I’ve been turning this over in my mind for a while now, and the more I think about it, the more unsettling the truth becomes.
Here are my thoughts:
Violence is a language, and the world listens when it is spoken fluently. A man who has no propensity for violence is at the mercy of those who do. That is the truth, brutal and unvarnished.
Everyone understands it, even if they don’t admit it. You see it in the way people tread carefully around the sibling who is one provocation away from setting the house on fire. You see it in the way nations tiptoe around those with nuclear codes.
Nobody negotiates with a man who has nothing to lose and the willingness to reduce everything to ash. The reason the United States and Russia haven’t gone to war is not diplomacy or mutual respect—it is the understanding that if they did, the world as we know it would cease to exist. Their peace is not peace in the real sense; it is the silence of two wolves who know that if they fight, neither will walk away whole. So they circle, they growl, they show teeth, but they do not lunge. Not because they don’t want to—but because they know what will happen if they do.
Fear, that ancient, unyielding force, governs all of this. People do not fear the benevolent. They respect them, maybe even admire them, but they do not fear them. And in this world, fear is what keeps you from being swallowed. A man who cannot wield violence is a lamb among wolves. He is food. But the man who can, the man who carries destruction in his bones but chooses restraint—he is something else entirely. He is not feared because he is violent. He is feared because he could be violent. And that difference is everything.
Something strange happens when a man is known to be dangerous. People trust him more. Not in a moral sense, but in a predictable sense. They know where they stand with him. The same way nations form alliances with ruthless powers, knowing that as long as they remain allies, their enemies will not touch them. The same way a woman might feel safer walking beside a man who looks like he could break bones with his bare hands. It is not that she thinks he is kind. It is that she knows he is capable of harm—and she assumes he will use that capacity in her favor rather than against her. Violence warps perception. It makes people feel secure, even when it should terrify them.
It is the same reason everyone is careful with the office boss who can end careers with a signature. The same reason nobody mocks the classmate who has already sent two boys to the hospital. Violence does not have to be used—it only has to be possible. That possibility alone reshapes the world around it.
This is how power operates. A government does not need to execute people daily to maintain control; it just needs everyone to know that it could. A parent does not need to hit their child every day for the child to obey; the first beating is enough. A lion does not need to kill every animal in the jungle to be feared; it only needs to kill once.
Maybe this is why Jordan Peterson once said,
“I don’t think that you have any insight whatsoever into your capacity for good until you have some well-developed insight into your capacity for evil.”
Because the man who does not know what he is capable of is not virtuous—he is merely untested. A man who does not know his own darkness cannot call himself light. He is just a flickering candle, waiting for the wind to blow him out.
By that logic, the weak man is not necessarily the one without strength. The weak man is the one who does not even know his capacity for violence. The one who, when violated, sues for peace instead of reaching for his sword. The one who thinks morality is a shield, rather than understanding that a shield only works if there is a sword behind it.
Robert Greene says that when you meet a swordsman, you should draw your sword. That is the only language he understands.
One of the easiest ways to identify "rich" Nigerians who are yet to move beyond survival mode and defeat the poverty that lives rent-free inside their minds is that they do not understand the value of things, but they are hyperresponsive to branding and price tags.
They do not understand precisely where a Tesla is meant to be used and for what, or how vastly impractical it is to run an electric vehicle in an environment where you charge it with a diesel generator, roads are not properly marked (making assisted driving impossible), and the 50⁰C+ ambient temperature in Lagos traffic potentially turns that huge lithium-ion battery into a giant explosive fire hazard.
They either don't know any of this or don't care - because the real purpose of driving that Tesla in Lagos is to show off a giant payment receipt on 4 wheels. Thus the Model S used very commonly to do Uber in London becomes a status symbol for the "rich-poor" in Lagos, complete with vanity license plates saying "FUEL LOL."
They are the ones who upload the receipts for their overpriced watches and jewellery on Instagram because it is not enough that you merely see that they have "nice" things - you must know *how much* they paid for them. Because the usefulness of the "nice" things is not in the value those things create, but in the price itself. Money is what gives things value to these types, which is why they cheerfully and regularly overpay for everything under the sun - as long as the world knows how much they paid.
That's why they all buy the same impractical, unserviceable cars that they eventually put into storage to gather dust after driving for 6 months; they all try to fuck the same 10 instagram whores in a country with at least 100 million eligible women; and they all live in the same smelly, waterlogged, gigantically overpriced neighbourhoods within a few hundred metres of each other.
They're the ones who proudly and joyfully announce that they paid N6 billion for a "luxury mansion in Ikoyi" that has a diesel generator, an underground shit storage tank, a rudimentary access road surfaced with interlocking paving stones, a constant flooding problem, a huge tree trunk planted into the pavement to hold a mess of ugly electricity wires, and a permanent bad smell from an empty plot of land next door filled with refuse and mosquito-laden stagnant water.
If this description fits you, please avoid me. For your own good.
I BETTER PASS MY NEIGHBOR
In the dead of night, the silence breaks,
A generator hums, the whole house wakes.
Dim bulbs flicker, a fan spins slow,
While the next compound stays dark below.
@Nene_dev26 That's fantastic, you're getting comfortable using react it seems. You just have to stay consistent and also build projects that involves API integration and the use of a state management library.
You're getting close.