If sovereignty is the reason Ethereum exists at all, then it can’t just be a story we tell ourselves when it’s convenient. It has to be enforced. ETH matters because it prioritizes credible neutrality, exit rights, and constraints on power over trust in founders, platforms, or institutions. Any product that fails to mechanically protect users from capture by founders or intermediaries never really needed to be on-chain in the first place. At that point, it isn’t infrastructure — it’s the same power dynamics, wearing cryptography as a costume.

Seen through that lens, it’s hard to care very much about “user adoption.” Why should users adopt new behaviors when the system still allows the most agentic actors to extract value, avoid accountability, and reset every cycle? Founders get paid. Intermediaries face no consequences. The narrative refreshes and we call it experimentation. The system works exactly as designed — just not for users.

That’s why framing failure as “users weren’t ready” or “users didn’t know what they wanted” rings hollow. The more honest answer is that we keep settling for bad systems because we want blockchain adoption so badly that we lower the bar for what deserves to exist. We accept products with no real enforcement, no durable user protections, and no downside for those in control — and then act surprised when behavior doesn’t stick.

My claim is simple: behavior shouldn’t be forced on users, but accountability must be enforced on power.

The behavior that actually needs to change isn’t user behavior. It’s builder and investor behavior. We need to stop shipping systems that ask for trust instead of enforcing accountability. Sovereignty without enforcement is just vibes. Decentralization without consequence is theater.

Ethereum’s original design philosophy was explicit about this. The network isn’t neutral because people are good; it’s neutral because no one is trusted. Slashing exists because incentives alone don’t work. Exit rights exist because loyalty can’t be assumed. Credible neutrality exists precisely to stop powerful actors from rewriting the rules once value is at stake. If a protocol can’t punish misbehavior, can’t be exited without coercion, and can’t remain neutral under pressure, then it isn’t sovereign — it’s just permissionless until it isn’t.

Too often, we’ve done the opposite of what we claim to believe. We are still early — painfully early — yet we’ve been acting late-stage and extractive. In the cases people point to as failures, the problem wasn’t product–market fit. The behavior people claim never materialized had already materialized. People were using the tools, money was changing hands, and norms were forming. What broke wasn’t demand — it was the system’s ability to hold its shape once the stakes changed.

That failure wasn’t abstract. It was architectural.

In many of these cases, the original contracts never disappeared. They’re still live on-chain. In theory, anyone could build on them. But in practice, a series of structural decisions made that permissionlessness mostly symbolic. Core data infrastructure was deprioritized or redirected. Indexers and APIs were refocused elsewhere. Independent builders were left to shoulder serious technical and financial costs just to access basic state. What was once straightforward became expensive and fragile to maintain.

At the same time, incentives were quietly realigned. Subsidies, rewards, and attention clustered around new primitives, new networks, and new mechanics. No one was explicitly forced to migrate — but staying behind meant worse liquidity, fewer users, higher costs, and no meaningful upside for the interface layer. Exit technically existed; viability did not.

Even the developer experience followed this logic. Tooling and SDKs evolved in ways that made legacy interactions increasingly awkward, pushing anyone who wanted to preserve the original behavior into slower, riskier, lower-level work. What looked like iteration was really a narrowing of what kinds of products were easy to build — and therefore what kinds of values could realistically survive.

None of this required explicit censorship. No votes were taken. No consensus was asked for. And that’s precisely the problem. The failure wasn’t a pivot toward speculation or protocol revenue. The failure was that the system allowed a small group of actors to fundamentally rewrite the value proposition without meaningful user consent, resistance, or recourse. A system that allows that kind of unilateral shift is sovereign in name only.

This is how you miss the moment when people are actually ready. Not because users don’t want better tools, but because they recognize the pattern immediately. They’ve already lived through platforms that changed incentives overnight, financialized their labor, deprecated the tools that made them money, and called it progress. If Web3 recreates that dynamic — even unintentionally — then adoption was never the bottleneck.

Trust was.

Being early isn’t the problem. Impatience is. The best protocols and projects in Web3 aren’t early because they demand new behavior; they’re early because they align with the ways human behavior inevitably shifts in response to changing circumstances — and they’re still intact and credible when those shifts finally arrive. They don’t try to redirect the river. They wait at the bend.

Good systems don’t just anticipate the future. They protect users from it. They make certain kinds of changes hard. They embed friction where power would otherwise concentrate. They ensure that when circumstances change — as they always do — the system can’t be quietly hijacked before users have a chance to respond, exit, or fork on fair terms.

The real tragedy, if we don’t internalize this, is what happens next.

The tools and primitives built during the first wave of the creator economy aren’t going away. Corporations and well-capitalized intermediaries will use them. They’ll benefit from reduced legal overhead, automated compliance, instant settlement, and the ability to coordinate massive, complex deals with minimal management complexity. They’ll distribute to hyper-local, hyper-niche audiences at scale — not to empower them, but to extract from them more efficiently.

And because we failed to bake enforceable sovereignty into these systems, those gains will be hoarded. The same asymmetry will repeat, just with better tooling. The upside of the technology will accrue to institutions long before it ever reaches the people it was supposedly built for — not because users failed to adopt, but because we failed to protect them.

That’s the warning.

The mistake isn’t being early.

The mistake is letting this happen again.

If sovereignty is the reason Ethereum exists at all, then it can’t just be a story we tell ourselves when it’s convenient. It has to be enforced. ETH matters because it prioritizes credible neutrality, exit rights, and constraints on power over trust in founders, platforms, or institutions. Any product that fails to mechanically protect users from capture by founders or intermediaries never really needed to be on-chain in the first place. At that point, it isn’t infrastructure — it’s the same power dynamics, wearing cryptography as a costume.

Seen through that lens, it’s hard to care very much about “user adoption.” Why should users adopt new behaviors when the system still allows the most agentic actors to extract value, avoid accountability, and reset every cycle? Founders get paid. Intermediaries face no consequences. The narrative refreshes and we call it experimentation. The system works exactly as designed — just not for users.

That’s why framing failure as “users weren’t ready” or “users didn’t know what they wanted” rings hollow. The more honest answer is that we keep settling for bad systems because we want blockchain adoption so badly that we lower the bar for what deserves to exist. We accept products with no real enforcement, no durable user protections, and no downside for those in control — and then act surprised when behavior doesn’t stick.

My claim is simple: behavior shouldn’t be forced on users, but accountability must be enforced on power.

The behavior that actually needs to change isn’t user behavior. It’s builder and investor behavior. We need to stop shipping systems that ask for trust instead of enforcing accountability. Sovereignty without enforcement is just vibes. Decentralization without consequence is theater.

Ethereum’s original design philosophy was explicit about this. The network isn’t neutral because people are good; it’s neutral because no one is trusted. Slashing exists because incentives alone don’t work. Exit rights exist because loyalty can’t be assumed. Credible neutrality exists precisely to stop powerful actors from rewriting the rules once value is at stake. If a protocol can’t punish misbehavior, can’t be exited without coercion, and can’t remain neutral under pressure, then it isn’t sovereign — it’s just permissionless until it isn’t.

Too often, we’ve done the opposite of what we claim to believe. We are still early — painfully early — yet we’ve been acting late-stage and extractive. In the cases people point to as failures, the problem wasn’t product–market fit. The behavior people claim never materialized had already materialized. People were using the tools, money was changing hands, and norms were forming. What broke wasn’t demand — it was the system’s ability to hold its shape once the stakes changed.

That failure wasn’t abstract. It was architectural.

In many of these cases, the original contracts never disappeared. They’re still live on-chain. In theory, anyone could build on them. But in practice, a series of structural decisions made that permissionlessness mostly symbolic. Core data infrastructure was deprioritized or redirected. Indexers and APIs were refocused elsewhere. Independent builders were left to shoulder serious technical and financial costs just to access basic state. What was once straightforward became expensive and fragile to maintain.

At the same time, incentives were quietly realigned. Subsidies, rewards, and attention clustered around new primitives, new networks, and new mechanics. No one was explicitly forced to migrate — but staying behind meant worse liquidity, fewer users, higher costs, and no meaningful upside for the interface layer. Exit technically existed; viability did not.

Even the developer experience followed this logic. Tooling and SDKs evolved in ways that made legacy interactions increasingly awkward, pushing anyone who wanted to preserve the original behavior into slower, riskier, lower-level work. What looked like iteration was really a narrowing of what kinds of products were easy to build — and therefore what kinds of values could realistically survive.

None of this required explicit censorship. No votes were taken. No consensus was asked for. And that’s precisely the problem. The failure wasn’t a pivot toward speculation or protocol revenue. The failure was that the system allowed a small group of actors to fundamentally rewrite the value proposition without meaningful user consent, resistance, or recourse. A system that allows that kind of unilateral shift is sovereign in name only.

This is how you miss the moment when people are actually ready. Not because users don’t want better tools, but because they recognize the pattern immediately. They’ve already lived through platforms that changed incentives overnight, financialized their labor, deprecated the tools that made them money, and called it progress. If Web3 recreates that dynamic — even unintentionally — then adoption was never the bottleneck.

Trust was.

Being early isn’t the problem. Impatience is. The best protocols and projects in Web3 aren’t early because they demand new behavior; they’re early because they align with the ways human behavior inevitably shifts in response to changing circumstances — and they’re still intact and credible when those shifts finally arrive. They don’t try to redirect the river. They wait at the bend.

Good systems don’t just anticipate the future. They protect users from it. They make certain kinds of changes hard. They embed friction where power would otherwise concentrate. They ensure that when circumstances change — as they always do — the system can’t be quietly hijacked before users have a chance to respond, exit, or fork on fair terms.

The real tragedy, if we don’t internalize this, is what happens next.

The tools and primitives built during the first wave of the creator economy aren’t going away. Corporations and well-capitalized intermediaries will use them. They’ll benefit from reduced legal overhead, automated compliance, instant settlement, and the ability to coordinate massive, complex deals with minimal management complexity. They’ll distribute to hyper-local, hyper-niche audiences at scale — not to empower them, but to extract from them more efficiently.

And because we failed to bake enforceable sovereignty into these systems, those gains will be hoarded. The same asymmetry will repeat, just with better tooling. The upside of the technology will accrue to institutions long before it ever reaches the people it was supposedly built for — not because users failed to adopt, but because we failed to protect them.

That’s the warning.

The mistake isn’t being early.

The mistake is letting this happen again.