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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Jun 23

Since 1950, the United States has engaged in numerous military interventions across the globe, often under the pretext of promoting democracy, ending dictatorship, or protecting global stability. Yet a sober review of these interventions reveals a stark truth: almost none have resulted in the successful replacement of a dictatorship with a stable, functioning democracy. Instead, what follows is usually chaos, authoritarian relapse, or long-term instability. The myth that American intervention brings freedom has been told far too often—repeated despite the overwhelming evidence of failure. Below is a comprehensive account of the major U.S. interventions since 1950, analysed by their objectives and actual outcomes.

The Korean War (1950–1953) was launched to repel North Korean invasion and halt the spread of communism. While South Korea eventually stabilised into a democracy, the war failed to resolve the status of the North, which remains one of the most repressive dictatorships on earth. The peninsula remains divided and volatile. The goal of a unified democratic Korea was never achieved. The result: failure.

The Vietnam War (1955–1975) aimed to prevent a communist takeover of South Vietnam. The U.S. spent two decades, deployed over half a million troops, and lost nearly 60,000 lives, only to withdraw in 1973. Two years later, Saigon fell. Vietnam was unified under a single-party communist regime. No democracy was established. Total failure.

The Bay of Pigs invasion (1961) was an attempt to overthrow Fidel Castro’s communist regime in Cuba. The operation collapsed within days. Rather than weaken Castro, the failure bolstered his legitimacy and led to decades of authoritarian rule. To this day, Cuba remains a one-party state. Again, a failure.

In 1965, the U.S. intervened in the Dominican Republic to prevent what it claimed was a communist takeover. The intervention resulted in the installation of a U.S.-friendly regime and ultimately led to elections, but only after military occupation and political manipulation. The democratic process was tainted from the outset. This was, at best, a coerced and compromised outcome—not a clean success.

During the 1960s through 1975, the U.S. waged covert wars in Cambodia and Laos alongside its main campaign in Vietnam. These operations devastated both nations and helped set the stage for the Khmer Rouge’s rise in Cambodia—a regime responsible for genocide. The destruction of political infrastructure left a vacuum that was filled with one of the most brutal dictatorships of the century. Failure on an epic scale.

The 1953 coup in Iran, orchestrated by the CIA, overthrew the democratically elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadegh and reinstated the Shah, a monarch with dictatorial powers. This act eliminated one of the Middle East’s few attempts at democratic governance. The Shah's regime collapsed in 1979, replaced by a theocratic authoritarian state. This was not just a failure—it was the deliberate destruction of democracy.

In Chile (1973), the U.S. supported a coup that removed President Salvador Allende, a democratically elected socialist. The result was a brutal military dictatorship under Augusto Pinochet that lasted nearly two decades. Human rights violations were rampant. Democracy was crushed, not fostered.

The invasion of Grenada (1983) is often cited as a success story. The U.S. removed a Marxist regime and helped restore a form of parliamentary governance. Yet this was a tiny island nation, entirely dependent on U.S. security and economic support. The outcome was tightly controlled and cannot be generalised to more complex theatres.

In Panama (1989), the U.S. invaded to remove dictator Manuel Noriega. Elections resumed afterward under heavy American oversight. Though some form of democratic structure was reinstated, it came with strings attached and under a cloud of legitimacy questions. A qualified success, but the bar is low.

The Iraq War (2003–2011; 2014–present) was launched to topple Saddam Hussein and create a democratic ally in the Middle East. What followed was civil war, the rise of ISIS, and the collapse of basic governance. Elections exist on paper, but the state remains plagued by sectarian conflict and dysfunction. Democracy has not taken root. This was a catastrophic failure with consequences that still echo today.

In Afghanistan (2001–2021), the U.S. sought to eliminate the Taliban and build democratic institutions. After two decades of occupation and trillions of dollars spent, the Taliban returned to power within weeks of U.S. withdrawal. Any progress made dissolved instantly. No democracy remains. The effort was completely undone. Failure, total and unmitigated.

Libya (2011) saw U.S. and NATO forces help remove Muammar Gaddafi. What followed was not democracy but fragmentation, civil war, and multiple rival governments. The intervention created a power vacuum. The state disintegrated. Democracy never emerged. Failure.

Syria (2014–present) involves indirect U.S. involvement against ISIS and in opposition to the Assad regime. Despite vast expenditures and support for various rebel groups, Assad remains firmly in power. The humanitarian disaster continues. No regime change occurred. No democracy. Failure.

Even in so-called successes like Kosovo (1999), democracy is partial at best. The intervention stopped ethnic cleansing, and a UN-led transitional government helped guide democratic processes, but the region remains contested, politically fragile, and far from an uncontested success.

The only genuine examples of U.S. intervention leading to enduring democracy—Germany and Japan—occurred after World War II, under unique conditions: total war, unconditional surrender, and long-term U.S. occupation and restructuring. These are not post-1950 cases and cannot be reasonably compared to the later failures.

In summary: since 1950, the United States has intervened militarily across the globe, citing high-minded ideals of democracy and freedom. The actual record shows consistent failure to achieve these outcomes. In almost every case, the target nation either remained under authoritarian rule, collapsed into civil war, or emerged as a fragile and corrupt state. The U.S. breaks nations. It does not build them. It is not democracy they export—it is disorder, devastation, and delusion.

Continuing directly from the prior piece, this essay analyses the broader, systemic collapse induced not by war alone but by the subtler cancer of U.S. political and economic meddling—where no bombs fell, but entire nations crumbled beneath the weight of covert interference, conditional aid, and ideological subversion. These are the forgotten casualties: not theatres of declared war, but sovereign nations destabilised through regime change operations, manipulated elections, economic strangulation, and the weaponisation of diplomacy.

Iran, 1953. The CIA's Operation Ajax overthrew Mohammad Mossadegh—a democratically elected prime minister—because he dared to nationalise Iranian oil. In his place, Washington installed the Shah, a brutal autocrat whose secret police terrorised the population for decades. The Iranian Revolution of 1979, and the radical anti-Americanism it birthed, were not the spontaneous eruption of religious fervour but the logical recoil from U.S.-engineered tyranny. Every American flag burned in Tehran has roots in Langley.

Chile, 1973. Salvador Allende, elected by the Chilean people, was overthrown in a U.S.-backed military coup. General Pinochet took power, instituting a reign of torture, assassination, and fear—often with the approval of Washington. American economists cheered as Chicago School experiments were inflicted on the population. The price was human lives. Neoliberalism had its test lab, and Chileans paid in blood.

Guatemala, 1954. Jacobo Árbenz, another democratically elected leader, was removed in a CIA coup for daring to challenge the interests of the United Fruit Company. What followed was four decades of military dictatorships, death squads, and genocide against indigenous populations. The U.S. sponsored nearly every regime along the way.

Congo, 1961. Patrice Lumumba, the country’s first elected leader after independence from Belgium, was assassinated with CIA complicity. Mobutu Sese Seko, a kleptocratic despot, was installed and supported for decades. The riches of the Congo—cobalt, diamonds, gold—flowed outward. Democracy never stood a chance.

Honduras, 2009. A coup ousted President Manuel Zelaya. The U.S. feigned neutrality but ultimately legitimised the new regime. The result: rising authoritarianism, cartel violence, political assassinations. The outflow of refugees is now a permanent feature of Central America—one Washington pretends to misunderstand.

Ukraine, 2014. Whatever one’s position on Russian aggression, it remains true that the U.S. played an active role in supporting and encouraging the 2014 Maidan uprising that overthrew the elected government of Viktor Yanukovych. Victoria Nuland's leaked phone call (“Yats is the guy”) confirmed American engineering of post-coup leadership. What followed was civil war, foreign occupation, and the geopolitical tinderbox now ignited. The cost? Tens of thousands dead and a Europe permanently destabilised.

Haiti, time and again. From occupation in 1915, to undermining Aristide in the 1990s, to support for corrupt post-earthquake regimes, the U.S. has ensured Haiti never escapes poverty or builds democratic institutions. It is the clearest case of chronic interference breeding permanent collapse. Haiti is a failed state, and Washington helped write the failure.

Egypt, 2013. After a brief democratic experiment post-Arab Spring, the U.S. tacitly endorsed the military coup that installed Abdel Fattah el-Sisi. Billions in military aid resumed. The message: stability over democracy. Authoritarianism over accountability. The outcome: crushed dissent, mass incarceration, and a regime more repressive than Mubarak’s.

Nicaragua, El Salvador, Bolivia, Venezuela—the list expands, each case a variation on the same theme. Wherever Washington's fingers reach into the political machinery of another country, the gears seize. Elections become suspect. Opposition becomes suspect. Sovereignty erodes. Collapse is not a consequence—it is the design.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Jun 18

🧵 #BitcoinTopologyExposed – A long-form breakdown of my latest paper: “The Redundancy of Full Nodes in Bitcoin”

#Bitcoin #BTC #BSV #GraphTheory #ProofOfWork #CryptoRealityarxiv.org/abs/2506.14197

1️⃣ The Fantasy of Full Nodes Ends Here
This paper demonstrates, with formal network-theoretic proofs, that non-mining full nodes in both BTC and BSV are structurally and functionally irrelevant. They do not relay transactions, do not affect consensus, and do not matter.
#FullNodes #MythBusting #BitcoinNetwork

2️⃣ Bitcoin’s Structure Is Not What You’ve Been Told
Despite popular rhetoric, the Bitcoin network is not a flat peer-to-peer mesh. It is a miner-dense, hub-centric structure dominated by a small-world, scale-free core. Miner nodes form the only viable paths. Full nodes are statistical dead ends.
#NetworkScience #BTC #BSV

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 26

I am going to start operating on a fair and functional assumption: anyone who keeps parroting that I need to “market Bitcoin” more—who insists I should moonlight as a sales rep, an advertising exec, or a coin-hawking cheerleader—is either working for BTC Core and trolling, or they’re simply too brain-dead to take seriously.

There IS no third option. Between study, development, architecture, and system design, I don’t owe anyone a PowerPoint pitch or a Twitter slogan.

While you might not see what I’m doing, that doesn’t mean nothing’s happening. I’m testing systems, refining designs, extending the protocol as it was always meant to be—not changing it, mind you, but scaling it to support global commerce on a single coherent backbone. And no, I’m not going to tell you what I’m doing. That game’s been played. Every time I’ve explained things in the past, it’s been a gift to the vultures—more fuel for plagiarism, distortion, and theft.

So here it is, plain and final: my job isn’t to learn marketing. I’m not going to bend my skillset into some pseudo-PR role just to please people who wouldn’t know a protocol from a publicity stunt. Like the original engineers who built the Internet Protocol, I design systems. That’s what I do. And if your input is “learn to market it,” take that advice and shove it so far up where the sun doesn’t shine you’ll need a miner’s lamp to find it again.

You can say, “But Terranode already does a million transactions per second. Bitcoin doesn’t need more than that.” And maybe, right this minute, you’re right. Maybe the current state of script processing is “good enough.” And you know what? I don’t give a flying frig. Years ago, when I told people what I was building, I didn’t say I was aiming for a million transactions per second. I said it was an interim step. My goal has always been a billion—ten billion—transactions per second. And not some vague aspiration, but a clear, engineered path to get there. Only when we have real protocol resilience, SPV that executes instantly, and closed-circuit script logic that can be priced, verified, and accepted by nodes at the transaction level, will I call the framework even remotely sufficient. That’s the benchmark. That’s the standard. Not this feel-good “we’ve done enough” garbage.

You can whinge and whine that “this is all we need now.” And again, I don’t give a frig. Because I’m not building for now. I’m not patching holes in some Layer 2 duct-tape-and-glitter fantasy. I’m not stacking fragile Lego constructs on a crumbling base and calling it innovation. I’m building for the future—and every day forward from here. BTC isn’t. Ethereum isn’t. No one else is. But I am. And I’m not doing it so hobbyists can run homebrew Raspberry Pi full node zoos in their basements. I’m building a system where SPV proves inclusion and immutability of a transaction with a block header and a path—clean, efficient, verifiable—by design, not by hack.

This isn’t for your approval. This isn’t a demo. This isn’t about appeasing marketing lemmings who think shouting “number go up” qualifies as protocol work. I’m doing this because I chose to. And if that offends your hobbyist sensibilities—well, stiff bickies. I don’t care.

For all the parrots squawking that “Bitcoin just scales with bigger blocks,” here’s a little jagged pill of reality to choke on. Oracle—the titanic, institutional behemoth of Silicon Valley, the kind of company entire governments rely on—can’t touch this. Their top-tier database appliance, the Oracle X11-HA, running with 128 CPU cores and 1.5 terabytes of RAM, only manages around 108,167 transactions per second under lab-optimised conditions. That’s not distributed, that’s not trustless, and it sure as hell isn’t atomic consensus. That’s just raw throughput, and only when it’s spoon-fed on rails with a benchmarking suite and a room full of engineers stroking it along. Now compare that to a system like Bitcoin—built to scale into the realm of billions of transactions per second, on-chain, with consensus and timestamping. We’re not talking double the performance. We’re talking 50,000 to 100,000 times what Oracle can do. Let that settle in your cerebral cortex—assuming it’s capable of forming a stable connection.

What I’m building isn’t some toy network where people swap meme coins or draw pixelated frogs on a distributed whiteboard. I’m building a global financial and logistical database backbone—a Byzantine fault-tolerant, globally auditable, scriptable, timestamped protocol for transaction processing, accounting, logistics, legal records, and commerce. It was always meant to be that. The people who say otherwise are either too lazy to read the protocol or too invested in maintaining their precious delusions about what Bitcoin “should” be. “It’s just cash.” No, idiot, cash is just the first application. The protocol is the network. The ledger is programmable. The transaction is data. That’s the design. That’s the point.

So the next time someone pipes up that Bitcoin’s scaling is “just block size,” you’ve got two simple options: they’re bullshitting you, or they’re ignorant. There is no third. Because a scaling system that can blow Oracle out of the water by five orders of magnitude, while maintaining integrity and global consensus, isn’t just about block size. It’s about architecture. It’s about engineering. It’s about building a database that doesn’t just rival the best—one that obsoletes them.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 23

BSV: The Fixed Protocol for a Lawful Digital Economy

In a digital landscape riddled with forks, speculative detours, and ideological noise, the survival of a true economic protocol depends not on flexibility, but on its refusal to change. BSV, the only implementation of the original Bitcoin protocol that has not been distorted, stands in stark opposition to the shifting tides of so-called innovation. It is not a coin. It is not a movement. It is not a story sold to venture capital. It is a lawful, immutable system — engineered to scale, to integrate, and to endure.

While most projects operating under the banner of “blockchain” speak of community votes, soft forks, and governance tokens, BSV speaks in the language of contracts, timestamps, and evidence. Its strength lies in its rigidity. In a world seduced by chaos, BSV is a return to law. A return to architecture. A return to the cold, deliberate logic of systems engineering — not the hot breath of ideological fervour.

The Myth of Evolution

The central marketing lie in the blockchain sector is that protocols must evolve. That “open-source” means editable. That the system is a perpetual beta. Bitcoin was not designed to be experimental. It was a finished protocol — much like TCP/IP or SMTP — with clear rules, defined incentives, and a complete mechanism for enforcement. The elegance of Bitcoin was its completeness. The tragedy was that this elegance was ignored.

BTC Core abandoned the economic model by fixing the block size — creating an artificial scarcity that broke the system's incentive structure and required fees to spike to unsustainable levels. ETH, in turn, rejected the very concept of economic finality and now clings to “validator” regimes that are equal parts inefficient and unaccountable. These are not upgrades. They are regressions — capitulations to disorder. They sacrifice scalability, predictability, and legality in favour of committee-think and social consensus.

BSV rejected all of this. It restored the original design and then proved what others only theorised. It unlocked the block size. It processed millions of transactions. It timestamped legal contracts, financial data, and identity logs in real time. It demonstrated, through live activity, that scale was not a future goal — it was an architectural feature from the beginning.

Scaling as a Moral Imperative

No economy can function at scale without low-friction transaction settlement. High fees are not a trade-off; they are a failure. BTC’s absurd fees, often higher than the value of the transaction itself, make it unusable for micropayments. This defies the entire purpose of Bitcoin as digital cash. Digital cash is not a meme. It is not gold with slogans. It is a fluid, immediate, final method of exchange — like cash in the hand, but global and programmable.

BSV reasserts this foundation. Its transaction fees are measured in fractions of a cent — stable, predictable, and not subject to congestion drama. This enables a radically new economic model: one where devices can transact autonomously, where users can monetise data in micro-increments, where services can bill by the second, and where emerging markets can participate in a global economy without being crushed by fee overhead.

This is not speculative fiction. It is functioning reality. Every other chain speaks of potential. BSV acts.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 23

#BSV: The Only Blockchain That Isn’t a Lie.

The Protocol Is Locked. The Potential Is Not.

Every other blockchain is a moving target.
Every update is an admission of failure.
Every fork is an abandonment of law.
BSV does not move.
It was designed right — from the beginning.

They call it evolution.
We call it entropy.
Bitcoin was built as a digital cash system.
Not a consensus experiment.
Not a speculative Ponzi.
Not a roadmap to nowhere.

You can’t build on shifting sand.
BTC changes the rules.
ETH reinvents itself quarterly.
BSV?
The protocol is locked.
Like TCP/IP. Like law. Like truth.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

May 18

In 2015, BTC was trading at approximately $250. By 2020, it had reached around $9,000—a 36-fold increase. From 2020 to 2025, it climbed to a high-water mark near $60,000, representing only a 6.6-fold increase. That change in velocity isn’t an accident or a pause—it’s a pattern. What’s happening is not exponential growth, but logistic saturation. Exponential curves don’t flatten unless constrained. Logistic curves do. BTC’s price growth is not a runaway function—it’s bounded. The illusion of infinity ends where adoption slows, where energy cost rises, where utility fails to match hype.

Every economic bubble has a sigmoid curve at its core: a sharp rise, a taper, and then stagnation or collapse. The halving events were once catalysts for speculative frenzy because they tightened supply in a market still swelling with naïve demand. But each halving matters less. The marginal reduction in supply becomes negligible, while the pool of greater fools dries up. There’s no new flood of users, only reshuffled bags and tighter hands.

Come 2030, the market will likely reflect that plateau. Growth no longer pays, because price no longer promises. The feedback loop between “number go up” and new retail inflows fractures. When a system relies on increasing belief to sustain its own valuation, it is not an asset—it is a story.

And all stories end.

In competing environments governed by logistic dynamics—such as predator-prey systems or economic models with finite inflow—the flattened curve doesn’t signal stability; it signals fragility. After the peak of growth, what comes is not a permanent plateau, but a tipping point. Whether it's rabbits outgrowing the grass or wolves outstripping the deer, once the system overshoots its carrying capacity, collapse is not a possibility—it’s an inevitability.

BTC has already exhibited the hallmarks of this transition. From 2015 to 2020, the price increase was astronomical. From 2020 to 2025, the curve softened. That’s your inflection. And in all logistic systems, once the growth rate begins to dampen, the system enters a metastable state—appearing steady, but actually perched on the edge of decline. You get oscillations, volatility, but the net energy—be it biological, financial, or speculative—starts bleeding out. Traders call this distribution. Ecologists call it die-off.

What follows is the bullpup stampede: the critical point where each participant sees the others poised to exit. The run to the exit doesn’t require a trigger—only the anticipation of others running. It’s self-fulfilling. The curve drops not because some singular event happened, but because enough people begin to act on the awareness that growth has stopped. That’s the real collapse. Not a bang, but the slow, grinding realisation that the exponential fantasy has expired.

So yes, you can argue it may take five more years, or ten. But if your BTC sits stagnant for a decade, doing nothing more than inflation erosion and drawing in no utility or yield—how is that a win? Holding an asset that underperforms a savings account, on the hope that someday someone will rescue you from your delusion at a higher price, is not investing. It’s ritual. And the end of the ritual is the same: collapse under the weight of its own unmet prophecy.

When the halving occurs and BTC does nothing—no dramatic price surge, no renewed speculative frenzy—what follows is not neutral; it’s catastrophic for the structure of the system. Miners, already operating on razor-thin margins, are now rewarded with half the subsidy for the same or higher costs in energy, hardware, and maintenance. The economic model assumed the price would rise to compensate. If it doesn’t, the incentive structure collapses.

The weak miners—the marginal operators—shut down first. The hash rate drops. Blocks slow. Fees rise, but not because demand increases—because congestion does. The network gets choked. Users delay, businesses stall, confidence erodes.

More miners fall off. The network centralises further, consolidating into fewer hands with access to cheaper energy or sunk costs. That’s not security—it’s fragility masked as efficiency. And the dream of trustless, distributed consensus? Dead in the water.

Meanwhile, without the price rise to mask the stress, the narrative fractures. Halving events were never just protocol— they were marketing events. Ritualised speculation designed to spark demand. But when the ritual fails, and the candles don’t light, people notice.

The market doesn’t crash immediately. It just starts leaking belief. The same way an overpopulated species doesn’t fall in a single generation—it weakens. Slowly. Inevitable. Until one day, someone finally says what everyone else is thinking: it’s not coming back.

That’s when the rush begins. Not out of greed—but out of dread.

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