I don’t usually write about politics. Not because I don’t have opinions, but because most politics today feels like theatre. Noise pretending to be substance. Flags pretending to be values. Participation reduced to choosing which stranger gets to decide on your behalf.

Bitcoin is the closest thing I have to a political belief.

Not because it promises riches. Not because it is edgy or rebellious. But because it quietly answers a question I have been circling for years.

Who gets permission?

Most of modern life runs on permissions we barely notice. You earn money, but you don’t really own the rails it moves on. You transact, but only after multiple unseen entities nod in approval. Banks, regulators, governments, compliance departments. Strangers. Invisible committees.

As long as you behave, the permission flows. Swipe works. Transfer clears. Life continues.

Until it doesn’t.

Permission is invisible until it is revoked. Bitcoin makes it optional.

The uncomfortable truth is this. If you need permission to transact, you need permission to exist economically. And in a world where economics decides who eats, who travels, who builds, and who survives, that is not a small dependency.

If your money needs approval, your existence already has conditions.

We call this system normal because it has always been there.

Bitcoin is interesting not because it fixes everything, but because it removes something fundamental.

Permission.

Bitcoin does not ask who you are. It does not care where you are from. It does not check your paperwork, politics, religion, or social score. It does not freeze because someone somewhere changed their mind.

You either follow the rules or you don’t. And the rules are not written by people. They are written in math.

That distinction matters more than we admit.

Traditional finance runs on rules of men. Vague, interpretable, selectively enforced. The same action can be legal today, illegal tomorrow, and “under investigation” forever. Enforcement depends not on truth, but on attention, incentives, and power.

Power prefers ambiguity. Math does not.

Bitcoin runs on rules of code. Objective. Transparent. Predictable. Every participant can verify them. Every violation is rejected automatically. No moods. No exceptions. No favours.

Rules written by people decay. Rules written in code either work or fail honestly.

This is not chaos. This is order of a higher resolution.

People often confuse permissionless systems with lawlessness. That is lazy thinking. What Bitcoin rejects is not rules. It rejects arbitrary rules enforced by authority instead of logic.

Freedom is not the absence of rules. It is the absence of discretionary rulers.

A smart contract does not care who you are. It only cares whether conditions are met. It enforces perfectly, every time. No under-resourced department. No selective blindness. No moral posturing.

When enforcement depends on power, justice becomes probabilistic.

If we actually cared about orderly markets, we would celebrate that.

Instead, we attack it.

Because permission is power. And power does not like being automated away.

Bitcoin is not anti-government. It is anti-arbitrariness.

For centuries, we accepted that someone must sit at the center. Someone must watch, approve, deny, tax, freeze, print, and decide. We told ourselves this was necessary for society. That without it, things would fall apart.

But look around.

Money gets printed, then inflation is treated like a mystery. Rules multiply, but fairness does not. Complexity grows, accountability shrinks. We argue endlessly about right verus left and red versus blue while the permission structure itself remains unquestioned.

Authority demands belief. Bitcoin only demands compliance with reality.

There is something deeply infantilizing about the world we have normalized.

Permission is how we train children. You ask to leave the room. You ask to use the restroom. You ask before you touch something that is not yours. That makes sense. A child does not yet understand consequence. Permission is scaffolding.

But somewhere along the way, we forgot to take the scaffolding down.

As adults, we are told that responsibility comes with freedom. That maturity means accountability. That if you work, build, trade, and contribute, you earn agency. Yet the systems we operate in treat grown men and women like permanent wards.

You may earn. You may save. You may transact.

But only after asking nicely.

Only if the right forms are filled. Only if the thresholds are respected. Only if the watchers are satisfied.

Permission is appropriate for kindergarten. It is degrading when applied to capable adults.

When a man wants to do business, he should not have to justify his existence. When two adults agree to trade, no third party should be required to bless the interaction simply because they have appointed themselves as guardians of order.

Adults understand risk. Adults understand failure. Adults understand consequence.

Treating them as if they do not is not protection. It is control disguised as care.

The most dangerous idea we have accepted is that permission equals safety. That without constant oversight, adults will collapse into chaos. That freedom must be rationed like a controlled substance.

History does not support this fear.

Most progress has come from people who did not wait. Who did not ask. Who simply built and dealt with consequences openly. Commerce, art, science, technology. None of it moved forward because a committee felt comfortable.

Civilization advances when adults are trusted with responsibility, not supervised into obedience.

Bitcoin resonates here because it assumes adulthood by default.

It does not ask whether you are ready. It assumes you are. It does not protect you from mistakes. It lets you make them. It does not reverse your actions. It expects you to live with them.

This is not cruelty. This is respect.

Permissionless systems are not reckless. They are honest. They say, you are responsible for what you do here. There is no manager to appeal to. No parent to complain to. No authority to hide behind.

That is how adults operate.

Men who want to build do not want permission. They want clarity. Women who want to trade do not want approval. They want reliability.

Maturity is not asking for fewer rules. It is asking for rules that do not require supervision.

Changing the world has never come from those waiting patiently in line. It comes from those who step outside the line and accept responsibility for the outcome.

Permissionless systems do not remove consequences. They remove excuses.

And this is the part that is often misunderstood.

Permissionless does not mean lawless. It never did.

It does not mean a world without rules. It means a world with rules that are worth following. Rules that are clear, objective, and enforced consistently for real reasons, not because someone has the authority to reinterpret them.

The problem is not rules. The problem is rules that depend on who you are and who is watching.

Adults do not reject structure. They reject arbitrariness.

What people want is not freedom from constraint, but freedom from confusion. Not the absence of limits, but limits that make sense. Limits that can be known in advance. Limits that do not shift based on mood, power, or politics.

Rules written in code are not perfect, but they are honest. They do not pretend to be moral while acting selectively. They do not promise fairness and deliver discretion. They do not ask you to trust intent. They show you execution.

Math does not care if you are important. Math does not care if you are compliant. Math does not care if you are inconvenient.

A rule that cannot be enforced equally is not a rule. It is leverage.

When rules are objective, following them becomes easier. Not because they are trivial, but because they are legible. You know where the edges are. You know the cost of crossing them. You know that the outcome will be the same for you as for anyone else.

That is not anarchy. That is adulthood.

Real order is not maintained by supervision. It is maintained by alignment. By systems where doing the right thing is simpler than doing the wrong one. Where breaking the rules is expensive, not politically, but mechanically.

Bitcoin does not replace law with chaos. It replaces negotiation with certainty.

Good rules do not need enforcement campaigns. They enforce themselves.

There is also something unfashionable to admit.

Bitcoin is romantic.

Not in the soft, sentimental sense. But in the older sense of the word. Wild. Idealistic. Slightly unreasonable. Willing to attempt things that polite society says cannot work.

Every system that matters begins this way.

The internet was once romantic. Open protocols. Strange usernames. People building things at night with no permission and no business model. It was inefficient, fragile, and often absurd. It was also alive.

Bitcoin carries that same energy.

A belief that strangers can coordinate without masters. That rules can exist without rulers. That order can emerge without supervision.

The most important systems are built by people who care more than is rational.

Romantic systems do not ask whether they will be allowed. They ask whether they are true. They do not optimize for acceptance. They optimize for coherence.

That looks reckless from the outside. It always does.

Wild ideas are not born in committees. They come from people willing to be misunderstood. From builders who accept ridicule, inefficiency, and long odds because the alternative feels dishonest.

Bitcoin is not tidy. It does not explain itself well. It does not reassure. It does not compromise to appear reasonable.

That is not a bug. That is a signal.

Civilization does not advance through permission. It advances through conviction.

There is something deeply human about building systems that outgrow their creators. About releasing something into the world that cannot be recalled, censored, or domesticated once it is alive.

It is the opposite of control culture.

It is trust in emergence.

Wildness here does not mean chaos. It means refusing to overcorrect. Refusing to sand down every edge until nothing sharp remains. Refusing to trade long-term integrity for short-term comfort.

Romantic systems accept scars.

Bitcoin accepts that it will be attacked, misunderstood, exploited, and blamed. It survives not by persuasion, but by persistence.

Romantic systems do not win debates. They outlast them.

This is why it attracts builders more than advocates. Engineers more than politicians. People who would rather ship something imperfect than argue endlessly about ideals.

Wild does not mean careless. Romantic does not mean naive.

It means believing that adults can handle responsibility. That people, given clear rules and real consequences, can coordinate without being parented.

That belief alone already places Bitcoin outside the polite world.

And that is why, despite all its flaws, it still feels alive.

Bitcoin does not ask to rule anyone. It does not impose itself. It does not mandate adoption. It simply exists. Open. Voluntary. Unforgiving in its honesty.

You can ignore it. Many do.

But you cannot corrupt it quietly.

Trust is expensive. Verification scales.

That alone makes it political.

Not left. Not right. Something orthogonal.

A declaration that coordination without coercion is possible. That rules without rulers can exist. That trust can be replaced with verification. That dignity does not need approval.

The most political systems are the ones that refuse to participate in politics.

This does not mean Bitcoin is perfect. It isn’t. It is slow. Inefficient. Messy. Sometimes absurd. Innovation always is.

But every meaningful shift starts that way.

The internet did not ask permission from newspapers. Email did not wait for postal unions. Open source did not consult software monopolies.

Bitcoin belongs to that lineage.

Systems that survive scrutiny do not ask for legitimacy. They earn usage.

A tool that does not beg for legitimacy. A system that does not care if you clap. A protocol that works even if you hate it.

That is why it matters.

My politics are simple.

I trust systems that do not need me to trust people. I prefer rules I can inspect. I respect order that enforces itself. I am suspicious of power that demands obedience “for my own good”.

Bitcoin does not promise fairness. It guarantees predictability. That alone is revolutionary.

Bitcoin is not my identity. It is my signal.

A quiet refusal to confuse authority with legitimacy. A reminder that freedom does not arrive through permission. It arrives through design.

Opting out is quieter than protesting, and often more effective.

And sometimes, the most political act is simply opting out.