A trench is dug every day in the desolate lands of cryptocurrencies. It’s not a trench against regulators or central banks, no. It’s a trench dug with the spite of orthodoxy, a moat separating the supposed elect from the infidel. On one side, the templars of Bitcoin, entrenched on their digital monolith. On the other, a myriad of others: those who whisper about privacy with Monero, those who play with DeFi tokens, those who simply hold a bit of everything, like someone who has different wines in the cellar for different palates.

And here, moralism becomes a sword. “Have fun staying poor, shitcoiner!”:

It’s the squawking of a fanaticism that neither convinces nor converts. It’s a scream that reeks of desperation, not strength. Has anyone ever seen a man sure of his ideas need to insult those who think differently? The insult is the counterfeit coin of persuasion. It buys nothing, except the contempt of the listener. It transforms you, in the eyes of others, not into an apostle, but into a lout. And your message, however powerful, rots along with your bad manners.

The truth, thick and hard to digest for the crusaders of purity, is that no one likes to be called a fool. Shouting “shitcoiner” is not an act of proselytism. It’s a rite of self-exaltation, a way to feel part of a superior clan. But it’s a game for capricious children. The person hit by that poison, who perhaps just had a doubt to clarify, recoils. Clams up. And they will never talk to you again, ever. You’ve lost an ear, perhaps a mind. You’ve lost. Period.

What did we come here to do? To create another exclusive club, with its snobbish rules and summary judgments? Or to build a levee, however fragile and messy, against the moloch of the State and Surveillance? Against those entities that want to know your every breath, every penny, every thought?

When you, a champion of decentralization, hurl the stone of insult at another who, deep down, shares the same existential battlefield, you commit an act of collective self-harm. You play the Enemy’s game. He, the Power, sits up there, watching. And he laughs. He laughs while you tear at each other’s throats over matters of doctrine. Because as long as you fight among yourselves, he doesn’t have to do a thing. You are doing his work for him.

Strength does not lie in homogeneity, in a flock of identical sheep bleating the same mantra. Strength lies in tactical diversity. Some hold Bitcoin as a rock, some use privacy coins to move in the shadows, some experiment with smart contracts. They are all fronts of the same war. Throwing mud at an ally because they aren’t wearing the same uniform is strategic folly.

Share your experience. Tell what you’ve seen, what you’ve gained, what you’ve understood. Do it with the calmness of one who has certainty, not the aggressiveness of one who has to sell it to you. Then, be silent. Let the seed germinate on its own, if it must. And if it doesn’t germinate, so be it. The world doesn’t end.

The goal is not for everyone to have Bitcoin. The goal is for everyone, in one way or another, to reclaim a fragment of sovereignty. Fighting your comrade in the trench because his rifle is different from yours isn’t what revolutionaries do. It’s what idiots do.