TORNADO CASH: 5 YEARS IN PRISON FOR CODE
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He didn't steal. He didn't kill. He didn't defraud anyone. He wrote code. Open-source code, publicly published, auditable by all. Code that carries no intention, no judgment, no moral direction. And yet, Alexey Pertsev sleeps in prison. As this is being written, he is awaiting the outcome of his appeal. The first sentence gave him five years in prison for participating in the creation of Tornado Cash, a mixing protocol on Ethereum. In short: for giving anyone the opportunity to use privacy.
But in the post-2022 world, privacy is a crime. Simply offering a neutral tool, without a central authority, capable of concealing the source and destination of funds is enough to turn you into an enemy of the state. Code is now equated with intent. Writing a cryptographic function is now “facilitating” money laundering. Publishing a non-custodial smart contract is “aiding” criminals. The accusation is delusional. Yet it is real. And it sets a precedent.
Alexey's trial is symbolic. It marks a turning point. For the first time in modern history, an open-source developer is being condemned not for what they did, but for what others did with their code. The logic is implacable and terrifying: if your software can be used by criminals, then you are complicit. Suffice to say that every developer of Bitcoin, Monero, Samourai, Wasabi, or JoinMarket is now in the hot seat.
This case is not anecdotal. It opens a huge breach in the history of free software. It sends a clear message to all cypherpunks, privacy maximalists, and strong encryption idealists: “We will no longer let you code in peace.” It doesn't matter that Tornado Cash was a standalone smart contract, unmodifiable once deployed. It doesn't matter that the development team had no control over its operation. It doesn't matter that the code is public, open source, used by both individuals and institutions. In the eyes of the Dutch justice system, the tool's mere existence is a problem.
As the appeal is underway this summer of 2025, the climate is electric. On the one hand, regulators are issuing alarmist statements. They talk about terrorism, North Korea, and systemic threats. On the other, privacy advocates are crying foul. Vitalik Buterin himself has recalled that he used Tornado Cash for reasons of personal confidentiality, to separate his public donations from his private assets. Is he also a criminal? Should every user of coinjoin, Whirlpool, or an anonymous bridge be required to report themselves to the police?
The real issue isn't Tornado Cash. It's the right to silence. The right not to be tracked. Not to have to account for every transaction, every movement of funds, every donation, every payment. It's the right to live without constant justification. And that right is being destroyed. Because while Alexey Pertsev is on trial for coding a privacy tool, the banks that launder billions for the Mexican cartel are getting away with fines. The fund managers who ruin entire countries through speculation are being rewarded. The centralized platforms that leak with customer deposits are disappearing into thin air. But one developer is sleeping in a cell for writing Solidity.
Tornado Cash is a revelation. It reveals the absurd imbalance between the real criminals and the scapegoats of power. It exposes the deep fear of governments facing a financial world they no longer control. Because what Tornado Cash enabled was true algorithmic anonymity. Not a facade of anonymity. Not pseudo-KYC discretion. A raw, mathematical anonymity, based on zk-SNARKs and immutable contracts. And that, the powers that be, can't stand for it.
The precedent is set. If Alexey's conviction is upheld on appeal, then all developers are threatened. The freedom to code will be conditional on obedience. You'll have to prove that your code cannot be "misused." Programmers will be asked to install backdoors, limit usage, and filter addresses. The nightmare of an Internet under total surveillance is approaching. And with it, the slow euthanasia of decentralized innovation.
The implications for Bitcoin are enormous. Because even though Tornado Cash runs on Ethereum, the message is for everyone. Today, we're attacking a Solidity developer. Tomorrow, it will be Rust, C++, Python… whatever the language. What's being targeted is the very idea of a tool for emancipation. A tool that escapes control. A protocol that doesn't ask for permission.
And where does Bitcoin fit into all this? It's in the crosshairs. Not as a speculative currency—Wall Street loves that. But as a system of total sovereignty. As a monster impossible to fully regulate. As a machine for disobedience. Today, we can't attack the protocol directly. But we can attack its ecosystem. The mixers. The non-KYC wallets. The mobile nodes. The volunteer developers.
The parallel with Samourai Wallet is obvious. The team has been arrested. Whirlpool's backend is in the crosshairs. The logic is the same: we blame those who enable privacy for it. We transform the tool into intention. The code into complicity. And meanwhile, the world gets used to it. It accepts it. It gives up. "If they had nothing to hide..."
But those who have nothing to hide have everything to lose. Because a society without privacy is a vulnerable society. A society where power knows everything, sees everything, tracks everything. A society where every dissent is visible. Where every protest is recorded. Where self-censorship becomes the norm. That's what they want. A people who monitor themselves. Who ask for nothing. Who consume, scroll, pay their taxes, and smile for the cameras.
But pockets of resistance remain. Anonymous developers. Solo miners. Sovereign wallet users. Code activists. Freaks, paranoiacs, decentralization fanatics. And as long as there are these people, Bitcoin will not die. As long as a single coinjoin is running. As long as a single UTXO is mixed. As long as a single developer refuses to censor their code.
Tornado Cash isn't an anomaly. It's a battlefield. A marker of the ongoing war between freedom and control. If Alexey falls, an entire section of the free web is thrown into disarray. If the right to write code disappears, then algorithmic disobedience becomes impossible. And without disobedience, all that remains is obedience. Conformity. The slow extinction of everything that disturbs.
So no, Bitcoin is not an investment like any other. It is not a simple “toll-free number” in your trading app. It is an act. A posture. A stance facing the world. And every time you refuse to submit to KYC, that you send a coinjoined transaction, that you run your node, that you refuse the centralized facility, you participate in this resistance. Alexey coded. They locked him up. And you? What do you do? Do you mix? Do you self-host? Do you learn? Or do you let it happen?
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