I’ve watched the same men who talk about decentralization and freedom flinch when real people need money for Gaza. Crypto promised to bypass the banks, to break the chains, but it built new temples where the same rich men sit. My grandson sent me a hundred dollars through a wallet once—three days it sat, fees eating it alive, while my neighbor’s boy bled in a hospital in Nablus. The revolution they stream from Miami looks nothing like the hunger I see on my street. You can’t eat blockchain, and you can’t pay the rent with a whitepaper. I want no more sermons from boys in air-conditioned rooms.
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