In this piece, I reckon with a lifetime of observing societal decay as a man embedded in the chaos, building frameworks like to restore order. Yet beneath all the philosophy and innovation, I uncover a deeper and more personal crisis—the failure of modern manhood to guard the gates of culture, family, and morality. I accept that blame solves nothing, but responsibility changes everything. By choosing to stand firm, to say “no,” and to protect with clarity and strength, I redefine what it means to love as a man.
I have a lifetime of watching the world unravel around me. Become more chaotic. Less moral. More crass. More pornographic. Not from a distance—but as a man deeply in it. Building a company. Forging a philosophy. Creating a framework for social change. I’ve dedicated my adult life to thinking through what I believed mattered most: Kaamfu, a work platform designed to restore order in our digital lives; Unwakenism, a personal philosophy to understand why I awaken here and what I’m meant to do; Tribunism, a new social logic for political and cultural revolution.
And yet, even as I’ve built and spoken and written—there’s been a gnawing sense that something is missing. Something close. Immediate. Not abstract or systemic. Something right here. The roles of the people around me. Specifically, the role of a man.
What does it mean to be a man today? This question haunts me—not as a cultural provocation, but as a personal confession. Because as I watch the foundations of the West collapse into relativism, consumerism, degeneracy, and incoherence, I realize I can no longer point outward. I’ve been trained by business to hunt down the source of failure—to name it, correct it, and rebuild. But strangely, when it comes to the collapse of families, of meaning, of moral direction—I’ve neglected that same basic discipline.
We ask: Is it the government’s fault? The corporations? A particular race or group? Is it women? Is it the internet? No. It’s us. It’s men. We have failed because our role is to guard the gates from the serpents. Yet everywhere we look, we are surrounded by them. Our sacred role is to protect our loved ones, and through them, our communities and cultures. Yet our loved ones are confused. Our households are conflict-ridden. Our communities have become hotbeds of despair, debauchery, mindless consumption, and moral fog.
And I say this not in self-pity—but with the clarity that comes from finally seeing what has always been true. We are the protectors. We are the guardians. That is not a metaphor. It is not a romanticized ideal. It is the function of manhood. And if we abandon that post, we are not men—we are grown boys waiting for someone else to save what only we were made to guard. The serpent didn’t go to Adam. It went to Eve. Not because she was lesser. Not because she was wrong. But because she was vulnerable. And Adam stood by. Silent. Passive. Watching. The original failure was Adam’s in not guarding the gates and letting the snake slither in and poison Eve. And it echoes.
I see those echoes now—in homes without fathers, in women bearing crushing burdens alone, in boys who’ve never been taught how to carry strength, in girls shamed for their femininity, in systems that reward passivity and punish conviction. I see it in relationships where men are aimless and indecisive. Online, where women are sold as sexual content and men pay without blinking. We say nothing. We watch. And we fail.
But this isn’t about blame. It’s about responsibility. Guilt hides. Accountability steps forward. And accountability starts with this: I will own this. When I build my company and something breaks, I don’t waste time blaming competitors or the market. I look inward. I audit the system. I ask: Where did it fail? Who dropped the ball? What guardrail didn’t hold? And if the answer is me—I own it. That’s how you lead. That’s how you build. So why don’t we do the same in life?
We keep waiting for someone else. A movement. A politician. An influencer. But no cavalry is coming. No wave will wash it all clean. If men don’t rise—if we don’t name what’s broken and take the hit—this collapse will continue. And we will deserve it.
Look around. Our daughters are undressing for strangers, guided by algorithms and reinforced by money. Our sons are lost in screens, confused about what strength is or afraid to use it if they find it. Our wives are trying to hold broken homes together while being told they should want to tear them down. And what do we do? We retreat. We rationalize. We shrug and say the culture is too far gone.
But cultures don’t collapse on their own. They’re abandoned—one boundary at a time, one man at a time—until no lines remain because no men are left to draw them. We must be done with silence. Men must stop outsourcing their responsibility to institutions or ideologies. We are men. That means we are protectors. We were given strength—not to dominate, not to oppress—but to build walls, guard gates, and hold the line. Not to fling them open for every serpent in the field.
We must name the dangers. We must redraw the lines. We must say “No” when the world says “Maybe.” That “No” is love. Protection is love. To neglect is to abandon love. But the traps have been laid for us too. We’ve been trained to believe that only the feminine version of love is valid—the kind we see in the women we cherish. Patient. Nurturing. Flexible. That love warms us. It makes space for us. But it is not the love of a father. The love of a strong father sets boundaries. Holds the line. Says “no” before harm can even begin.
We don’t let our little sister strip for strange men once. We don’t give pornographers a second chance. We don’t enable behavior we know is wrong. The love of a man is strong and firm. And when others try to call it dangerous or toxic—they are not trying to protect women. They are trying to disarm the only force that can.
There is no perfect man. Only the man who chooses to stand while others sit. The one who says, “I will be accountable.” That’s the kind of man we need to be. That’s the kind we must raise. That’s the kind we must keep close.
If you’re reading this and you feel the same—start there. With a simple confession: We have failed. But we will not fail again. Not while we still have breath. Not while the serpent still slithers. Not while there’s still time to draw the line before it speaks.
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