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More from @CsTominaga

S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Apr 13

It’s honestly amazing—the sheer level of tribalism around Trump. People aren’t evaluating policy, they’re chanting slogans. They’re not thinking. They’re clapping. He says “I’m bringing back manufacturing,” and instead of asking what kind, how, where, at what cost, and who benefits, you just nod and hit retweet like he just cured cancer with a Sharpie.

Let’s break this down. Take chip fabrication—he wants fabs in Texas? You don’t just build a chip plant like you’re putting up a Wendy’s. It takes years. Five to ten years, minimum, from breaking ground to producing anything useful. Then you need the engineers. Not just someone who can plug in a machine—PhDs in materials science, high-precision technicians, semiconductor process experts, people who understand quantum tunnelling and nanometre-scale lithography. Most of them? Already in Taiwan, South Korea, or trained under systems that took decades to mature.

You’d have to train an entire generation. That’s university pipelines, trade schools, immigration policy, infrastructure, water supply (yes, fabs drink water like Vegas), and $20–$40 billion per site. And that's just one fab.

By the time America’s “manufacturing renaissance” finishes rubbing two sticks together, the rest of the world will be running on lights-out factories—fully autonomous, zero workers, 24/7 precision robotic efficiency. That’s the future. That’s where it’s going. Jobs aren’t coming back. They’re being deleted, like blacksmiths after the combustion engine. You want to revive the American steel town? Great. Just make sure your welders have AI ops certifications and know how to write Python, because the next forge runs on code and doesn’t take lunch breaks.

But here’s the tragedy: instead of embracing that future, instead of asking how we lead, how we build, how we own the frontier—we wrap ourselves in red hats and act like it’s 1954. We fall for the pageantry. For the theatre of “bringing it back,” even when what’s being “brought back” hasn’t existed in thirty years and wouldn’t survive in today’s market anyway.

You think you’re on the Trump team.
You think you’re winning.
But all you’re doing is cheering for a ghost.

You’re not just being left behind—you’re clapping while it happens.

For all the so-called followers who say they “don’t like” what I’m saying—let me make it brutally clear. What you’re really saying is you want me to be a populist. You want me to jump through flaming hoops of bullshit. Say the right buzzwords. Feed you fantasy like it’s gospel. Basically, you want me to be your own private Trump. Dance, lie, repeat. Smile while spoon-feeding you delusion.

I don’t do that. Never have. Never will.

You don’t like it? I don’t give a fuck. Because what I’m giving you isn’t comfort. It’s reality.
Manufacturing jobs are not coming back to America. Full. Fucking. Stop.
That ship didn’t just sail—it was automated, disassembled mid-voyage, and turned into a data centre in Shenzhen before you even noticed.

If you believe otherwise, you're not just misinformed—you’re delusional. And that's fine. You're allowed to be. Just don't expect me to pretend it's raining while you’re pissing on your own boots and calling it economic policy.

You want to win? Then stop aiming at where the target was. Start aiming where it’s going to be. Do the Wayne Gretzky thing: "Skate to where the puck is going." The problem is, most of you are skating in circles, stuck in some Reagan-era hallucination, waiting for the steel mill to reopen while Boston Dynamics is building the robot that’ll weld better, faster, and never call in sick.

Even China is automating. Even China, the factory of the world, is bleeding manufacturing jobs faster than it can plug them. They're not planning to bring jobs back—they're planning to eliminate them and own the infrastructure that does the replacing.

So what the hell are we doing?

We're whining. We're nostalgic. We’re waving flags over industries that don’t exist anymore.
It’s like bragging about your VHS collection at a Netflix board meeting. You’re not just behind—you’re irrelevant.

You want to be great? Then stop getting offended when someone tells you the future doesn’t include your fantasy. Start working out how you fit into a world where intelligence, automation, and adaptability win—not volume, not sweat, and not cheap patriotism.

You’ve got ten years. Maybe less.
You can spend them crying about what’s gone.
Or you can spend them becoming someone who matters in what’s coming.

Your choice.

And as for intellectual property, here’s the ugly truth no one wrapped in a red hat or clapping for space cult billionaires wants to hear—IP is everything. That’s why Jack and the rest of the klepto-cabal—Musk included—are working overtime to fill your head with fantasies of Mars, free speech utopias, and techno-fetish pipe dreams, all while quietly trying to strip you of every last bit of ownership over what you create.

Because they know. They know the future boils down to two sources of wealth:
1. Owning the machines
2. Owning the ideas

And you? You’re supposed to be distracted. You’re supposed to cheer when they say IP is outdated. You’re supposed to chant along when they say “open source everything” while they patent the infrastructure, build the closed robotic ecosystems, and then license your future back to you for a monthly fee.

Intellectual property on-chain—on a real blockchain like BSV—could be the equaliser. It could give creators the power to monetise invention, to 3D print securely, to protect design and transact in real time across jurisdictions. But without that? Without secured, enforceable IP? Then the only thing that matters is who owns the robotic plants.

And spoiler alert: you won’t.

Designers, engineers, tinkerers, visionaries—they’ll all be stripped of relevance. Everything will be copied. Instantly. Globally. No royalties. No credit. No protection. You’ll be a spectator to your own obsolescence.

And those lights-out factories won’t need tariffs.
They’ll need nothing—just bandwidth and power.
Set them up in China, in Singapore, in whatever country doesn’t sleepwalk into irrelevance. Maybe even the U.S.—if it pulls its finger out of its own arse and realises the future doesn’t run on slogans and nostalgia.

If there’s a manufacturing job left in a country in ten years, it’ll be the techno-equivalent of subsistence farming.
Manual. Dirty. Leftover. Like the guy in rural Laos hammering a steel pot while the rest of the world prints titanium at home.

So unless you want that to be you—sweating through 20th-century labour in a 21st-century world—wake the hell up.
Stop worshipping figureheads who want you dumb, docile, and dependent.
Start thinking about the only thing that matters:
Owning the system or being owned by it.

Because there’s no middle ground in a lights-out economy.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Mar 14

The ability to transact instantly, globally, at scale, without friction—this is not a minor improvement. It is not a footnote in economic theory. It is a fundamental transformation, an evolution of the very fabric of commerce, a shift so vast that those who cling to the past will find themselves buried beneath it. Micropayments, true micropayments, are not a gimmick. They are the natural state of a system freed from artificial constraints. And Bitcoin—the real Bitcoin, BSV—is the only system that was designed to facilitate this reality.

A world where transactions are instant, final, and nearly free is a world where entire industries become unrecognizable. The model of centralized distribution—of products, of media, of services—is obsolete in the face of a system where an individual can create, distribute, and monetize without the layers of middlemen that have acted as parasites for centuries. The gatekeepers—those who demand a cut, those who build systems of control, those who ensure that nothing flows without their approval—they are the ones who stand to lose the most. And they know it. That is why they resist. That is why they fight. Not because they do not understand, but because they do.

A System Without Friction
A musician, today, relies on a platform. A writer relies on a publisher. A developer relies on an app store. Each of these industries has been built around the assumption that value must be extracted, that the creator must be dependent, that monetization must flow through a controlled channel. Micropayments obliterate this assumption. The ability to transact in real time, at any scale, without third-party control, destroys the need for these centralized models. A song is created and sold directly to the listener, per play, per second if necessary. A game is built and monetized at the smallest level—every action, every interaction, can be a microtransaction, a payment stream that bypasses corporations entirely.

This is not theory. This is inevitable. The only question is who adapts and who resists. The business model of the past century was based on scarcity—of information, of production, of access. The model of the future is based on abundance, on instant exchange, on frictionless interaction. And Bitcoin—the real Bitcoin—enables this at a level that no centralized system ever could.

The Death of Traditional Manufacturing
The manufacturing model of the 1950s is a relic. The mass production, mass distribution, mass consumption cycle was built on the premise that economies of scale required physical factories, vast inventories, and global logistics. But production itself has changed.

Lights-out automation—factories that run without human intervention—are no longer futuristic speculation. They are here. 3D printing, on-demand manufacturing, AI-driven assembly—these are not minor improvements to existing industries. They are the obliteration of them. The idea that manufacturing can be “protected” by tariffs, by regulations, by keeping foreign goods out—this is the delusion of men who do not understand how technology evolves.

The protectionists want to save something that does not exist. The factory of the past is already dead. The factory of the future is a machine—or rather, millions of machines, distributed across the globe, each capable of producing on demand, each able to be paid for in real-time using Bitcoin, each freed from the archaic constraints of supply chains and warehousing.

You will not “protect” American industry with tariffs. You will kill it. Because the future does not belong to centralized production. It belongs to the individuals, to the innovators, to those who see that manufacturing itself is becoming digital, decentralized, and frictionless. And Bitcoin—the real Bitcoin—is the missing piece that allows this system to function without reliance on the banking cartels, the payment processors, the financial parasites who have inserted themselves between every transaction.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Mar 14

A tariff is a tax with a nationalist’s grin and a businessman’s noose. It parades itself as the bulwark against foreign wolves, the savior of domestic industry, the righteous cudgel of protectionism wielded in the hands of bureaucrats who have never created anything, never lifted steel or coded a single efficient function. It is the illusion of strength built on an edifice of restriction, a castle made of paperwork and duty fees, where the consumer is locked inside, paying ever more for the privilege of less.

The justification is always the same: protect our own, strengthen our industry, keep the money here. A politician in a crumpled suit, backed by a union man with hands that have forgotten work, will tell you that tariffs will save the working man, protect the steel mill, keep jobs in the homeland. But the numbers betray them. A tariff is a price hike by decree. It doesn’t birth new industry—it nurses inefficiency. The consumer, the forgotten man, sees the price of his goods climb, his wages stagnate, and his choices narrow. And yet he is told that this is for his benefit. That he must pay more so that an industry that should have evolved can instead entrench itself, immune to competition, coddled by law.

A tariff is the drug of the industrialist who cannot compete. It is the grant of power to those who have failed at the free market’s brutal but fair game. In an economy where tariffs rise, businesses stop striving to be better—they only need to be well-connected. The handshake of the businessman no longer extends to the customer but to the politician who signs the protectionist decree. The invisible hand, the hand that should guide the market, is shackled by bureaucracy. And what is bureaucracy but the place where efficiency goes to die, where men who cannot create dictate the terms to those who can?

The local economy under tariffs becomes an ecosystem of stagnation. The domestic producer, shielded from competition, grows complacent. Why innovate when the government has ensured the foreigner cannot undercut your price? Why improve if the consumer has no alternative? The tariff is the enemy of progress, the indulgence of those who fear the crucible of competition. The local producer, now emboldened, sets prices not by the rigors of supply and demand but by the artificial constraints of government fiat. The consumer has no choice but to pay, and so he does. Or he does not, and instead, he buys less, consumes less, the economy shrinks, and the industry that was meant to be protected now finds itself withering from within.

The argument is that tariffs create jobs, that they keep industry afloat, that without them, local production will vanish. But the reality is more sinister: tariffs do not protect jobs, they protect inefficiencies. A business that requires government intervention to survive is not a business at all—it is a parasite, feeding not off of competition and ingenuity, but off of legislation and coercion. And so the consumer subsidizes failure, the economy is molded not by merit but by political favor, and the industry that should have perished in the fire of innovation instead lumbers forward, bloated and archaic.

And yet, there is a political genius in tariffs. A clever leader, one who understands the cynicism of his trade, knows that the average man does not follow the long arc of economic consequence. He sees only the immediate. A factory saved, a job retained, a wage not yet cut. The cost of his groceries rising? A tax here, a fee there? These are scattered burdens, felt individually, never laid at the feet of the tariff itself. The politician counts on this ignorance. He feeds it. He will tell the voter that foreign interests are the enemy, that the tariff is the weapon of sovereignty. He does not tell him that he has just traded long-term prosperity for short-term optics, that the protection of today is the stagnation of tomorrow.

The true alternative is not protectionism but strength—real strength, forged in competition, in the necessity of adaptation. The business that thrives is the business that competes, not the one that hides behind government walls. The nation that thrives is the one that embraces efficiency, not one that subsidizes mediocrity. The tariff is an illusion, a balm for industries that refuse to evolve. And the consumer, always the consumer, is the one who pays for that illusion, until the illusion crumbles and the bill comes due.

And it will come due. It always does.

The American businessman is not lost because the foreigner has undercut him, nor because his industry is weak, nor because the economy is fragile and in need of tariffs and protection. He is lost because his hands are bound, because every idea must first pass through a gatekeeper who has never built a thing, because every venture must first be weighed against a book of laws thicker than any ledger of profit. He does not fail because he lacks ingenuity; he fails because the weight of government is a yoke around his neck, and every step forward is met with another form, another fee, another ruling from a bureaucrat who has never sold a product in his life.

The enemy of American business is not the foreign competitor—it is the American lawmaker. The regulations are not written to enable industry but to ensnare it, to make every act of creation subject to a process so convoluted that only the largest, most entrenched corporations can afford to comply. And so, the small businessman drowns. He is told that his factory must meet standards that his foreign competitor never faces, that his workers must be compensated at a rate that makes his product unviable, that his taxes must be high to pay for a system designed to keep him in check rather than let him grow.

And then the politician looks at the ruins of what was once an industrial empire and says, "We must protect our jobs! We must bring back industry!" He does not mention that it was his own policies that strangled it, that the man who wanted to build was forced to go elsewhere because in America, to create is to beg for permission. The factories do not leave because the American worker is incompetent—they leave because it is impossible to produce when every innovation is met with another barrier, another demand, another punishment for daring to succeed.

A man with an idea should be able to test it, refine it, sell it. But in America, he is first met with laws on labor, laws on production, environmental restrictions that make building impossible, legal requirements that force his small business to comply with standards that only multinational corporations can afford. And so, he does not build. He cannot afford to. He goes to another country, not because he is unpatriotic, but because his own country has made it clear that his ambition is not welcome.

And what happens to the workers? They do not become craftsmen; they do not become skilled through necessity. No, they are told that they must be given a wage, a right, a guarantee. They are given minimum wages so high that the businessman has no choice but to automate, to cut jobs, to find a way around the very people he would have employed. They are given safety nets that do not lift them up but trap them in place, keep them dependent, make them believe that the government is their protector when in reality, it is their captor.

It is not a lack of tariffs that makes America lose industry. It is the labyrinth of laws, the crushing weight of a system that rewards compliance over ingenuity, that forces businesses to look elsewhere because staying means death by paperwork. The American businessman does not need protection; he needs freedom. He needs the ability to hire without fear of litigation, to build without endless permits, to compete without being taxed into submission.

Industry is not lost because the foreigner is too strong. It is lost because America has chosen to hobble its own creators, to punish risk, to turn ambition into liability.

And the solution is not tariffs.

The solution is not protectionism.

The solution is to cut the ropes, to let the businessman build again, to remove the shackles and allow American industry to do what it does best—create, innovate, and outcompete not by force of law, but by force of will.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Feb 16

It’s a con. A goddamn racket. Post-quantum cryptography, quantum computing—whatever name they slap on it, it’s all the same carnival act. They talk like it's the future, like it’s just over the horizon, always just one more breakthrough away. One more grant, one more decade, one more layer of theoretical nonsense stacked on top of a house built on swamp water. But let’s be honest—there isn’t a single real quantum computer on this planet. Not one. Never has been. Never will be.

They’ll say otherwise. They’ll throw equations at you, wave their white papers around, dress up their machines with tubes and wiring and call them miracles. The headlines will scream Quantum Supremacy! like it's some new kind of second coming. But where’s the supremacy? Where’s the proof? Nowhere. Just more press releases, more university research budgets swollen with public money, more government subsidies dumped into a fire pit.

Because here’s the truth: they will never solve decoherence. The whole foundation is rotten. It goes against physics itself, not the wishy-washy physics they peddle in their TED talks, but real physics—the kind that doesn’t bend just because someone scribbles new symbols on a blackboard. The whole thing is an exercise in controlled confusion, designed to keep the money flowing. They’ll never admit it because there’s too much at stake.

Governments will keep throwing money at it, hoping, praying that somewhere in the labyrinth of jargon and nonsense, they’ll find a god they can kneel to. Corporations will keep playing along because there's money in the illusion, and as long as they can keep talking about a revolution that never comes, they can keep the contracts rolling in.

It’s not about solving problems. It’s about prolonging them. That’s the business model. There’s nothing new here—just another golden calf being carted around by the same old priests, promising salvation while they pocket the offerings. Quantum computing isn’t a revolution. It’s a boondoggle, a long con, a trick that only works if you keep the rubes from looking too close. And the biggest trick of all? Making you believe it’s inevitable.

It’s not. It never was. It never will be.

If this is ever used to change bitcoin...

The result is not Bitcoin.

They sell fear because fear is currency. It pays in grants, in budgets, in contracts, in whispered conversations behind closed doors where bureaucrats nod along, signing off on millions, billions, funneled into the latest make-believe existential threat. Quantum computing. The boogeyman of the digital age.

But here’s the thing—they’ve got nothing. Even in their own mythical wonderland where Schrödinger’s cat does backflips and entanglement is the answer to everything, they still can’t break hashing. Never could, never will. Yet they keep chanting the same damn lines, like a con man selling a bridge. Post-quantum hashing. As if cryptographic hash functions ever had anything to fear from quantum anything. It’s a smokescreen, an empty promise sold to people who don’t know better—or worse, people who know exactly what they’re doing but like the weight of government cash in their pockets.

This isn’t about security. It’s not about technology. It’s about control. It’s about keeping the funding rivers flowing, keeping the public nervous, keeping the right people rich while they sit around manufacturing crises. The same crowd that insists quantum supremacy is just around the corner has been saying the same thing for thirty years. Always just around the corner. Meanwhile, they get to bill taxpayers for the detour.

They tell you to prepare. They tell you the sky is falling. They tell you Madoff was a small-timer, but trust them—this time, they’re legit. And the suckers line up to pay.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Jan 25

the slow bleed

they call it income tax.
they call it fair.
but it's not about fairness,
it's about the slow bleed.

the old money sits in towers, untouched.
wrapped in trusts, stitched into corporations,
their billions glide past the ledger,
smooth as silk, quiet as a whisper.

but you?
you start something new,
you build, you grind,
you take the risk,
and here they come.

they come with their hands out,
before you can stand, before you can breathe.
you hire a man, they tax you.
you pay yourself, they tax you.
you buy the things you need,
and they tax you again.

the real game isn’t about wealth.
the old guard keeps theirs,
locked away in rules they wrote for themselves.
this game is about control.

they don’t go after the rich.
the rich have lawyers,
the rich have accountants,
the rich have escape routes.

they come for the builders.
they come for the ones clawing their way up,
for the ones who don’t have loopholes yet,
for the ones who think playing fair means winning.

they say it’s about funding schools,
hospitals, roads—
but those things are just excuses.
this isn’t about making things better.
it’s about keeping you in your place.

and if you want to keep a little more?
prove it.
file.
explain yourself.
list every penny.
turn your life inside out,
show your debts, your choices,
your failures, your breath, your blood.

because they own that now, too.

They call it income tax, but it’s not about income, and it’s sure as hell not about fairness.

It is a system about punishment. Income tax about a government that figured out a long time ago that if you keep a man just barely afloat, if you let him have just enough to eat, just enough to drink, just enough to keep his nose above the waterline, he won’t ask too many questions. He won’t fight back. He won’t build anything worth a damn, because the moment he does, they take their cut.

That’s the real joke.

Income tax is not a tax on wealth.

This insidious cancer is a tax on creation.

The guy who takes nothing and turns it into something, the guy who risks his time, his money, his sanity to build something of value—that’s the guy they want to put down. They don’t go after the fat bastards on yachts, the ones born into money, the ones who’ve got lawyers and accountants stacking their cash in places no taxman can touch.

Those guys don’t pay. Those guys live inside a world of trusts and shell companies and paper-thin corporate fronts that shield them from ever having to part with a goddamn cent.

No, income tax isn’t for them.

Tax for the rest of us. Tax is for the guy who wakes up at five in the morning to open his shop.

Income tax is for the woman who works two jobs to start her own business on the side. It’s for the freelancer, the contractor, the entrepreneur—the people actually making something happen. They’re the ones getting fleeced. The taxman comes not with a knife, but with a scalpel, cutting deeper and deeper each year, taking just enough to keep you going, but never enough to let you get ahead.

And here’s the kicker—they tell you it’s for your own good.

They tell you it’s for the roads, the schools, the hospitals. They tell you it’s about the “social contract.”

But what kind of contract is this, where one side dictates the terms and the other has no choice but to sign in blood? Where your labour, your effort, your sweat is treated as if it belongs to them first, and you’re just lucky they let you keep some?

They never go after the old money.

The old money is sacred.

The old money moves through time like a ghost, untouchable. There are estates, there are offshore accounts, there are legal structures so Byzantine you’d need a goddamn priest to exorcise them. Old money is protected. But the guy who starts a bar, the woman who runs a bakery, the guy who builds a tech company from his garage—those people are the ones being punished.

And why?

Because new money is dangerous. New money means change. New money, Bitcoin before BTC neutered it means someone is rewriting the rules, shaking up the old order, creating something that didn’t exist before. The system doesn’t want that. The system wants stability—meaning it wants the rich to stay rich, and the rest of us to stay right where we are.

Think about it. You hire someone, you pay tax. You make money, you pay tax. You pay your employees, you pay tax. You reinvest in your business, you pay tax. It’s a system designed not to reward work, but to reward those who already have money. It’s a closed loop, and if you’re not born inside of it, you’re never getting in.

And then there’s the control. Because it’s not just about taking your money. It’s about making sure they know everything about you. You can’t just pay a flat amount and go about your life. No, you’ve got to report. You’ve got to list your earnings, your losses, your deductions, your spending. You’ve got to explain why you think you deserve to keep more of what you earned, like a child asking for permission.

It’s an invasion.

A creeping, insidious form of submission. And if you make a mistake? If you forget a form, if you miscalculate, if you try to keep a little too much? Well, then you’re a criminal. Then they get to hit you with fines, audits, threats.

And if you don’t pay?

They take your business. They take your home.

They throw you in a cage.

The billionaires don’t have to deal with that. They’ve got teams of lawyers. They’ve got entire battalions of accountants working night and day to make sure they don’t have to pay a damn thing. If the IRS shows up, they make a phone call, and it goes away. But you? You’re alone. And they know it.

The irony of it all is that there’s a better way. You could tax transactions, you could tax consumption, you could take the same tiny percentage from every movement of money, from every person, without exemptions, without loopholes. But they don’t want that. Because this was never about revenue. This was never about fairness. This was never about funding the public good.

It was about keeping you in your place.

Income tax isn’t about making sure society runs smoothly. It’s about making sure you don’t get ahead. It’s about making sure the people who actually work, the people who build, the people who create, stay just desperate enough to keep grinding, to keep hoping, to keep playing the game.

Because if you get too successful? If too many people like you make it out? Then the whole system collapses. Then people start asking questions. Then people stop needing the government to keep the world running, and that’s the last thing they want. Because the moment people realize they don’t need a bloated bureaucracy leeching off their work, the game is over. The entire structure, built on endless forms, endless deductions, endless audits, crumbles into irrelevance. And those in power? They can’t have that. They don’t know how to make anything. They don’t know how to run a business, how to create wealth, how to build anything beyond a web of rules designed to keep themselves entrenched.

So they keep the machine running, making sure just enough people stay afraid. That’s the secret to income tax—it’s not about the money. If they wanted money, they’d tax every transaction the same. If they wanted money, they’d make it simple. A flat rate, no deductions, no loopholes, no armies of accountants. But simplicity doesn’t serve them. Simplicity doesn’t create dependence.

Dependence is what they want. They want you to need deductions. They want you to beg for relief. They want you to be terrified of making a mistake, of triggering an audit, of stepping out of line. They want you to think that you need them to navigate the system they built, even though that system only exists to siphon off the wealth of people like you.

And every year, they tweak the rules just a little bit more. They add a new form. They shift a bracket. They redefine what counts as income, what counts as an expense, what loophole they’ll allow the rich to keep and which one they’ll take away from the small business owner. Every year, the tax code gets thicker, denser, more indecipherable—not because it needs to be, but because confusion is power. If you don’t understand the system, if you’re always worried you’ve missed something, you’re easier to control.

Meanwhile, the people who should be building, the people who should be innovating, spend their days pouring over spreadsheets, hiring consultants, keeping up with shifting regulations instead of making something worthwhile. The government doesn’t make money. The government doesn’t create anything of value. It exists by taking from those who do.

And if you think you can escape? If you think you can find a way to outmaneuver them, to keep what you earn? They’ll call you a criminal. They’ll call you a tax cheat, a fraud, a threat to society. Not because you stole anything, but because you refused to be stolen from. Because in their eyes, what you earn isn’t yours—it belongs to them first, and you should be grateful they let you keep any of it at all.

But here’s the thing they don’t understand, the thing no bureaucrat, no politician, no tax collector has ever understood: the people who build, the people who create, the people who drive the world forward—they don’t need the government.

The government needs them.

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S Tominaga

@CsTominaga

Jan 16

They changed the name, but not the game. It used to be eugenics, now it’s transhumanism. A clever rebranding, a sleight of hand, a new bottle for the same old poison. Back in the 1940s, when the Nazis burned their way across Europe, singing hymns to the science of selective breeding, the English eugenics movement had a problem. They couldn’t wash the blood out of their gloves fast enough. They were the priests of purification, the engineers of a better humanity, but suddenly, all their theories, their white papers, their meticulous statistical charts were soaked in the stink of Auschwitz. So they stepped sideways, ducked the spotlight, and put on a new mask. They whispered a new name into the wind: transhumanism.

The con stayed the same. The goal was still to purge the world of the unworthy, to edit and upgrade humanity like a factory line.

The useless eaters, the degenerates, the poor—they were to be phased out, refined, optimized, exterminated. And now, instead of test tubes and phrenology, they had silicon and cybernetics. It wasn’t about sterilization and elimination anymore—no, now it was about “enhancement.” Better bodies, better brains, better people.

The right kind of people.

The rich.

The chosen.

The Science of the Damned

They dress it up in shiny rhetoric. It’s all about progress, they say. A utopia of optimized bodies, upgraded minds. It’s the golden promise of the Singularity, the gleaming future where the strong ascend, the weak vanish, and man remakes himself into a god. But scratch the surface, and the old bones are still there. The premise is still the culling of the herd. The tools are just fancier.

Back in Latin America, the English eugenicists rebranded early. They were ahead of the game. They realized that eugenics had become bad PR, but the mission? The mission was too important to abandon. So they found new words. Human enhancement. Genetic superiority. Post-human evolution. But beneath the jargon, it was still about who gets to live and who gets to die. Who is worthy of being carried forward into the brave new world, and who is a relic of the past, dead weight, a drag on the machine.

They sell it with sugar. The sick will be cured. The blind will see. The crippled will walk. But they don’t mention the cost. The cost is that if you can be augmented, if you can be improved, then you can also be discarded if you fail to meet the standard. If humans can be optimized, then someone—some boardroom, some committee, some billionaire clique—gets to decide who isn’t optimized enough to deserve a place in the world.

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