescue was no longer practicable in light of the limitations of the submarine and modern technological developments, the use of submarines as commerce destroyers would have been deemed against international law.  However Doenitz’s counsel introduced evidence (including affidavits from Allied admirals) that the USN & Royal Navy had from the outbreak of hostilities also practiced the “unrestricted submarine warfare” of which the Germans were being accused and this was not a classic Tu quoque gambit (in international law, a justification of action based on an assertion that the act with which the accused is charged was also committed by the accusing parties.  It was from the Latin Tū quoque (translated literally as “thou also” and latterly as “you also”; the translation in the vernacular is something like “you did it too”, thus the legal slang “youtooism” & “whataboutyouism”)).  What counsel argued was that in practicing “unrestricted submarine warfare”, all navies were acting in accordance with international law because such law makes sense only if it is cognizant of the prevailing circumstances (ie reality).  The IMT’s judgement in the Doenitz case was difficult to read (it was only later it was revealed to have been written by a judge who voted for his acquittal) but what it said was (1) the defendant had violated the protocols which were the rules of international law as they at the time stood but (2) the nature of total war had so changed the reality of war at sea that those protocols were no longer law, rendered obsolete and thus defunct.  That was as close as the tribunal came to allowing a tu quoque defense.

Unclassified footage released by the Pentagon of one of dozens of strikes on alleged “narco-terrorist” boats by US Southern Command.  The video included a message from Secretary of War Pete Hegseth: “TO ALL NARCO-TERRORISTS WHO THREATEN OUT HOMELAND - IF YOU WANT TO STAY ALIVE, STOP TRAFFICKING DRUGS.”  As far as is known, in all cases of these strikes, all on board the boats were killed.

So, while the US military (and for this purpose that includes the Coast Guard, National Guard etc) have a free hand to attack on the high seas warships of a hostile combatant, does the doctrine of “unrestricted warfare” extend to civilian vessels allegedly being used for unlawful activities?  Legal scholars have explored this novel development (something genuinely new and introduced during the second administration of Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025)) and the consensus seems to be sinking manned civilian vessel with missiles as an instance in peacetime law enforcement is of dubious legality unless strict conditions are met.  The first thing to consider is whether it’s a matter of (1) peacetime law enforcement in international waters (something governed by the UNCLOS (United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea)), customary international law and any bilateral interdiction agreements and thus a criminal matter rather than an act of war or (2) armed conflict at sea (and thus coming under the laws of naval warfare) which depends of a “state of armed conflict” existing between sovereign states.

However, whichever is held to be operative, as a general principle, civilian vessels are protected from missile attacks and enjoy freedom of navigation (certainly on the high seas); forces from warships may board, inspect, and arrest, but not arbitrarily destroy and under the UNCLOS there are explicit provisions under which a warship can stop a vessel suspected of statelessness or certain crimes but use of force must be necessary and proportionate.  Conceptionally, the notion of “proportionality” is little different from what is the domestic law of many states concerning matters such as self-defense: (1) there is no reasonable alternative and (2) force must not exceed what is needed to achieve a lawful objective.  Because these are events happening “on the water” there are also “graduations” in the use of force which are unique to the nautical environment including signals and warnings, maneuvering to compel a stop, warning shots (the classic “shot across the bows”) and disabling fire.  When civilian vessels are involved, historically, only in extremis (presenting a clear & present threat) would lethal force be deemed appropriate.  In other words, using missiles, without warning, to sink a civilian vessel would, in the context of law enforcement, be thought “disproportionate” especially if the crew’s lives are put at serious risk (inherent in missile attacks).  That’s all based on the precept that whether on land or at sea, states are expected to respect the right to life under international human rights law.  Because the adoption of this technique was so sudden, legal theorists are still working through the implications but it would appear an extension of the concept of “unrestricted warfare” beyond military targets.

Birdcage

Birdcage (pronounced burd-keyj)

(1) A cage for confining birds (built traditionally with wire or wicker and used also as bird cage & bird-cage).

(2) Something that in form (at any scale) resembles (even vaguely) the construction of a birdcage.

(3) In aviation industry slang, the airspace over an airport and the aircraft there in flight.

(4) An area on a racecourse where horses parade before a race (“paddock” preferred in US use).

(5) In US slang, a used-car lot (now rare).

1480–1490: The construct was bird + cage.  Bird was a pre-900 form, from the Middle English byrd, from the Old English bridd & brid (which in the Northumbrian dialect was “bird”) (young bird, chick; feathered, warm-blooded vertebrate animal of the class Aves).  The Old English bird was an unusual collateral form of bridd and originally meant “young bird, nestling” whereas the typical Old English for bird was fugol, related to the noun fowl, of uncertain origin with no known cognates in any other Germanic language (speculated links to umlaut dismissed by etymologists).  Because birds are a creature doubtlessly noticed and in some form named by people since the early days of human evolution, it’s not surprising it believed variants in Middle English may go back to “an ancient period”.  From the early to mid-fourteenth century, “bird” increasingly supplanted “fowl” as the most common term.

Cage dates from 1175–1225 and was from the Middle English cage (and the earlier forms kage & gage), from the Old French cage (prison; retreat, hideout), from the Latin cavea (hollow place, enclosure for animals, coop, hive, stall, dungeon, spectators' seats in a theatre), the construct being cav(us) (hollow) + -ea, the feminine of -eus (the adjectival suffix); a doublet of cadge and related to jail.  The Latin cavea was the source also of the Italian gabbia (basket for fowls, coop).  The noun (box-like receptacle or enclosure, with open spaces, made of wires, reeds etc) typically described the barred-boxes used for confining domesticated birds or wild beasts was the first form and from circa 1300 was used in English to describe “a cage for prisoners, jail, prison, a cell”.  To “rattle someone's cage” is to upset or anger them, based on the reaction from imprisoned creatures (human & animal) to the noise made by shaking their cages.  The noun bird-cage (also birdcage) was in the late fifteenth century formed to describe a "portable enclosure for birds", as distinct from the static cages which came to be called aviaries.  The verb (to confine in a cage, to shut up or confine) dates from the 1570s and was derived from the noun.  The synonyms for the verb include crate, enclosure, jail, pen, coop up, corral, fold, mew, pinfold, pound, confine, enclose, envelop, hem, immure, impound, imprison, incarcerate, restrain & close-in.  Cage is a noun, verb and (occasional) adjective, caged & caging are verbs (used with object) and constructions include cage-less, cage-like, re-cage; the noun plural is cages.  Birdcage is a noun; the noun plural is birdcages.

The term gilded cage (often heard in the form “trapped in a gilded cage” describes a place (or situation) which superficially is attractive but is in some way constraining; a comfortable but confined situation.  The point of the “gilded cage” is the “effective confinement” is achieved not by the “cage” but by the unwillingness of the confined to relinquish the luxury of their “gilded lifestyle”; it’s thus a self-imposed “imprisonment”, certain comfort valued more than the uncertainties of freedom.  The term is thought to have been coined by the writers of the popular song A Bird in a Gilded Cage (1900).  History (some of it recent) is littered with examples of those “trapped in a gilded cage” and overwhelming they’re well-bred women, compelled for various reasons (dynastic, financial, political etc) to marry someone not of their choice.  A classic example of the adage “for everything you do there’s a price to be paid”, the best documented are the most miserable but the phenomenon is an illustration of the way what ultimately matters is not the situation in which one finds oneself but how one reacts.

Consuelo Vanderbilt (circa 1900), oil on canvas by Paul César Helleu (1859–1927).

Consuelo Vanderbilt (1877-1964) was the most illustrious of the American “dollar princesses” who crossed the Atlantic to marry increasingly impoverished members of the British aristocracy.  Unhappily (and tearfully), aged 18, she became Duchess of Marlborough, diligently and dutifully (for a while) fulfilling the role her father’s money had purchased.  The French painter Paul César Helleu was noted for his portraits of society women of the Belle Époque and, working on commission, he was not above flattery but there’s no doubt he captured the beauty of the slender Consuelo and they may have had had an affair, a diversion not uncommon among dollar princesses chaffing against the bars of their gilded cage.  While in the history texts most in gilded cages are there because they led tortured, unhappy lives, there were some who resolved to “make the best of things” and just try to enjoy the gild: taking the rough with the smooth as it were.  F Scott Fitzgerald (1896–1940) in The Great Gatsby (1925) described Daisy Buchanan as a “golden girl” who had opted for the security of marrying money and was thus consigned to life as a “beautiful little fool” in a “gilded cage of class and gender politics.”  There are worse ways to live and as George Bernard Shaw (GBS; 1856-1950) observed, while money may not buy happiness, surely it is better to be miserable and rich than miserable and poor.   

Lindsay Lohan in The Birdcage, Flemington Racecourse, Melbourne, Victoria, Spring Carnival Derby Day, 2 November, 2019.

The origin of the curious use of “birdcage” to describe the enclosed area where horses are saddled and walked before and after a race lies in an architectural analogy, the space enclosed traditionally by light iron railings, often decorative, painted white and closely spaced.  Spectators standing beyond the perimeter looked at the horses, much as one looks at birds inside an aviary; the metaphor thus “perspectival”.  In truth, the usually the circular or polygonal enclosure didn’t really resemble a large ornamental cage but the construction of the ironwork did recall the sides of a “birdcage” although obviously there was no need exactly to replicate the design, horses being unable, Pegasus-like, to “fly away”.  The term remains in common use in the UK, Australia and New Zealand where it had become part of the “social scene” of race days, the photographs published on society pages or Instagram often taken from “the birdcage”; at some tracks the spectator area has been remodelled for exactly that purpose with appropriate promotional backdrops.  In North America, used of “birdcage” in this context is rare, “paddock” the preferred term.

A similar linguistic adaptation was the “bullpen” (in baseball, an enclosed area for pitchers to practice in or “warm up”), the word possibly borrowed from rodeos where it literally was the (well-fenced) holding area for bulls.  In baseball, “bullpen” became a collective noun for pitchers and functioned as a synecdoche.  From the sport, it spread and came to be used figuratively to describe (1) “a place for someone or something to get prepared for some purpose” and (2) a military prison or its enclosing stockade.  Some decades after bullpen entered the vernacular of the sport, leagues were formed for women’s baseball and although in ranching the term “cowpen” (fenced area for holding cows) was well-known, baseball sensibly decided its nomenclature etymologically was detached from biological sex so assembled female pitchers also warmed-up in a bullpen and despite a recent trend towards gender-neutrality in sporting terminology, “bullpen” survived as fossilized baseball jargon.  Linguistically uncontroversial in the sport was “birdcage mask” which was the protective mask worn by catchers, the “birdcage element” referring to the thick wire structure protecting the face while still permitting adequate vision.

Lindsay Lohan (birdcage scene), Rumors (Official Music Video) from Speak (2004).

The origin of the use in baseball is contested although all seem to agree it came into use very early in the twentieth century.  One explanation is that by then it had become common for late-coming spectators to be cordoned off in a “standing room” area in “foul territory” (to the sides of the field where any ball hit was deemed “out of bounds”) and, noting the laggards were “herded like cattle”, “bullpen” was borrowed from the rodeo.  When those areas were re-purposed as the pitchers warm-up space, the designation stuck and the notion relief pitchers were once viewed “bullish” in temperament is thought one of baseball’s many myths.  An alternative theory is the use was at least influenced by the outfield fences at baseball grounds once often displaying advertisements for Bull Durham tobacco and in front of these relief pitchers would wait to be called into play and the use was thus associated with the billboards but for this there’s no documentary evidence. 

The Berghof, circa 1940.

By definition, a birdcage is of course “something in which one keeps one’s pet bird” but they can be also, certainly in their more elaborate forms, a decorative piece of furniture, a symbol of domesticity in the same way George Orwell (1903-1950) in Keep the Aspidistra Flying (1936) used the Aspidistra plant as an identifier of the middle-class though in fairness to the reputation of the perennial herbaceous plant, their popularity in English houses owed much to them being among the species most tolerant of the sometimes smoky atmosphere in an era when coal and wood burned on open fireplaces was a common form of heating.  They were thus an ideal house plant, being tolerant of neglect and suited to shade while their luxuriant growth meant they were effective oxygenators of air high in CO₂.  

Art Nouveau brass birdcage on conforming tripod stand.  The piece featured a domed tops, lift-out trays, swing perch and two small bird-seed feeders.

Tough, the Aspidistra wasn’t exactly “unkillable” but one really had to try and the plants thus were for generations something of a middle class fixture; it was in this sense Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945), in his (sometimes reliable) memoir Erinnerungen (Memories or Reminiscences) and published in English as Inside the Third Reich (1969) noted the birdcage in Adolf Hitler’s (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) country house, some years before it was enlarged in the sprawling complex centred on the Berghof:  “After Berchtesgaden came the steep mountain road full of potholes, until we arrived at Hitler's small, pleasant wooden house on Obersalzberg.  It had a wide overhanging roof and modest interior: a dining room, a small living room, and three bedrooms. The furniture was bogus old-German peasant style and gave the house a comfortable petit-bourgeois look.  A brass canary cage, a cactus, and a rubber plant intensified this impression. There were swastikas on knickknacks and pillows embroidered by admiring women, combined with, say, a rising sun or a vow of ‘eternal loyalty.’  Hitler commented to me with some embarrassment: ‘I know these are not beautiful things, but many of them are presents.  I shouldn't like to part with them.’”  Speer made no mention of a canary or any other bird sitting in the cage and nor is there a reference in contemporary accounts; that is in keeping with Hitler’s known views on how animals should be treated and while his attitudes to humanity proved reprehensible, those on wildlife were quite enlightened.

Art Deco birdcage.

Although there’s obviously some functional overlap, as well as birdcages, there are birdhouses, coops, aviaries, pigeon lofts.  A birdhouse is a “small house” for birds (and known also as a nest box).  Made usually of wood and mounted somewhere the residents will be protected from ground-dwelling predators, birdhouses are outdoor structures designed not to imprison wild birds but provide them a shelter where they can build nests.  A coop (in this context) is a place where birds are kept but while a birdcage is for a household pet, a coup is for productive (egg-laying and sometimes feathers or meat) birds and are enclosures built outside, partially enclosed (“chicken coops” the best known).  The word aviary has a wide vista and can be anything from a relatively small structure housing two or more birds to vast zoo-like areas in which there may be a mix of captive and wild creatures.  A pigeon loft (known also as a dovecote) is a specialized type of birdhouse, often placed on a building’s roof or other elevated spot in which domestic pigeons are bred and housed, usually for use in the sport of pigeon racing; the element “loft” tends to be used irrespective of the location of the structure.  A synonym was columbarium, from the Latin columbārium, the construct being columb(a) (pigeon) +‎ -ārium (place for) and because the sport became popular among the aristocracy of the Ancien Régime (circa 1500-1789) in France, the construction of columbaria because something of a contest (al la the “size race” in luxury yachts between today’s billionaires) and architects were engaged to design large, elaborate structures, sometimes emulating the style of the owner’s chateau.

Birdcaged: An airliner's dimmed cabin.

In the airline industry, “birdcaging” is a term which has come into vogue among passengers; it describes the request from cabin crew to close window blinds or (in aircraft configured with electronically dimmable windows) turn down the settings.  Apparently, if passengers don’t conform, the staff will enforce the onset of darkness.  Theories have circulated on the sites where disgruntled passengers complain about the antics of airlines (they are most active sites) with the most popular suggestion being it’s an attempt to keep the cabin’s environment “subdued”, encouraging “better behaviour”.  The airlines seem not to have commented and “birdcaging” is neither acknowledged industry jargon nor admitted to be any company’s policy.  Flight attendants have however taken to TikTok to subdue the debate, claiming airlines “encourage” the dimming to created “a comfortable environment for those who wish to sleep”.  Those keeping birds in cages will note the calming effect of placing a shroud over the wires, emulating night-time.  At least one flight attendant did concede: “I will say this does affect the calmness of the cabin, but that is not the reason we do this.”  From all this, bird-caged passengers will draw their own conclusions.

Coming maybe within a decade to economy class near you: A depiction of a  “windowless” airliner.

Whether windows will continue to be fitted to passenger aircraft isn’t clear because the manufacturers have been attempting to tempt decision-makers (Flexjet in 2025 signed a contract to buy 300 of Otto’s Phantom 3500 nine-seat executive jets) with windowless winged tubes, outside views (or anything else) emulated with shaped-screens which form part of the cabin lining.  The manufacturers say eliminating the windows will make airframes lighter, stronger and cheaper to produce.  It would also lower running costs and emissions because (1) even with flush-fitting fittings, there is some drag induced by the window frames and (2) the heat-soak from sunlight means more energy has to be expended to maintain cabin temperatures.  Additionally, without windows, passengers will be less exposed to radiation and although not many would fly frequently enough for the effect to be measured, it would benefit cabin crew.  Depending on what’s displayed on the screens, the experience could be surreal or hyper-realistic because HD (high-definition) cameras mounted in the fuselage enable the display (using seamless OLED (organic light-emitting diode) panels of a more expansive vista than is possible through a small window.  For now, although flight attendants would probably prefer passengers to be sedated upon taking their seats, bird-caging us will likely remain plan B.

C3 Chevrolet Corvette T-Top birdcage.

From its debut in 1953, the Chevrolet Corvette’s body has always been made from non-steel composite materials ranging from simple GRP (glass-reinforced plastic and better known as fiberglass) to materials of increasing complexity so rust has never afflicted the external panels but beneath all those curves and angels is much vulnerable ferrous metal including the frame and “birdcage”, the latter an object of veneration or despair, depending on its condition.  A crucial component in the overall strength and structure of some Corvettes, the birdcage was first integrated into the design when the C2 (1962-1967) was released and the same concept was used for the C3 (1968-1982): a reinforced frame surrounding the cabin, the nickname from the overall shape which vaguely recalled a birdcage.  Similar in outline to the “safety cell” for which Mercedes-Benz was in 1952 granted Patent 854157 (rigid passenger cell with front and rear crumple zones), the birdcage consisted of boxed steel channels with pillars running from the base of the windshield (A-pillars), along the rear of the cabin, and down to the frame kick-up behind the seats.  Although not really a complex piece of engineering, the fact that so integral to the car is the structure, for extensive repairs to be performed considerable disassembly is required and the cost of out-sourcing such a task often can exceed the value of the car; economics thus suggest it’s usually advisable to find a car with birdcage in sound condition, repairs often financially viable only if the car is rare (ie with a highly desirable specification or even a celebrity association).  A visual inspection is best left to experts because unless it has just emerged from a comprehensive restoration, the birdcages on all C2 & C3 Corvettes will have at least some light, surface rust but it can take an expert eye to tell the difference between that and rot which demands attention.  Fortunately, the Corvette community is vibrant with publications and on-line guides detailing the features & foibles of the structure.

Troubled birdcage: Rusted C3 windshield frame left-lower outer corner (left) and a replacement corner component (1968-1972) @ US$199.00 from Corvette Central.

On both the C2 & C3, there were two variants of the design, one for the coupe (T-top in the C3) and the one for the roadster (the last such C3 made in 1975) but all shared the susceptibility to rust, especially if used in areas with high salt-exposure (coastal regions or places where the stuff was spread on icy roads) and the part most often affected severely was the “Windshield Frame Lower Outer Corners”, replacement sections available and in two different versions for the C3, reflecting the design changes in the post 1973 cars.  However, while the birdcage's most afflicted components, the windshield frame’s outer corners are not unique and the hinge pillars & lock pillars (including the body mount at the bottom) also are notably rust-prone.

C4 Corvette structure diagram from Mobile Web-Cars.

To call what was used on the C4 Corvette (1984-1996) a “birdcage” was a bit of a gray area because although routinely so described, materially and structurally it was quite different from the classic template set by the C2 & C3.  What was carried over was welded steel structure surrounding the windshield frame, A-pillars, roof rails, B-pillars and rear window frame which created a defined passenger safety cell distinct from the outer composite body panels so it seems reasonable still to use the term but the C4 did not have a “stand-alone” frame onto which the body was mounted, the “birdcage” being an integral part of the frame.  There were a number of design imperatives which dictated the path chosen for the C4 and it was built with a uniframe in which front and rear frame sections were integrated, thereby providing greater rigidity so no longer was the “birdcage” a kind of bolted-on” internal scaffold but an inherent part of the whole.  The C4 was the last Corvette in which something recognizably “birdcagesque” would appear.

Chevrolet’s technical rendering of the C8’s structure.  In engineering, materials science and computing, much has advanced since 1962.

However, the structural integrity the birdcage in 1962 provided needed still to be achieved but the “brute-force” approach of the C2-C3-C4 era was replaced with more advanced techniques and by the time the mid-engined C8 was released in 2019, the platform structurally would have been unrecognizable to anyone familiar with the earlier generations.  The C8 is built around a core element (the so-called “backbone” or “spine”) which can be visualized as a large aluminum tunnel running down the centre of the car and from this the chassis gains its primary torsional stiffness; it was something like bringing the chassis of the 1962 Lotus Elan into the modern age.  The body panels are almost all non-structural and while there is (as is now universal) a reinforced “safety cell” around the cabin, this is protection of occupants in the event of an “impact incident” (better known as a “crash”).

The Birdcage: The Maserati Tipo 60/61 (chassis #2549, clothed & exposed).

Upon released in late 1962, the structure in the C2 Corvette gained the nickname “birdcage” because of the shape but before that, there was the Maserati “Birdcage”, the Tipo 60/61 (1959-1961) so dubbed because it departed from the typical approach of those building space fames in that instead of relatively few, thick tubes and sections, Maserati used many more but they were slender.  Observers were much taken with the apparent delicacy of the construction and although the engineers assured all the intricate latticework of some 200 chromoly steel tubes (welded often in triangulated form in the points of highest stress) was a design delivering both lightness and rigidity to match the more robust-looking creations.  Those admiring the intricacy were struck more by the resemblance to the thin wires of birdcages.  

Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR (W196S, upper) & 300 SL (W198, lower).

One of the reasons the Maserati’s skeleton looked so delicate was that the space-frame had become associated with Teutonic-flavored construction like that used by Mercedes-Benz for its 300 SL & 300 SLR.  Both shared the same method of construction but despite the names and the visual similarity between the two, there were few common components beyond the nuts, bolts & screws.  The 300 SL (W198; 1954-1963) was a road car while the SLR (W196S; 1955) was a lengthened version of the W196R Formula One Grand Prix car with a sexy body and an enlarged (though somewhat detuned) straight-eight engine; in the sport, it would be the last of the straight-8s.

Scale model of Maserati Typo 60/61 Birdcage by CMC.

The final and most remarkable Maserati birdcage was Tipo 63 Birdcage which featured a mid-mounted 3.0 litre V12.  The Tipo 60 & 61 used front-mounted four-cylinder engines in displacements of 2.0 & 2.9 litres and although there were problems which never wholly were solved (although the reliability did over time improved), the platform enjoyed some success because its forgiving nature lent it excellent handling characteristics and in long-distance events, the lack of power was somewhat offset by the modest fuel consumption and relative low tyre wear, time not spent in the pits as valuable as seconds shaved off lap-times.  Unlike some of its competitors, Maserati did not have the financial resources to “keep up with the times” and develop from scratch a mid-engined sports car so the factory took the approach familiar to many an American engineer and hot-rodder: put in a bigger engine.

1961 Maserati Birdcage Typo 63.  Although installing the V12 didn’t realize the hope-for success, the car will always have a place in the annals of “great moments in exhaust systems”.

Actually, the V12 wasn’t that much bigger than the largest of the four cylinder units used but, with a pedigree beginning with a brief (though unsuccessful) career in the Maserati 250F Grand Prix car, it certainly delivered more power.  Because it was a “relatively” simple matter of blending an existing engine and existing platform, the project quickly was accomplished and Maserati had a mid-engined car on the grid before anyone else and one which could top 305 km/h (190 mph) on long straights.  Unfortunately, placing the big lump of a V12 to the rear upset the Birdcage’s fine balance although one did place fourth in the 1961 Le Mans 24 Hours endurance classic (a place where a 190 mph top speed was unusually valuable), a result which proved to be the marque’s high-water mark in the famous event.

Heptadecaphobia

Heptadecaphobia (pronounced hepp-tah-dech-ah-foh-bee-uh)

Fear of the number 17.

1700s: The construct was the Ancient Greek δεκαεπτά (dekaepta) (seventeen) + φόβος (phobos).  The alternative form is septadecaphobia, troubling some the purists because they regard it as a Greek-Latin mongrel, the construct being the Latin septem (seven) + deca, from the Latin decas (ten), from the Ancient Greek δεκάς (dekás) (ten) + the Ancient Greek φόβος) (phobos) (fear).  Heptadecaphobia deconstructs as hepta- “seven” + deca (ten) + phobos.  The suffix -phobia (fear of a specific thing; hate, dislike, or repression of a specific thing) was from the New Latin, from the Classical Latin, from the Ancient Greek -φοβία (-phobía) and was used to form nouns meaning fear of a specific thing (the idea of a hatred came later).  Heptadecaphobia, heptadecaphobist, heptadecaphobism, heptadecaphobiac and heptadecaphobe are nouns, heptadecaphobic is a noun & adjective and heptadecaphobically is an adverb; the common (sic) noun plural is heptadecaphobes and they should number 59 million-odd (the population of Italy).

Morphologically, “heptadecaphilliac” is possible but is clumsy and unnecessary, the standard noun agent (-phile) rendering it redundant and although used, not all approve of the suffix -phobiac because it’s a later hybrid formation from modern English and thus judged “less elegant”.  The opposite condition (a great fondness for 17) is the noun heptadecaphilia, those with the condition being Heptadecaphiles, the derived words following the conventions used with heptadecaphobia.  Whether any of the derived forms have much (or ever) been used beyond lists asserting they exist (which, except as abstractions, may be dubious) is unlikely but concerned Italians should note the noun heptadecaphobist would seem to imply doctrinal adherence rather than suffering the fear.  Still, it’s there if the need exists for precision in one’s behavioural descriptors.  Modern English constructions (like heptadecaphobia) built from Greek morphemes are neo-classical” compounds rather than a “proper” words from the Ancient Greek and while some amuse or appal the classicists, in practice, variations in suffix-use have long be tolerated.

No fear of 17: Sydney Sweeney (b 1997) in photo-shoot for Frankies Bikini Collection, Seventeen magazine, March 2023.

In Classical Greek, the cardinal number 17 was ἑπτακαίδεκα (heptakaídeka; literally “seven-and-ten”) but the Ancients were as adept as us at clipping for convenience and the variant ἑπταδέκα (heptadéka; literally “seven-ten”) also exists in surviving texts.  The shorter element embedded in heptadecaphobia corresponds to heptadeca- (from ἑπταδέκα) and genuinely that is Classical Greek, although, on the basis of the count from what documents are extant, it was less common than ἑπτακαίδεκα. The latter-day hybridization was inevitable because, as far as in known, “seventeen” had not before been used as a combining stem in compounds.  In English, the convention in neoclassical formation tends the sequence: (1) take the cardinal form, (2) drop the inflection and (3) treat it as a stem, thus the construct heptadeca + phobia, familiar to structuralists in the more common triskaidekaphobia which uses the Greek tris-kai-deka (“three and ten”) despite in genuine Greek morphology, compounds being not usually directly from ἑπταδέκα as a bound stem.  It’s better to follow modern practice rather than try to conjure something “classically pure” because although one could argue heptakaidekaphobia (closer to ἑπτακαίδεκα) is a better tribute to Antiquity, as well as being historically unattested, it’s phonetically cumbersome which seems a worse linguistic sin.

Just because a “fear of a number” is listed somewhere as a “phobia” doesn’t mean the condition has much of a clinical history or even that a single case is to be found in the literature; many may have been coined just for linguistic fun and students in classics departments have been set assessment questions like “In Greek, construct the word meaning “fear of the number 71” (the correct answer being “hebdomekontahenophobia”).  Some are well documented such as tetraphobia (fear of 4) which is so prevalent in East Asia it compelled BMW to revise the release strategy of the “4 Series” cars and triskaidekaphobia (fear of 13) which has such a history in the West it’s common still for hotels not to have a 13^th floor or rooms which include “13”, something which in the pre-digital age was a charming quirk but when things were computerized added a needless complication.  The use of the actual number is important because in such a hotel the “14^th” floor is (in the architectural sense) of course the 13^th but there’s little to suggest there’s ever been resistance from guests being allocated room 1414.

Some number phobias are quite specific: Rooted in the folklore of Australian cricket is a supposed association of the number 87 with something bad (typically a batter (DEI (diversity, equity & inclusion) means they're no longer "batsmen") being dismissed) although it seems purely anecdotal and more than one statistical analysis (cricket is all about numbers) has concluded there's nothing “of statistical significance” to be found and there’s little to suggest players take the matter seriously.  One English umpire famously had “a routine” associated with the score reaching a “repunit” (a portmanteau (or blended) word, the construct being re(eated) +‎ unit) (eg 111, 222, 333 etc) but that was more fetish than phobia.

No fear of 17: Lindsay Lohan appeared on the covers of a number of issues of Seventeen magazine.  Targeted at the female market (age rage 12-18), the US edition of Seventeen is now predominately an on-line publication, printed only as irregular "special, stand-alone issues" but a number of editions in India and the Far East continue in the traditional format. 

Other illustrative number phobias include oudenophobia (fear of 0), (trypophobia (fear of holes) said to sometimes be the companion condition), henophobia (fear of 1) (which compels sufferer to avoid being associated with “doing something once”, being the “first in the group” etc), heptaphobia (fear of 7) (cross-culturally, a number also with many positive associations), eikosiheptaphobia (fear of 27) (a pop-culture thing which arose in the early 1970s when a number of rock stars, at 27, died messy, drug-related deaths), tessarakontadyophobia (fear of 42) (which may have spiked in patients after the publication of Douglas Adams’ (1952–2001) Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (1979-1992), enenekontenneaphobia (fear of 99) (thought not related to the Get Smart TV series of the 1960s), tetrakosioeikosiphobia (fear of 420) (the syndrome once restricted to weed-smokers in the US but long internationalized), the well-documented hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia (fear of 666), heftakosioitessarakontaheptaphobia (fear of 747) (though with the withdrawal from passenger service of the tough, reliable (four engines and made of metal) Boeing 747 and its replacement with twin-engined machines made increasingly with composites and packed with lithium-ion batteries, a more common fear may be “not flying on a 747”, most common among heftakosioitessarakontaheptaphiles).  Enniakosioihendecaphobia (fear of 911) was, in the US, probably a co-morbidity with tetrakosioeikosiphobia but it may also have afflicted also those with a bad experience of a pre-modern Porsche 911 (1963-) which, in inexpert hands, could behave as one would expect of a very powerful Volkswagen Beetle, the most acute cases manifesting as triskaidekaphobia (fear of 930, that number being the internal designation for the original 911 Turbo (1974-1989), the fastest of the breed, soon dubbed the "widow-maker").

Nongentiseptuagintatrestrillionsescentiquinquagintanovemmiliacentumtredecimdeciesoctingentivigintiquattuormiliatrecentiphobia (fear of 973,659,113,824,315) describes a the definitely rare condition and it's assumed that was word was coined by someone determined to prove it could be done. There’s also compustitusnumerophobia (fear of composite numbers), meganumerophobia (fear of large numbers), imparnumerophobia (fear of odd numbers), omalonumerophobia (fear of even numbers), piphobia (fear of pi), phiphobia (fear of the golden ratio), primonumerophobia (fear of prime numbers), paranumerophobia (fear of irrational numbers), neganumerophobia (fear of negative numbers) and decadisophobia (fear of decimals).  All such types are unrelated to arithmophobia (or numerophobia) which is the "fear of numbers, calculations & math", a syndrome common among students who "just don't get it" and there are many because those "good at math" and those not really are two separate populations; it's rare to be able to transform the latter into the former, a better solution being to send them to law school where many flourish, needing to master the arithmetic only of billing their time in six-minute increments (1/10th of an hour).  Having ten fingers and thumbs, most manage the calculations.  The marvellous Wiki Fandom site and The Phobia List are among the internet’s best curated collection of phobias.

The only one which debatably can’t exist is neonumerophobia (fear of new numbers) because, given the nature of infinity, there can be no “new numbers” although, subjectively, a number could be “new” to an individual so there may be a need.  Sceptical though mathematicians are likely to be, the notion of the “new number” ("zero" debatably the last) has (in various ways) been explored in fiction including by science fiction (SF or SciFi) author & engineer Robert A Heinlein (1907–1988) in The Number of the Beast (1980), written during his “later period”.  More challenging was Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions by English schoolmaster & Anglican priest Edwin Abbott (1838–1926) which was published under the pseudonym “A Square”, the layer of irony in that choice revealed as the protagonist begins to explore dimensions beyond his two-dimensional world (in Victorian England).  Feminists note also Ursula K Le Guin’s (1929–2018) The Left Hand of Darkness (1969) in which was created an entirely new numerical system of “genderless" numbers”.  That would induce fear in a few.

Lindsay Lohan's cover of the song Edge of Seventeen appeared on the album A Little More Personal (2005).  Written by Stevie Nicks (b 1948), it appeared originally on her debut solo studio album Bella Donna (1981).

In entymology, there are insects with no fear of the number 17.  In the US, the so-called “periodical cicadas” (like those of the genus Magicicada) exist in a 17 year life cycle, something thought to confer a number of evolutionary advantages, all tied directly to the unique timing of their mass emergence: (1) The predator satiation strategy: The creatures emerge in massive numbers (in the billions), their sheer volume meaning it’s physically impossible for predators (both small mammals & birds) to eat enough of them to threaten the survival of the species. (2) Prime number cycles: Insects are presumed unaware of the nature of prime numbers but 17 is a prime number and there are also periodic cicadas with a 13 (also a prime) year cycle.  The 13 (Brood XIX) & 17-year (Brood X) periodic cicadas do sometimes emerge in the same season but, being prime numbers, it’s a rare event, the numbers' LCM (least common multiple) being 221 years; the last time the two cicadas emerged together was in 1868 and the next such event is thus expected in 2089.  The infrequency in overlap helps maintain the effectiveness of the predator avoidance strategies, the predators typically having shorter (2-year, 5-year etc) cycles which don’t synchronize with the cicadas' emergence, reducing chances a predator will evolve to specialize in feeding on periodical cicadas. (3) Avoidance of Climate Variability: By remaining underground for 17 years, historically, periodical cicadas avoided frequent climate changes or short-term ecological disasters like droughts or forest fires. The long underground nymph stage also allows them to feed consistently over many years and emerge when the environment is more favorable for reproduction.  Etymologists and biological statisticians are modelling scenarios under which various types of accelerated climate change are being studied to try to understand how the periodic cicadas (which evolved under “natural” climate change) may be affected. (4) Genetic Isolation: Historically, the unusually extended period between emergences has isolated different broods of cicadas, reducing interbreeding and promoting genetic diversity over time, helping to maintain healthy populations over multiple life-cycles.

No 17^th row: Alitalia B747-243B I-DEMP, Johannesburg International Airport, South Africa, 2001.

There are a variety of theories to account for the Italian superstition which had rendered 17 the national “unlucky number” but it does seem to be due primarily to a linguistic and symbolic association from ancient Rome.  The most accepted explanation is that in Roman numerals 17 is XVII which, anagrammatically, translates to VIXI (Latin for “I have lived” (the first-person singular perfect active indicative of vīvō (to live; to be alive)), understood in the vernacular as “my life is over” or, more brutally: “I am dead”.  It was something which appeared often on Roman tombstones, making an enduring record which ensured the superstition didn’t have to rely on collective memory or an oral tradition for inter-generational transfer.  That would have been ominous enough but Romans noted also that Osiris, the Egyptian god of, inter alia, life, death, the afterlife and resurrection, had died on the 17^th day of the month, 17 thus obviously a “death number” to the logical Roman mind and the worst 17^th days of the month were those which coincided with a full moon.  The cosmic coincidence was an intensifier in the same sense that in the English-speaking world the conjunction leading to a Friday falling on the 13^th makes the day seem threatening.  Thus, just as in some places hotels have neither 13^th floor or rooms containing “13”, in Italy it’s “17” which is avoided although not having a row 17 in its airliners didn’t save Alitalia (Società Aerea Italiana, the now-defunct national carrier) from its COVID-era demise.  Of course not labelling a row or floor “13” or “17” doesn’t mean a 13^th or 17^th something doesn’t exist, just that it’s called “14” or “18” so it’s the symbolic association which matters, not the physical reality.  Mashing up the numerical superstitions, that 17 is an “unlucky number” shouldn’t be surprising because it’s the sum of 13 + 4, the latter being the most dreaded number in much of East Asia, based on the pronunciation resembling “death” in both Chinese and Japanese.

In automotive manufacturing, there was nothing unusual about unique models being produced for the Italian domestic market, the most common trick being versions with engines displacing less than 2.0 litres to take advantage of the substantially lower tax regime imposed below that mark.  Thus Ferrari (1975-1981) and Lamborghini (1974-1977) made available 2.0 litre V8s (sold in RoW (rest of the world) markets variously in 2.5 & 3.0 litre displacements), Maserati a 2.0 V6 (usually a 3.0 in the Maserati Merak (1972-1983) although it appeared in 2.7 & 3.0 litre form in the intriguing but doomed Citroën SM (1970-1975)) and Mercedes-Benz created a number of one-off 2.0 litre models in the W124 range (1974-1977) exclusive to the Italian domestic market (although an unrelated series of 2.0 litre cars was also sold in India).  Others followed the trend although, the more expensive they were, the less appeal seemed to exist despite, in absolute terms, the saving increasing as the price rose.  Maserati offered a twin-turbo 2.0 in the aptly named BiTurbo, BMW did a one off 320is and Alfa Romeo produced a run of 2.0 V6s.

Lindsay Lohan, aged 17, Teen Choice Awards, Universal Amphitheatre, Universal City, California, 2 August 2003.

From an engineering point of view, most audacious doubtlessly was the 2.0 litre version of TVR's V8S (1991-1994).  Supplied usually with a 4.0 litre version of the versatile Rover V8, the capacity of the version for the Italian market was halved by de-stroking, the bore of 88.9 and stroke of 40.25 mm creating an outrageously oversquare bore/stroke ratio of 45.28 but, with the assistance of a supercharger, the quirky engine almost matched in power and torque the naturally aspirated original with twice the displacement; It was a classic example of the effectiveness of forced-aspiration although it did demand of drivers a different technique.  By comparison, the Formula One BRM H16’s (1966-1967) bore & stroke was 69.8 x 49.9 mm and it was so oversquare to reduce the frictional losses which would have been induced had a longer stroke been used with that many cylinders; its bore/stroke ration was 71.48 compared with the almost square BRM V16 designed in the 1940s, the latter able to be in that configuration because (1) it was supercharged and (2) being only 1.5 litres, the stroke was anyway physically short in absolute terms.  The 2.4 litre V8s used in Formula One between 2006-2013 had to have a maximum bore of 98 and stroke of 40 mm (bore/stroke ratio 40.81) and that’s an indication of the characteristics the 2.0 litre TVR V8S offered.  Disappointingly, it was an experience few Italians sought and only seven were built.

It was Suzuki which had more success with work-arounds to Rome’s tiresome regulations.  Their two-stroke, triple cylinder GT380 (1972-1980) motorcycle was for most of its existence made with an actual displacement of 371 cm³ but in 1975, the Italian government passed a law banning the importation of motor-cycles under 380 cm³ and weighing less than 170 kg.  Accordingly, the Japanese produced a “big bore” 380 exclusively for the Italian market displacing an actual 384 cm³.  The portly triple would never have run afoul of the weight limit but just to avoid any unpleasantness, the data plate riveted to the frame recorded a verified mass of 171 kg.  Honor apparently satisfied on both sides, the GT380 remained available in some places until 1980, outliving the Suzuki’s other two-strokes triples by three seasons.

US advertisement for the Renault 17 (1974), the name Gordini adopted as a "re-brand" of the top-of-the-range 17TS,  Gordini was a French sports car producer and tuning house, absorbed by Renault in 1968, the name from time-to-time used for high-performance variants of various Renault models.

One special change for the Italian market was a nod to the national heptadecaphobia, the car known in the rest of the world (RoW) as the Renault 17 (1971-1979) sold in Italy as the R177.  For the 17, Renault took the approach which had delivered great profits: use the underpinnings of mundane mass-produced family cars with a sexy new body draped atop.  Thus in the US the Ford Falcon (1959-1969) begat the Mustang (1964-) and in Europe Ford made the Capri (1968-1976) from the Cortina (1962-1982).  Opel’s swoopy GT (1968-1973) was (most improbably) underneath just the modest Kadett.  It wasn’t only the mass-market operators which used the technique because in the mid 1950s, Mercedes-Benz understood the appeal of the style of the 300 SL (W198, 1954-1957) was limited by the high price which was a product of the exotic engineering (the space-frame, gullwing doors, dry sump and the then novel MFI (mechanical fuel-injection)), the solution being to re-purpose the platform of the W120, the small, austere sedan which helped the company restore its fortunes in the post-war years before the Wirtschaftswunder (economic miracle) was celebrated in 1959 with the exuberance of the Heckflosse (tailfin) cars (1959-1968).  On the W120 platform was built the 190 SL (W121, 1955-1963), an elegant (it not especially rapid) little roadster which quickly became a trans-Atlantic favourite, particularly among what used to be called the “women’s market”.

Only in Italy: The Renault 177, exclusively for heptadecaphobes.

Using the same formula, the Renault 17 was built on the underpinnings of the Renault 12, a remarkably durable platform, introduced in 1969 and, in one form or another, manufactured or assembled in more than a dozen countries, the last not produced until 2006.  Like the Anglo-German Ford Capri, the 17 was relatively cheap to develop because so much was merely re-purposed but for a variety of reasons, it never managed to come close to match the sales of the wildly successful Ford, FWD (front wheel drive) not then accepted as something “sporty” and Renault's implementation on the 17 was never adaptable to the new understanding of the concept validated by FWD machines such as Volkswagen’s Golf GTi which would define the “hot hatch”.  Like most of the world, the Italians never warmed to the 17 but presumably the reception would have been even more muted had not, in deference to the national superstition about the number 17, the name been changed to “Renault 177”, the cheaper companion model continuing to use the RoW label: Renault 15.