SATOSHI'S CHILDREN
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There was a generation that discovered Bitcoin like an unknown island suddenly appearing in the mist, a new land whose map no one had traced. The first arrivals didn't know they would become the keepers of a torch. They were simply seeking to understand this strange protocol, to explore its possibilities, to see if it would survive oblivion or attack. We bought, mined, traded, sometimes lost, and started again. We learned to speak Satoshi's language, made of blocks, nodes, confirmations, and irreversible transactions. But today, beyond the lines of code and the price curves, a silent question arises. What will we leave behind, and to whom will belong what we have accumulated, learned, and believed? Because it is not enough to possess in order to pass on. We must also prepare those who will receive.
Passing on Bitcoin isn't just about passing on a few satoshis like you would a watch or a ring. It's not just a matter of monetary value; it's a matter of conscience. A Bitcoin inheritance is useless if it isn't accompanied by an understanding of what it is and what it means. If an heir receives a fortune they don't know how to unlock, that fortune is lost. And if they receive access without knowing why they should keep it, they will squander it. A Bitcoin will isn't a simple legal document or an encrypted file; it's a passing of the torch, an initiation, a warning, and a call for vigilance. It's a living memory that we entrust.
Some choose sophisticated technical methods. Shared keys, where several fragments of access are distributed among different trusted individuals, so that the loss or betrayal of a single guardian does not compromise the whole. Bank vaults containing precise instructions. Engraved metal plates, resistant to fire, water, and time. Others prefer more discreet, almost poetic solutions, scattering clues through notebooks, objects, and places that only an attentive heir will be able to connect. But whatever the method, the real transmission doesn't just take place in the media. It takes place in the human relationship.
Satoshi's children are, first and foremost, those who observe us live. They see whether we trust banks or keep our keys. They perceive our distrust of certain promises, our patience in the face of volatility, our way of talking about financial freedom. Their first lesson in Bitcoin will not come from an online tutorial; it will come from the consistency between what we say and what we do. Sovereignty is not a concept that can be explained solely by diagrams. It is demonstrated, it is practiced.
We must teach them the value of the long term. Tell them that Bitcoin is not a lottery ticket, but a tool that rewards patience. Make them understand that security is a balance between accessibility and protection. Show them how to create a wallet, how to sign a transaction, how to verify an address. Remind them that a lost satoshi is lost forever. Tell them the stories of those who paved the way. Of Hal Finney, who received the first Satoshi transaction. Of the early lone miners. Of the one who bought two pizzas for 10,000 bitcoins, giving the world its first concrete proof of use.
Satoshi's children aren't just our biological children. They can be friends, students, strangers we meet online, curious young people who, one day, will ask a question. Passing on to these children means planting seeds in minds we may never see again. It means patiently answering a naive question. It means offering a reading, an explanation, a gesture that will later make sense. A legacy isn't always measured in numbers. Sometimes, a single piece of advice given at the right time is worth more than a thousand bitcoins.
But there is also the physical transmission, the one that involves concrete decisions. Who will hold the keys? How can we ensure that access is not lost or stolen? Should we write instructions in a formal will, at the risk of them becoming public, or keep everything out of traditional channels? Should we divide our assets among several portfolios, with different levels of access, to prevent a single point of failure from compromising everything? Should we train our heirs gradually, entrusting them with a small amount at first, then more once they have demonstrated their understanding? These are all choices that cannot be postponed.
The question of time weighs heavily in this reflection. Technologies evolve, media degrade, formats change. What is easy to read today may become unreadable tomorrow. An encrypted file on an obsolete hard drive is a sealed tomb. A forgotten passphrase is a door that will never open. Passing on Bitcoin also means passing on the ability to adapt, to migrate keys to new media, to maintain security despite changes. It is a living transmission, which requires a minimum of participation before its definitive disappearance.
There is a strong symbolic dimension to this idea. Bitcoin is more than an asset. It is a talisman against arbitrariness, a promise of autonomy, a key to a space where trust cannot be delegated blindly. To bequeath it is to transmit much more than wealth. It is to entrust a responsibility. It is to say to the recipient: here is a tool that can protect you, but it will be of no use to you if you don't know how to use it. Here is a symbol of freedom, but it will not make you free if you have no intention of remaining free. It is a legacy that requires effort to preserve.
Perhaps those who inherit will live in a world where Bitcoin is fully integrated, commoditized, used without even being named. Or perhaps they will live in a world where it is hunted, banned, presented as a threat to public order. In either case, their financial survival and autonomy will depend on what they understand from us. And in either case, we will no longer be there to answer questions. Everything will depend on what we were able to pass on before.
Satoshi's children will have to learn to say no. No to closed doors to which they don't have the keys. No to inflation that erodes the value of their work. No to systems that monitor everything under the pretext of security. But for that to happen, they will have to have already experienced the possibility of saying yes to something else. Yes to a currency they control themselves. Yes to direct exchanges, without intermediaries. Yes to a value that doesn't depend on a decree or authorization.
Passing on Bitcoin means preparing flamebearers. It means giving them the means to rekindle the fire if it ever goes out. It means leaving them not just the keys, but a map of the terrain and an understanding of the sky. It means telling them they are part of a lineage that goes back to an unknown pseudonym, to a block zero mined in the silence of a computer, to a simple but revolutionary idea: the ability to transfer value without permission.
A day will come when we will no longer be able to explain anything to them. On that day, what we have left behind will have to suffice. The keys, the phrases, the gestures, the values. If we have done our job well, they will receive not only a full wallet, but a compass to navigate an uncertain world. And then, even without us, they will walk in the light that Satoshi lit.
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