Introduction—What War Taught Me About Words

In intelligence work, I learned that information is both currency and weapon. The more precisely you control it, the safer you are and the stronger your position becomes. 

On patrols and in debrief rooms, I watched careers—and sometimes lives—hinge on a sentence said too soon or a detail given to the wrong ear. 

Years later, building the “Life The Battlefield” podcast, I see the same law operating online: many creators and “gurus” bleed power by talking too much, too often, to too many audiences at once. 

In the social era, oversharing doesn’t merely invite criticism; it collapses reputations. Research even has a name for the mechanism: context collapse—the moment all your audiences merge into one unforgiving crowd.

This article takes an investigative lens—no philosophy, just evidence. We’ll dissect how platforms reward volume, why oversharing converts into reputational risk, and what recent case studies reveal about the modern modus operandi of influence and its failure modes.

The Machine That Rewards Noise (and Punishes Judgment)

Platforms optimize for engagement. TikTok publicly explains that recommendations weigh user interactions (watch time, likes, and even time spent in LIVEs) most heavily. 

Increased input signals lead to increased visibility. Volume is structurally incentivized. YouTube, likewise, states that its recommendation system is designed to maximize viewer satisfaction and keep people watching—again favouring frequent, engaging output. 

For creators, their behaviour creates a perverse equilibrium: post more to be seen at all. 

But quantity multiplies the odds of context collapse—a joke for fans is a scandal to brands; a “raw confession” that feels intimate to loyal followers reads unprofessional to journalists, regulators, or future partners. 

Marwick and Boyd’s work show how social media compresses multiple audiences into a single stage where the performer cannot tune the message to each group. 

Case files: when oversharing detonates reach and reputation

1. Spectacle Over Judgment: The Aokigahara Backlash
   

   In December 2017, a top creator filmed and published footage from Japan’s Aokigahara forest featuring a deceased person. The outrage was global. YouTube removed his channels from its Google Preferred ad tier, paused originals, and publicly signalled that the video crossed bright ethical lines. 

   The episode is a clean illustration of the platform’s two-step: systems that reward boundary-pushing content, followed by corporate penalties when a creator’s “edginess” metastasizes into reputational damage for advertisers and the platform alike. 

   Modus operandi exposed: spectacle seeks short-term clicks; the archive produces long-term liability.
   

2. The Reputation Erosion Problem: Coriolanus and The Roman Crowd
   

   In Roman history—and later in Shakespeare’s retelling—the general Coriolanus stood as a war hero whose undoing came not from defeat in battle but from his words. He spoke with blunt honesty, voicing contempt for the common people whose support he desperately needed. His inability to restrain his speech, his refusal to flatter, and his disdain for the plebeians turned triumph into isolation.

   The people who once celebrated his victories came to see him as arrogant, even dangerous. In the end, Coriolanus was exiled, not because of military failure, but because of reputational collapse triggered by uncontrolled speech.

   Modus operandi exposed: strength and past glory cannot protect a leader who fails to control his tongue. Reputation, once stained, becomes the weapon enemies use to finish what words have already undone.

3. Platform Penalties: The James Charles Rupture
   

   Also in 2021, Morphe ended its partnership with James Charles; YouTube temporarily demonetized his channel under policies allowing action for off-platform behaviour deemed harmful to the community. 

   Penalties weren’t purely legal; they were reputational risk controls by commercial actors trying to signal higher standards to advertisers and audiences. 

   Modus operandi exposed: when trust erodes, distribution and monetization are the first levers pulled.
   

4. Glamour as Bait: The “Tinder Swindler” Playbook
   

   Shimon Hayut (Simon Leviev) engineered a persona of wealth and jet-set legitimacy through Instagram aesthetics—private jets, five-star hotels—converting image into credibility, then into requests for money framed as emergencies.

   After the Netflix documentary, he was banned from Tinder; the longer arc underscores how a constructed online reputation can enable fraud—and how quickly platforms and the press can reverse that perception once exposed. 

   Modus operandi exposed: conspicuous self-presentation cultivates parasocial trust; when the mask slips, the same visibility accelerates exposure.
   

Oversharing is Structurally Risky For Several Reasons, Not Just Anecdotal Evidence.

1. Context collapse magnifies misinterpretation. Fans, foes, employers, journalists, and regulators all receive the same post, and everyone judges it based on their own interpretation.

2. Self-disclosure bias: studies show people underestimate long-term risks while overweighing short-term social rewards, leading to habitual oversharing. Longitudinal and experimental work links greater disclosure to poorer risk assessment and problematic platform use.

3. Parasocial dynamics: disclosure can raise trust and purchase intent, but it’s double-edged. Recent work shows “authenticity” is not universally beneficial and that over-endorsement and perceived inauthenticity depress credibility. In practice, the type and amount of sharing matter more than the label “authentic.”

4. Recommendation opacity: even when audiences try to tune what they see, platform feedback tools only partially constrain recommendations (Mozilla’s multi-year user study). For creators, that means once a risky clip is live, downstream distribution is difficult to predict—or retract.

Counterargument (and limit): “But openness is what humanizes us.” True—measured disclosure fosters trust, and micro-influencers often win precisely because they feel closer and more relatable. 

The evidence supports that perceived authenticity correlates with purchase intention under certain conditions. The investigative caution is narrower: indiscriminate openness multiplies reputational downside without guaranteeing upside.

The Scammer’s Tactic Involves Weaponizing Oversharing

In corporate investigations, I’ve seen three recurring ploys that exploit our appetite for disclosure:

• The Luxury Mirage: A constant drip of status imagery (jets, watches, “hustle” dinners) builds an aura of competence and success. It lowers scepticism and accelerates financial requests (the Leviev case is illustrative).

• Confessional Camouflage: Public “vulnerability” posts (“I was broke…here’s the system I used”) create intimacy, then funnel audiences into courses or high-ticket “mentorships.” Research on parasocial engagement shows why this works: felt closeness elevates compliance.

• Flood-and-Forget: High posting frequency overwhelms scrutiny. By the time a claim is debunked, three new claims are live. Platform incentives quietly subsidize this behavior because frequency signals engagement.

As an ex-operative, I translate these words bluntly: disclosure is a social-engineering surface. The more a target reveals, the more precisely a malicious actor can time and frame the pitch.

Field guide for creators, executives, and brands (from the debrief room)

In corporate investigations, I’ve seen three recurring ploys that exploit our appetite for disclosure:

1. Adopt an “information hygiene” protocol.

   • Rule of latency: sleep on posts that reveal private relationships, legal disputes, or volatile opinions.
   • Rule of scope: ask, “Would I brief this to investors and my children?” If not, it doesn’t go online.
   • Rule of audit: monthly review of your top 50 clips for statements that could be misconstrued in a different context (journalist, regulator, court).

2. Engineer selective transparency.

   Share processes and lessons, not intimate details that can be spliced for outrage. Academic reviews show disclosure can help well-being and trust—when it’s intentional and bounded.

3. Red-team your content.

   Before publishing sensitive material, consider asking a colleague—ideally from outside your industry—to attempt to “misread” it. In intelligence, we assume hostile interpretation; creators should, too.

4. Throttle endorsements.

   Over-endorsement reduces perceived authenticity and trust. If you sell everything, the audience believes nothing. Recent studies connect over-endorsement to lower purchase intentions via credibility loss.

5. Prepare a crisis playbook.

   • The crisis playbook should include one values-anchored holding statement.
   • Develop a concrete corrective action plan.
   • There should be a single distribution map that indicates the location and timing of the apology.

Argument vs. Counterargument—What the Evidence Actually Says

Argument (supported): Algorithms reward volume and engagement; high frequency posting increases exposure to context collapse and reputational harm. Documented penalties—sponsor exits, demonetization, and ad-tier removal—follow when a creator’s archive yields scandal. 

Counterargument (bounded): Strategic openness can deepen trust and drive conversions. Authenticity signals correlate with purchase intent under certain conditions. But authenticity is not a blanket defence; beyond a threshold, “too much” or poorly framed disclosure backfires. 

Synthesis: Treat disclosure like a spotlight, not a floodlight. In war and in media, control of illumination determines who sees you—and what they do next.

Conclusion—the discipline that keeps you powerful

On patrol, I learned to ration words. In the studio, I’ve learned to ration posts. The battlefield has changed, but the underlying principles remain the same: if you do not control the information, it will end up controlling you.

If you lead a company, a brand, or a community, your voice must be audited, timed, and bounded. Oversharing can fuel an algorithm in the present, but it can erode your reputation in the future.

The creators who will endure are not the loudest—they are the most deliberate. 

Speak with purpose, publish with discipline, and let your work, not your oversharing, take the lead.

Introduction—The Corporate Illusion of Safety

When people think about reputational risk, they often assume it’s an influencer’s problem. “That’s for Instagram coaches and YouTube stars,” they say. But corporations are just as exposed—sometimes more so.

The digital age has erased the line between personal scandal and corporate scandal. A single tweet can sink share prices. 

A single video can erase decades of branding. And unlike the past, when companies could manage a slow news cycle, today the internet is merciless scandals erupt, spread, and escalate within hours.

Because of my background in intelligence and investigations, I’ve seen such events before. If a unit failed to take immediate, disciplined action after compromising its cover, the entire mission collapsed. 

In the boardroom, the same principle applies once exposure strikes, denial is suicide, but strategy can still save lives—and brands.

Case Study 1: Volkswagen’s Emissions Scandal

Volkswagen built its brand on “German engineering” and environmental responsibility. In 2015, the company’s installation of software to cheat emissions tests came to light. Overnight, VW’s reputation as a trusted automaker crumbled.

• The Rise: decades of quality branding.

• The Crack: investigators discovered inconsistencies.

• The Exposure: News broke, and regulators pounced.

• The Collapse: billions lost in fines, CEO resignations, and consumer trust destroyed.

The lesson? VW didn’t just break environmental laws—it broke the trust of millions. And in reputation, trust is currency.

Case Study 2: BP’s Deepwater Horizon Spill

BP branded itself as “Beyond Petroleum,” a company leading the green energy shift. But when the Deepwater Horizon oil rig exploded in 2010, killing 11 workers and creating one of the worst environmental disasters in history, that branding turned toxic.

CEO Tony Hayward worsened the crisis by saying he “wanted his life back”—a phrase that became a symbol of corporate arrogance. 

Public outrage soared, stock prices collapsed, and the company spent billions in compensation.

The lesson? In crisis, words matter. A careless statement can destroy a reputation faster than the incident itself.

Case Study 3: Boeing 737 Max

Boeing, a symbol of aviation excellence, encountered its most challenging period following two 737 Max crashes in 2018 and 2019, which resulted in the deaths of 346 people. Investigations revealed cost-cutting, inadequate training, and attempts to downplay safety issues.

For an aircraft manufacturer, safety is sacred. The moment that perception cracked, Boeing’s reputation nosedived. Orders were cancelled, billions were lost, and trust remains scarred.

The lesson? Reputation is built not only on marketing but also on core values. If safety—or ethics—is sacrificed for profit, the world will find out.

Why Reputations Collapse So Fast

Whether it’s a dating coach or a multinational corporation, the same forces drive reputational collapse:

1. Contradiction: The gap between what is preached and what is practiced.

2. Exposure: The internet amplifies every inconsistency.

3. Public Opinion: Once the crowd turns, the brand becomes the target.

4. Failure to Respond: Silence, denial, or arrogance accelerates the fall.

The speed is staggering. In intelligence, we called it cascade failure—one breach triggers another until the whole system collapses. In business, it’s the same: scandals are viral by design.

Corporate Framework—Protect Before You Collapse

This is where my battlefield lessons translate directly to the boardroom. Reputation management is not about responding after disaster—it’s about preventing the disaster before it explodes.

Here are four pillars every organization must adopt:

1. Transparency in Foundations
   Ensure your brand story is verifiable from the outset. Just as I advise individuals not to hide skeletons, companies must ensure their data, credentials, and compliance are bulletproof. Had Volkswagen placed a higher priority on transparency, the cheating software would have never been discovered.

2. Contracts and Confidentiality
   For individuals, NDAs protect conversations. For corporations, confidentiality protocols must protect both clients and internal whistleblowers. A company that silences employees instead of protecting them creates enemies inside.

3. Control of Communication
   Just as I tell professionals not to outsource their voice, corporations must guard their narrative. BP’s CEO lost control of the message with one careless sentence. A disciplined communication plan, rehearsed and verified, is the difference between survival and collapse.

4. Ethics and Consistency
   In war, soldiers follow a code. In business, employees must live the brand’s values. Without a culture of ethics, shortcuts become scandals. Boeing learned this painfully. Ethics must not be painted on walls—they must be lived in every boardroom decision.

Identifying and Measuring Corporate Reputational Risk

Companies often underestimate the scale of reputational threats. They invest in cybersecurity and compliance but ignore the softer battlefield of trust. Here’s how to get ahead:

• Audit Reputation Regularly: Use surveys, focus groups, and independent assessments to understand how stakeholders perceive you.

• Assign Risk Scores: Not every risk is equal. Measure which vulnerabilities.

• Red-Team Yourself: In intelligence, we asked, “How would the enemy attack us?” Corporations must ask, “How would critics or competitors expose us?”

• Integrate Pre- and Post-Mortem Analysis: As I wrote in This Explains Why You Will Never Succeed in the Market, leaders must anticipate risk before it explodes (pre-mortem) and extract difficult lessons afterward (post-mortem). This cycle builds resilience and ensures that mistakes, once made, are never repeated.

• Crisis Simulations: Conduct drills. Just as armies rehearse combat, companies must rehearse reputational attacks. How quickly would you be able to respond if a scandal arose this evening?

The Mario Bekes Advantage—From Battlefield to Boardroom

What sets me apart from traditional consultants is simple: I don’t just talk theory. I lived this on the battlefield, where one wrong move could cost lives. I conducted investigations where credibility meant winning or losing the case.

In my article Public Opinion Manipulation, I showed how narratives are shaped and weaponized. In How to Win Over Competitors Using the Three Stages of Conflict, I explained how rivals exploit weaknesses. And in This Explains Why You Will Never Succeed in the Market, I laid out the methodology of pre- and post-mortem analysis.

I teach leaders to think like investigators, anticipate like intelligence officers, and act like commanders in the heat of crisis. 

Where others analyze failure after the fact, I build systems that prevent reputational collapse before it begins.

Conclusion—Reputation Is the Corporate Battlefield

Reputation is not a logo. 

It is not a campaign. It is the invisible currency that sustains brands, leaders, and corporations alike.

Sadia Khan’s downfall shows how quickly an individual can collapse when preaching does not match practice. 

Volkswagen, BP, and Boeing demonstrate the same at a corporate scale: billions in value destroyed, trust shattered, and legacies rewritten in days.

The battlefield of reputation is unforgiving. As soon as contradictions surface, the internet takes on a decisive role. 

But with preparation, transparency, and discipline, collapse can be prevented.

This aspect is where I step in. I am Mario Bekes. I have walked through real battlefields and corporate minefields alike. 

And my message to every CEO, board, and professional is this: do not wait for exposure to strike. Build your crisis armour now. In the digital age, reputation is not only fragile but also crucial.

Transforming Fear into the Foundation of True Bravery

Introduction: Understanding Why Courage Cannot Exist Without Fear

It was 2 a.m. on a silent summer night in 1991. The air hung still and heavy, almost mocking me with its tranquillity. I was barely eighteen, a young person carrying the weight of a grown-up’s war. 

Strapped to my back was an MG42, with thousands of bullets winding along a cold conveyor belt—ready to be used at a moment’s notice. 

And beside me, bridging the worlds of innocence and conflict, was my childhood’s last remnant: a plush teddy bear, serving as my pillow.

That night, I met fear.

My stomach shook uncontrollably. My lips were cracked and dry. The pounding of my heart was so intense that I felt it might explode out of my chest. Fear itself seemed to be whispering down my neck, threatening my survival until dawn. 

Each second stretched into eternity, marked only by the slow, relentless ticking of the wall clock. I prayed—to anyone, to anything, to everyone—simply to make it through the night.

And yet, I survived. This was not due to the absence of fear, but rather to the ability to cope with it. 

Over 1,800 consecutive days in combat, I discovered a powerful truth: fear is not the adversary. Rather, it is the raw material from which courage is forged.

Fear and Courage: Partners on the Journey

Years later, I watched the film “Edge of Tomorrow”. In one scene, Master Sergeant Farell says, “It’s all right to be scared. Remember, there’s no courage without fear.”

At that moment, I smiled—not because it was just a clever movie line, but because I knew, from hard-won experience, that it was the truth.

Too often, we see fear and courage as adversaries—fear the villain, courage the hero. But they are intertwined. 

One cannot exist without the other. Without fear, there is no meaning to courage; if nothing threatens us, there is no bravery in pressing on.

As Mark Twain wisely observed, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.” True courage does not deny fear’s presence; it stands tall in the face of it.

The Psychology of Fear

Fear is not a weakness. It is one of the oldest survival mechanisms, woven into the very fabric of our being. 

Fear sharpens our senses, heightens our awareness, and prepares us to fight or flee. Without it, humanity would not have survived predators, wars, or disasters.

Today, we may not face lions or bullets, but our fears are no less real: fear of failure, rejection, humiliation, or the unknown. Our bodies respond the same way—racing hearts, trembling hands, sleepless nights.

Yet the stigma persists: we are told fear makes us fragile. Fear proves we are alive and engaged with what matters to us.

Courage: The Transformative Response

If fear is natural, then courage is a conscious choice. It is not inherited or automatic but cultivated through action. Courage is deciding to move forward, even while fear claws at your throat.

Consider this:

• If a firefighter runs into a burning building without fear, that is recklessness. If they feel fear yet choose to save others, that is courage.

• If a soldier advances without fear, it is blindness. If they advance while trembling inside, that is courage.

• Starting a business, speaking truth to power, reaching out for help, or admitting vulnerability while fearing judgment are examples of courage.

Courage is meaningful precisely because fear is present.

Cultural and Historical Echoes

The inseparable bond between courage and fear echoes through history, literature, and philosophy.

Christopher Paolini, author of Eragon, wrote, “Without fear there cannot be courage.”

Eddie Rickenbacker, America’s most decorated WWI pilot, said, “Courage is doing what you’re afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you’re scared.”

Across ancient epics, from Homer’s Iliad to the Norse sagas, heroes were never without fear. Their greatness lay in feeling fear and acting regardless.

From civil rights leaders to explorers, from the child learning to swim to the person daring to speak their truth—courage is always accompanied by fear.

The Power of Accepting Fear

One of the greatest mistakes people make is waiting for fear to disappear before acting. 

That day will never come. Fear shifts shape but never truly leaves.

Waiting for fear to vanish is like waiting for a life unlived.

The secret is acceptance. Acknowledge fear’s presence: “Yes, you are here, but you will not decide for me.” Fear does not need to be silenced; it needs to be understood.

Once you accept fear as a natural part of the human experience, you unlock your potential for courage.

Lessons from the Battlefield—and Beyond

My battlefield involved actual combat, bullets, and nights spent under fire. Yours may be different, but the principles are universal. Life presents each of us with moments where fear threatens to paralyse us.

Here are some lessons fear has taught me, which you can embrace in your life:

• Reframe fear. When fear appears, ask: What opportunity is hidden here? Fear often points us toward growth.

• Validate your emotions. Fear does not make you weak. It makes you human. Accept it without shame.

• Act anyway. Courage is not the absence of trembling hands; it is moving them anyway.

• Support others. When someone admits fear, do not dismiss them. Acknowledge their courage in facing it.

• Recognize small acts of bravery. Speaking the truth, asking for help, or daring to try are examples of courage in action.

Fear as a Teacher

Looking back on that night in 1991, with a teddy bear beneath my head and a machine gun by my side, I see now that fear was my greatest teacher. It showed me vulnerability, yes—but also resilience.

Fear stripped away illusions of invincibility and reminded me I was human. Only by embracing my humanity could I choose courage, repeatedly, through 1,800 days of combat and every challenge that followed.

Today, I no longer see fear as an enemy. I see it as a guide.

Closing Reflection: Choosing to Move Forward

The fundamental essence of humanity lies in the interplay between fear and courage. Fear reminds us of our limits; courage allows us to transcend them.

Your battlefield may not resemble mine. It could be the fear of starting over, the stress of speaking up, or the danger of the unknown. But the lesson is the same:

Fear will always be there.

So will courage.

And when you choose to act—not because you are fearless, but because you are afraid and still step forward—you embody the very essence of bravery.

Courage begins not when fear ends, but when you choose to move forward with fear as your companion. That is where true strength lives.

An Investigative Crime Report on the $40 Billion Collapse and the Lessons That Echo Across Crypto

Introduction—The First Rule of Deception

“When something is too good to be true, it usually is.”

That sentence is not just scepticism—it’s survival. In my years navigating battlefields, boardrooms, and betrayal, I’ve noticed that the most enticing promises are often the deadliest traps.

The digital asset world mirrors that reality. In 2024, Americans alone lost $9.3 billion to crypto scams—a 66% jump from the previous year. 

Globally, fraud has siphoned off $12.4 billion through hacks and scams, while illicit wallets now hold around $51 billion. Every statistic conceals shattered lives, families, and financial futures.

Standing at the center of one of the most dramatic collapses in crypto history is Do Kwon, the co-founder of Terraform Labs. His creation—TerraUSD (UST) and Luna—was sold as a flawless design; in reality, it was a ticking time bomb. 

His operation blew up a $40 billion market cap in 2022 and now serves as a blood-lettered textbook of how innovation without accountability can become a weapon.

Who Is Do Kwon: From Engineer to Fugitive

Do Kwon (born Kwon Do-Hyung in 1991, Seoul) studied computer science at Stanford University, graduating in 2015. 

He briefly worked at big tech firms like Microsoft and Apple before founding Anyfi, a decentralized networking startup, which later came under scrutiny for its misuse of public funding. 

In 2018, he co-founded Terraform Labs alongside Daniel Shin, launching Luna and then UST, an algorithmic stablecoin intended to maintain a $1 peg by minting and burning Luna. 

By early 2022, Terra’s ecosystem looked epic—its total value topped $50 billion, and Kwon was widely hailed as a crypto visionary. 

But cracks appeared. In May 2022, UST lost its dollar peg. A presumed algorithmic safety net failed, causing both UST and Luna to collapse—wiping out nearly $45 billion in market cap within a single week and sparking waves of losses across the crypto ecosystem. 

Kwon became a fugitive, accused of crypto crimes in multiple jurisdictions. In March 2023, he was arrested in Montenegro while trying to board a flight to Dubai using forged documents. He was subsequently extradited to the U.S.

Modus Operandi: The Anatomy of the Terra Fraud

Even the most complex scams follow familiar steps. Kwon’s collapse was no exception:

1. Seductive Promises
   Terra was branded as innovation itself: decentralized, algorithmically stable, and offering high returns. The pitch was irresistible.

2. Hidden Truths
   The algorithm was brittle—dependent on continuous new capital. When mass withdrawals began, the peg broke. Instead of transparency, Kwon mocked critics, calling them “poor” or “unintelligent”—a pressure campaign that discouraged scepticism.

3. Fabricated Stability
   Prosecutors revealed that after a prior de-peg in 2021, Kwon secretly hired a high-frequency trading firm to buy UST and restore its value. He then portrayed the restoration as algorithmic—misleading both retail and institutional investors

4. Crash and Disappearance
   As UST and Luna imploded, funds were moved through shell companies and offshore accounts. Kwon vanished until his arrest in 2023.

The Guilty Plea: Justice Catches Up

In August 2025, Kwon pleaded guilty to two counts of fraud in a Manhattan federal court—conspiracy to commit wire fraud and fraud—related to the Terra collapse. Speaking from the dock, he admitted, “What I did was wrong,” and apologized to.

His plea deal carries serious consequences:

• He agreed to forfeit over $19 million in assets and relinquish any ownership interest in Terraform Labs and its tokens

• Prosecutors will recommend up to 12 years in prison, though the sentencing guidelines allow up to 25 years. His sentencing hearing is scheduled for December 11, 2025.

In 2024, Kwon and Terraform Labs also settled with the SEC, amounting to $4.55 billion, which includes an $80 million civil fine and a lifetime ban from crypto trading.

Echoes of Ignatova and Bankman-Fried

The Terra saga is not an isolated incident—it fits into a broader pattern:

• Ruja Ignatova (OneCoin): Claimed to have invented a revolutionary blockchain. Her Ponzi scheme pulled in over $4 billion before she vanished in 2017.

• Sam Bankman-Fried (FTX): Built a public image of eccentric brilliance. Instead, he misused customer funds—leading to FTX’s collapse in 2022 and billions in losses.

All three cases display common elements:

• Overconfidence disguised as innovation

• Charisma wielded it like a weapon.

• Technical architecture as a smokescreen

• Silence and deception guiding the rise—and then the fall

The Crypto Battlefield: Why You Must Vigilantly Watch

Blockchain technology holds promise—but is also a dark battlefield where illusion and hype can kill. The terrain is fraught for a few reasons:

• Regulatory Vacuums: Many projects exist beyond real oversight.

• Opacity by Design: Whitepapers and audits are dense and often misleading.

• Cross-Border Complexity: Funds vanish across jurisdictions, frustrating recovery.

• Psychological Warfare: Media hype, fear of missing out, and influencer marketing amplify greed and suppress doubt.

• Innovation Before Verification: New products launch faster than they can be tested.

Behind the tech lies a human weakness—greed, hope, fear. Scammers don’t need hacking skills—just emotional manipulation.

Defence—Built on a Sceptical Intelligence Mindset

According to my investigations, resilience starts with suspicion. Here’s how to arm yourself:

• Question the source: Who audits it? Who enforces it?

• Resist guarantees: No algorithm is a failsafe..

• Limit your stake: Never gamble life savings.

• Judge the architect: Those who scorn critics often hide cracks.

• Heed the rule: If it sounds too good to be true step back.

Conclusion – Innovation Must Be Accountable

Do Kwon’s fall is not just a dramatic ending—it’s a case study in why innovation without accountability fertile ground for chaos and fraud is. Terra was not an accident—it was calculated.

As the next wave of crypto projects rises, we must remember the victims—the families robbed, the dreams shattered. 

In this battlefield, scepticism is the armour that protects us. Real progress cannot be achieved at the expense of truth.

Introduction: 21 Days to Change a Habit Is a Lie

I can still feel the smell of a rainy autumn day when a drill instructor walked in front of my company and told us, “We will break you and remake you.”

At that time, I laughed deep inside, still full of illusions. I thought, “I already know everything.” I’m Mario Bekes, a special forces operator—what could this man possibly teach me?

I was wrong. The instructor was right. They broke us down—every illusion, every false belief—and through repetition, discipline, and hardship, they remade us. It did not take 21 days. It took months of sweat, sleepless nights, and endless drills. 

Later, through military education, it was explained to us: recruits must be young, healthy, and untrained, because habits—real habits—are not created overnight. 

They are forged in time, through controlled environments and relentless repetition.

This is why, when I see the self-help industry promising people that “it only takes 21 days to change a habit,” I recognize it for what it is: a myth, a simplification, and in many cases, a dangerous lie.

The Birth of the 21-Day Myth

The promise of “21 days” sounds scientific, even authoritative. But like many modern myths, it has a traceable origin.

In the 1950s, Dr. Maxwell Maltz, a plastic surgeon, began noticing something peculiar in his patients. Those who underwent operations—whether cosmetic surgery or amputation—typically needed about three weeks to get used to the change in their appearance or body [theleadershipsphere.com.au].

In 1960, he published his book Psycho-Cybernetics, where he wrote that it “usually requires a minimum of about 21 days for an old mental image to dissolve and a new one to gel.” It was an observation, a medical reflection on adjustment—not a universal rule of psychology.

Yet the simplicity of the number took on a life of its own. Over the decades, self-help authors and motivational speakers stripped Maltz’s statement of its nuance. Soon, his cautious “minimum of about 21 days” became a bold proclamation: “It takes 21 days to change a habit.”

A myth was born.

Science Shatters the Illusion

Decades later, psychologists sought to test this claim. In 2009, Phillippa Lally and her team at University College London followed 96 volunteers as they tried to adopt new habits: eating fruit with lunch, going for a run, and drinking more water. 

The findings were devastating for the 21-day promise. On average, it took participants 66 days for a habit to become automatic. Some needed only 18 days; others required up to 254 days.

That is nearly a year—far removed from the three-week miracle.

Neuroscientists added further depth. Research into brain plasticity shows that building or breaking neural pathways requires sustained effort over months, not weeks. A neuroscientist quoted by MindBodyGreen pointed to about nine weeks—63 days—as a more realistic timeframe for embedding new behaviour.

This is the scientific consensus: habit formation is complex, variable, and deeply personal. There is no magic number.

The Industry of Illusion

So why does the 21-day claim continue to dominate motivational seminars, coaching sessions, and Instagram posts? The answer is both simple and unsettling.

The myth survives because it sells.

“21 days” is digestible. It fits neatly into a headline, a workshop flyer, or the title of a TikTok video. It is short enough to feel possible and long enough to feel serious. It taps into our craving for certainty and our desperation for quick transformation.

The self-help and coaching industries thrive on this illusion. If people succeed, the guru takes credit. If they fail, the individual is blamed for lacking discipline. 

And so, the cycle continues—with clients returning, wallets open, searching for the next program, the next “challenge,” the next promise of transformation.

In truth, what is being sold is not transformation but industrialized hope—hope packaged into timeframes, slogans, and formulas.

Why the One-Size-Fits-All Approach Is Dangerous

In the army, breaking and remaking habits worked because it was designed for a very specific group. Recruits were screened for age, health, and resilience. Training was brutal and uniform and delivered in an environment where every variable was controlled.

Now compare this with the way modern coaches apply the 21-day formula. It is marketed equally to:

• a teenager trying to build a study routine,

• a middle-aged smoker attempting to quit after 20 years,

• a business executive aiming to overhaul eating habits.

To claim that all these people can transform themselves in 21 days is not just naive. It is negligent.

Habit change is influenced by countless variables: age, cultural background, psychological history, environment, and even language. 

In my experience, as both a soldier and an investigator, I have seen how small differences—in training conditions, in mental preparedness, in leadership—drastically change the outcome. To apply a blanket rule is to ignore human complexity.

Why People Still Believe

If the science is so clear, why does the myth survive? The answer lies in human psychology.

We prefer simple truths to complex realities. A precise number like “21” feels authoritative. In psychology, this is called cognitive ease—our brains accept what is simple and repeatable.

We also crave success stories. A rare individual who manages to change in 21 days becomes the poster child of an entire industry, while the thousands who fail are quietly ignored. And finally, there is emotional marketing. Hope sells better than truth.

The tragedy is that people do not fail because they are weak. They fail because they were set up with false expectations.

Are 21 Days Completely Worthless?

Here lies the nuance. While 21 days is not enough to permanently change most habits, committing to three weeks can have value. It can act as a launchpad—a short, sharp commitment that builds awareness and momentum.

But it is not the destination. It is the first mile in a marathon. The danger arises when 21 days is sold as the finish line, rather than the starting block.

Life as a Battlefield: The Reality of Change

I know this not just from science but from life itself.

In war, habits were drilled into us until they became survival reflexes. It took months of repetition—stripping weapons blindfolded, crawling under barbed wire, and reacting to fire without hesitation.

In investigations, habits of listening, observing, and documenting were developed over years. A single careless slip of attention could compromise a mission.

In boxing, I have trained for months to adjust a single stance, a single jab. No serious fighter believes in the fantasy of overnight transformation.

Habits are survival tools. They are not created in 21 days. They are built through persistence, sweat, and the willingness to endure the grind.

The Cost of the Lie

The 21-day myth may seem harmless, but it has real consequences. It convinces people that failure is personal weakness rather than flawed advice. 

It feeds an industry that profits from recycling illusions. 

And worst of all, it robs people of patience—the very quality most essential to lasting change.

Real change takes time. It takes months, sometimes years. It takes discipline, structure, and support. There are no shortcuts.

The next time you hear a guru declare, “It only takes 21 days to change your life,” remember this: what they are selling is not truth, but marketing. And marketing will never replace the battlefield of reality.

Social media influencers, crypto traders, and gurus need to reconsider the information they share online.

Introduction—From Intelligence Lessons to the Digital Age

My grandfather, a high-ranking intelligence boss in communist Yugoslavia, drilled one rule into me from childhood: “Mario, sell less and buy more.” He wasn’t talking about money—he meant talking less and listening more.

That single phrase became my compass. And it saved my life more times than I can count while serving in the government sector.

Later, as I worked in diplomatic intelligence and military security intelligence service, the lesson became even more profound: the less you reveal, the safer you stay. In the realm of intelligence, information holds more significance than mere knowledge—it carries the potential to save lives. 

One careless word, one slip of a location, or one misjudged detail could unravel an operation, destroy trust, and cost lives.

But today, you don’t need to be a spy to collect that kind of intelligence.
All you need is Instagram.

They don’t have to follow you in the shadows anymore—you lead them right to your front door. 

Every luxury car you post, every tagged vacation, and every champagne toast is not “content.” It’s a breadcrumb.

Criminals no longer need wiretaps or surveillance vans. They have your reels, your stories, and your grid. Intelligence gathering has been crowdsourced. 

What once took weeks of surveillance with teams of operatives now takes minutes on a smartphone with a Wi-Fi connection.

You think you’re gaining influence. However, you might be inadvertently sharing sensitive information.

Is that picture of the beach a snapshot? A timestamp.

Is the mansion in the background? The mansion in the background is a GPS coordinate.
Is that selfie featuring a Rolex watch and champagne? 

That image serves as a digital version of a wanted poster.

And while you’re chasing likes, followers, and validation, someone else may already be planning a kidnapping.

In the digital age, countless individuals are willingly broadcasting their lives, providing criminals with data previously protected in military vaults. 

Social media influencers, crypto traders, entrepreneurs, and even business coaches and consultants showcase not only their success but also their locations, routines, and wealth in real time. They trade discretion for validation.

But here’s the truth: every post is a potential piece of intelligence for criminals. Flaunting wealth online is not harmless—it places not just the influencer but also their families, staff, and even their clients in grave danger.

The Ancient Pattern—From Aristocrats to Influencers

History teaches us that flaunting wealth has always attracted predators. In 18th- and 19th-century Europe, aristocrats travelling with visible jewellery or carriages were prime targets for highwaymen.

In Latin America during the 1980s, wealthy business families became victims of express kidnappings—fast abductions designed to empty bank accounts in hours.

What has changed is scale and speed. Before, criminals needed spies, informants, or days of surveillance. Now, with social media, targets voluntarily provide this intelligence themselves, reaching millions within seconds.

The “digital aristocracy”—influencers, crypto millionaires, business coaches, self-proclaimed gurus, and media consultants—are simply the latest iteration of a timeless pattern: visible wealth creates opportunity for crime. 

Their responsibility is twofold. 

First, to protect themselves. 

Second, to protect the confidentiality of their clients. Yet many in this sphere treat their client list as marketing collateral, publicly dropping names to prove their credibility. 

Such practice not only jeopardizes trust but also exposes clients to unnecessary risk. 

What should be safeguarded as sensitive data is instead broadcast to the world—providing criminals with yet another layer of exploitable intelligence.

The Growing Threat: Kidnapping and Ransom in the Digital Age

The 2022 Global Kidnap & Ransom Report by Control Risks confirms a stark reality: criminals increasingly rely on social media intelligence to identify and monitor targets (Control Risks, 2022).

Consider these real-world cases:

• Chloe Ayling (2018)—the British model kidnapped in Milan, her online profiles giving criminals clues to her movements [Wikipedia†].

• Kerim Satir (2020)—a Turkish crypto influencer robbed and held for ransom after flaunting luxury cars and cash online (The Guardian, 2020).

• In 2025, police are investigating a series of abductions that target cryptocurrency millionaires, as attackers are explicitly exploiting the victims’ digital visibility (The Guardian, 2025).

The trend is clear: social media has blurred the line between public persona and personal security.

Crypto Traders: A New Class of Target

Cryptocurrency has introduced a new, highly attractive target group. Unlike traditional banking, stolen crypto cannot be frozen or traced back easily. All it takes is a password.

In Hong Kong, another trader suffered a similar fate, with criminals forcing him at knifepoint to drain his digital assets (South China Morning Post, 2020).

The lengths to which some go to protect themselves illustrate the danger. One crypto family hid fragment of their digital wallet codes on four continents to deter kidnapping attempts (Gizmodo, 2025).

The message is clear: in crypto, unlike fiat banking, visibility equals vulnerability.

Criminal Modus Operandi—How Abductions Are Engineered

As an investigator, I am aware that criminals seldom act impulsively. The process of targeting an influencer or trader usually follows a calculated pattern:

1. Target Identification—Criminals use platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and X to spot individuals flaunting wealth. Algorithms themselves amplify such content, making discovery effortless.

2. Digital Profiling—Using OSINT tools, criminals harvest geotags, photos, family details, and daily routines. Each post serves as a crucial component in the puzzle.

3. Surveillance & Approach—Once enough intelligence is gathered, criminals shadow movements, waiting for moments of vulnerability—airport arrivals, hotel stays, or solo travel.

4. Abduction or Extortion—Victims may be abducted physically or targeted through “virtual kidnaps,” where criminals threaten family members using believable details (ICSR, 2019).

5. Exploitation: ransom is demanded in cash or cryptocurrency. Unlike traditional crime, crypto ransoms are instant and irreversible, making recovery nearly impossible.

This modus operandi is efficient, low-cost, and devastatingly effective—because the victims unknowingly supply the raw intelligence themselves.

The Psychological Toll on Victims and Their Families

Kidnapping is not just a financial crime—it is a psychological battlefield. Survivors often describe feeling betrayed by their own visibility.

Victims like Chloe Ayling have spoken of lasting trauma, fear of travel, and inability to trust strangers. Families of abducted crypto traders describe sleepless nights, fearing that every phone call could be a ransom demand.

Even when “virtual kidnaps” occur—with no physical abduction—the panic and anxiety inflicted on families can be severe enough to trigger immediate financial losses.

For criminals, fear is the weapon. For victims, the scars are lasting.

The Psychology of Oversharing – Why We Still Do It

Why do people keep exposing themselves despite such risks? The answer lies in the economics of visibility.

• Validation Addiction—likes, shares, and comments create dopamine rewards.

• Influencer Economy—Sponsorships reward extravagance; the more luxury displayed, the more followers gained.

• False Security—many thinks, “It won’t happen to me,” until it does.

But influencers, gurus, and consultants fail to understand that algorithms do not distinguish between admirers and predators. 

To criminals, every flexed luxury watch, client name-drop, or screenshot of crypto gains is an invitation.

Here are five things that influencers and traders must stop sharing

To reduce risk, here are five non-negotiable rules:

1. Stop Sharing Real-Time Locations – Never geotag posts while present. Share only after leaving (Forbes, 2019).

2. Stop Flaunting Wealth—Cash, jewellery, and luxury cars all act as “wanted posters” for criminals.

3. Stop Revealing Family and Client Details—Schools, relatives, or client names are ammunition for extortion and exploitation.

4. Stop Exposing Wallets and Balances—Screenshots of earnings are breadcrumbs for cyber and physical crime.

5. Please refrain from announcing travel plans, as posting itineraries can inadvertently share your schedule with others.

Best Practices—Staying Visible, Staying Safe

Influencers, traders, and consultants can remain visible without being vulnerable. Best practices include:

• Restrict audience visibility with strong privacy settings.

• Use two-factor authentication across all accounts.

• Regularly audit and delete sensitive old posts.

• Limit travel-related posting until after returning.

• Educate family, staff, and clients not to reveal sensitive details online.

• Work with security consultants if your profile is high-risk.

• Establish crisis protocols—emergency contacts, safe words, and escape plans.

These measures are not paranoia—they are necessary resilience.

A Dramatic Wake-Up Call

Social media thrives on visibility, but predators thrive on the same. 

Every post is a data point; every boast is a breadcrumb, leading a criminal to your door.

As I learned in investigations and human intelligence work, silence is strength. Today, silence online can mean survival.

For influencers, crypto traders, business coaches, and consultants: your silence is no longer about vanity. It is about responsibility. 

This responsibility extends to your life, your family, and those who entrust you with their data and safety.

The price of ignoring this truth is not measured in lost followers, but in ransom paid, lives endangered, and futures destroyed.

The final question remains: will you continue to trade your safety for attention, or will you finally learn the lesson intelligence operatives have known for decades—less is more, and silence saves lives?

Introduction

Before I dive into the heart of this article and share with you the modus operandi of the coaching industry—and how, in reality, you make them rich while you are enjoying a 10-page PDF “master plan”—I want to take a step back and explain why I am analysing and researching the phenomenon called the “coaching” industry.

Once upon a time, I was working in the Ministry of Defence, and I spent just a little bit over 1,800 combat days. 

My journey included military intelligence services and diplomatic intelligence, and during my trainings, courses, and university, I was told that it is important to understand HOW something is done—the Modus Operandi—not only WHO.

We (operatives and interrogators) were trained to understand what tools, ideas, and deceptive tactics perpetrators utilize to create and reach their goal—financial gain or something more sinister.

So, I want to show and teach those interested in prevention how to do it, not who did it and why. 

After all, “Prevention is better than cure,” as I was always told.

Locating Magical Wand and My Own Guru / Coach

The last few weeks, I embarked on an unusual journey. Not to an exotic island or a war zone—I’ve done both—but into the glittering, high-definition world of modern “success creation.” 

I aspired to locate the elusive individual wielding a magical wand, capable of transforming me into a wealthy, renowned, prosperous, alluring, and, ultimately, the most acclaimed entrepreneur of our era.

Naturally, I didn’t want just any coach. I wanted my coach. I desired a coach who could transform my income from zero to seven figures before the arrival of my next electricity bill. 

And apparently, the market is overflowing with such saviours: NLP Master Coaches, Abundance Architects, and Seven-Figure Mentors who all seem to live in a parallel universe where human biology is optional and the clock bends to their will.

One such coach, with the sincerity of a saint and the confidence of a used-car salesman, explained that for just $5,000, they could teach me how to turn a 24-hour day into 36. I smiled politely, but deep down, I knew I had already learned in school both how to count and how the sun works.

Another coach offered to reveal why formal education is irrelevant to success—for the small fee of $999. This, I thought, was an intriguing bargain: abandon years of structured learning in favour of a three-day PDF course and a few motivational Instagram posts.

It didn’t take long for me to notice a pattern. 

Within the first few conversations, I learned three “essential truths” of the modern coaching gospel:
You don’t need school. You don’t need sleep. You just need to pay them.

The Digital Clairvoyants

What’s fascinating—and slightly unnerving—is how quickly my devices began conspiring to help me. 

My phone, my laptop, and even my social media feeds transformed into a clairvoyant marketplace, each platform delivering me a fresh coach with an even bigger promise. 

This isn’t magic; it’s data collection. The moment I went looking, the algorithm decided I needed to see every guru within Wi-Fi range.

It reminded me of when my son received an Alexa as a prize. I quickly realized that “Hey Alexa” is less of a trigger phrase and more of a polite nod to a device that is always listening. I unplugged it soon after.

The Guru Blueprint

The deeper I looked, the more I saw the same playbook recycled.

First, education is framed as irrelevant, even suspicious. Why pursue years of proven training when you can become “self-made” over a weekend? This “anti-academic” pitch is convenient for those with no formal qualifications—there’s nothing to measure them against.

Second, you need a website so shiny it could guide ships to shore. It must feature:

• • A jawline that could cut glass.

  • A “hook” video filmed in an empty conference hall or rented boardroom.

Third, the numbers must be astronomical. “I’ve coached over 300,000 people” is a popular claim. No one audits these figures, and if you check their social media, the audience size doesn’t match.

Lastly, the showcase of wealth is presented. 

Renting jets, leasing Lamborghinis, and borrowing designer watches are common practices. 

Selling the dream requires a backdrop of abundance, even if it’s just a facade.

The Science of Hype

This is where the science of hype becomes insightful.

These events and seminars work—at least for a while—because of human psychology, not the content. Research into emotional contagion shows that our brains sync to the emotions of those around us. 

Put someone in a cheering, clapping crowd, and they’ll start to believe they’ve just had a life-changing moment, even if all they heard was a sales pitch.

Add social proof—the belief that if hundreds of people are clapping, the coach must be worth it—and the dopamine starts flowing. This chemical hit is the same you get from winning a prize or falling in love. It’s addictive.

And then there’s urgency. Robert Cialdini’s persuasion principles prove that scarcity (“only 10 spots left!”) short-circuits our logical thinking. 

Suddenly, handing over $3,000 feels like grabbing the last lifeboat on the Titanic.

The Morning After

The issue lies in the fleeting nature of hype.

When the lights dim and the music fades, you step back into your real life. The bills are still due. Your boss still doesn’t appreciate you. 

The confidence you felt in the seminar hall now feels more like a distant dream.

Many people chase the feeling, booking the next workshop or retreat, spending more in the hope that this moment will be the one that finally sticks. It rarely does. 

Without sustained, structured support, the high evaporates, leaving the wallet lighter and the cynicism heavier.

The Security Risks of Flaunting Success

There’s also a darker side to this. In my professional career, I’ve seen people become targets for crime simply because they advertised their wealth online. 

Flashing cash, designer goods, and exact locations on social media is like leaving your front door open with a neon “Welcome” sign.

Government agencies have warned against such oversharing, linking it to socially engineered attacks and real-world crimes:

• • Oversharing dangers – Australian Digital Health Agency

  • The risks of salary transparency – LinkedIn

Real success requires vigilance and discretion, not broadcasting your vulnerabilities to the world.

The Universal Fix… That Isn’t

The most suspicious promise of all is universality. One coach claims their method works for everyone: the factory worker, the CEO, the student, and the retiree. 

They use the same PDF, deliver the same pep talk, and use the same hype video. It’s the fast-food model of personal development—identical, processed, and served with extra cheese.

The truth? Genuine mentorship is personal. It requires adaptation, listening, and a track record of success that can be verified, not just imagined.

The Reality Check

Coaches, gurus, and NLP practitioners can be valuable—if they’re credible, experienced, and capable of tailoring their guidance. 

However, the industry’s dazzling façade conceals a harsh reality: a significant portion of the offerings are merely theatrical.

Is it truly a magic wand? The concept of a 36-hour day remains a fantasy. Is the 36-hour day a reality? 

Not happening. Does the seven-figure success story hold true? These success stories are often more fiction than reality.

So next time a coach promises to change your life for the price of a luxury holiday, ask yourself: Are you buying transformation… or just a ticket to the show?

Introduction: 

The failure to communicate clearly isn’t always fatal—but occasionally, it nearly is.

Just recently, I was at my local gym. As usual, after a solid workout, I headed to the sauna. There’s an obvious sign at the door: “Must have towel in sauna.” This is a standard precautionary measure. No surprises.

But inside, a gym employee noticed a woman sitting without a towel. He politely asked her—several times—why she didn’t have one and whether she needed one. Her response? “9 o’clock.”

It was obvious she misunderstood the question. She likely meant she was leaving at 9am. Only when another gentleman explained—in a language only the two of them shared—that a towel was required, did she realize what was being asked.

Now, imagine if this query wasn’t about towels. What if she’d felt unwell? What if there was an emergency? If we can’t communicate about the small things, what happens when the stakes are high?

As someone who survived 1,800 consecutive days in combat—where silence could mean safety, but clarity meant survival—I’ve learned one lesson above all: communication is the most powerful weapon we have, not just on the battlefield, but in boardrooms, offices, and our daily lives.

A Legacy of Communication: Lessons from History

Let us begin where many stories of strategy begin—ancient Rome.

The phrase “I love treason but hate a traitor” is often attributed to Julius Caesar. Though not directly recorded, it encapsulates a truth Caesar understood better than most: betrayal is often seeded in misunderstanding. 

His empire wasn’t built on weapons alone, but on the intelligent manipulation of tribal alliances, mistrust, and yes—language barriers.

Caesar’s strategy of division and conquest frequently relied on preventing tribes from uniting under a common cause. 

He exploited linguistic differences—knowing that language is not just a tool of speech but a line of identity, culture, and power. If the Gauls couldn’t communicate across clans, they couldn’t organize a unified resistance. It wasn’t just about swords. It was about speech.

Centuries later, a more honourable use of language barriers turned into a pivotal moment in World War II. The U.S. military employed Navajo code talkers, whose complex, unwritten language formed an unbreakable code. 

Even the most advanced enemy cryptographers couldn’t decipher it. Why? This is because language—real, cultural, human language—cannot be easily decoded without understanding the people who create and use it.

In both cases, language wasn’t just communication. It was strategy. It was defense. The outcome was crucial.

My Lessons in War: Communication First, Action Second

My own military training, both before and during the war, emphasized a fundamental principle: establishing communication from a high position.

This wasn’t simply about technology or radios. It was about ensuring we had a clear line of sight and understanding. 

Before bullets flew, before decisions were made, before the enemy moved—we needed to talk. And we needed to listen.

There were times when miscommunication nearly cost lives. It wasn’t a case of cowardice or treachery, but rather a misinterpretation of an order. 

Two soldiers from different parts of the same country used different slang, which led to miscommunication. An interpreter mistranslated a village elder’s plea. Misheard words are difficult to retract.

Even in the intelligence world, where I operated later, miscommunication was the deadliest virus. A single misplaced phrase in a diplomatic message could undo months of progress. 

Clarity wasn’t a luxury. It was survival.

The Language Barrier at Work: Modern Battlefield of Misunderstanding

Now let’s move beyond the battlefield into another type of war: the modern workplace.

In today’s globalized world, multicultural workplaces reflect evolving economies, immigration, and global collaboration. But with diversity comes a new challenge—language barriers that frustrate productivity and erode psychological safety.

One Reddit user recently shared:

“I feel like I’m constantly misunderstood at work. I speak English, but not natively. My jokes fall flat. My emails sound cold. I’m doing the job, but I feel invisible.”

This isn’t a small problem. It’s systemic. In environments where communication is key—client services, project management, healthcare—even small linguistic gaps can lead to alienation, mistakes, and loss of trust.

Another expat wrote:

“It’s not just about speaking English. It’s about speaking their English. Understanding the cultural context is crucial. The idioms. I know the words—but not the code.”

In other words, it’s not just what you say; it’s how you’re understood. And if you’ve ever been left out of a joke or a decision because you didn’t “get the tone,” you’ve felt the sting of communication breakdown.

The Human Element: Why Communication Is the Real Battlefield

In my recent article, “Why Weapons Can’t Win Wars Without the Human Element,” I argued that, despite the sophistication of modern warfare, success still depends on human understanding.

A drone can strike. A missile can detonate. But only humans can understand nuance, emotion, and intention—the critical factors that decide whether a decision ends in diplomacy or destruction.

Language is the bridge between intention and impact. And whether you’re giving battlefield coordinates or feedback in a team meeting, misunderstanding creates more damage than any weapon.

This phenomenon applies not just to military operations or multinational companies, but to everyday life—marriages, friendships, and parenting. How often do we say something we think is clear, only to realize it landed the wrong way? How often do we argue not over facts but over the meaning behind the words?

We don’t need more noise. We need more clarity. More listening. We need to communicate in a more common language.

A Call to Action: Clarity Is a Discipline

What can we learn from Caesar, the Navajo Code Talkers, and our own daily missteps?

1. Speak to be understood, not just heard.
   Use plain language. Confirm understanding. Choose clarity over cleverness.

2. Know your audience.
   Just because someone speaks your language doesn’t mean they share your cultural code.

3. Create environments where people can ask for clarification—without shame.
   In combat, hesitation can kill. In life, it can isolate.

4. In multicultural teams, treat language diversity not as a barrier but as a training opportunity.
   Celebrate it. Educate around it. Build communication bridges before building expectations.

5. Never assume understanding. Always confirm it.
   Repeat back. Summarize. Ask, “Does that make sense?”—and mean it.

In War and in Work, Clarity Wins

In the end, communication isn’t just a skill. It’s a leadership trait. It’s a survival mechanism. It’s a sign of respect.

Weapons may secure a battlefield. Strategies may win a campaign. But only clear communication can unite people—whether they wear a uniform, a suit, or just carry the weight of being misunderstood in a foreign land.

Speak clearly. Listen harder. Translate not just words but meaning.

Understanding each other is crucial for survival and victory in life’s battlegrounds.

Introduction: 

In the process of writing my latest book on the business of podcasting, a striking realization stopped me mid-sentence: I had once accepted advice about my podcast from people who had never even hosted one.

It seems obvious now—but in the early stages of building “Life The Battlefield”, a podcast that now has over 250,000 subscribers and 4.9 million+ views, I was overwhelmed with offers from self-proclaimed experts.

Business coaches. Branding consultants. They were also referred to as social media strategists.

They all assured me that their “system” would propel me to success.

But they had never held a microphone, edited a second of audio, or stood behind the hard work of growing a show from zero.

And that’s when I remembered a principle from my military intelligence days that changed everything: never take instructions on how to use a weapon from someone who has never fired it under pressure.

The Epidemic of Unqualified Expertise

According to a 2024 Global Coaching Study by the International Coaching Federation (ICF), more than 67% of people who market themselves as coaches do not hold any verified credential.

Even more troubling, many are selling expertise in industries they’ve never worked in.

The coaching and self-help market, now worth over $20 billion globally, thrives on perception rather than proof.

Business Insider reported in 2023 that up to 65% of small business owners regretted purchasing online courses, mentorships, or marketing plans that yielded no measurable return on investment.

In short, we’ve entered an age of expert inflation.

People confuse visibility with credibility.

Podcasting Is Not a Formula—It’s a Discipline

Podcasting today is one of the fastest-growing communication tools in business and personal branding. A 2025 Edison Research Report showed that 64% of podcast listeners say they trust podcast hosts more than traditional media personalities.

But here’s the hidden danger: as podcasting becomes more mainstream, opportunists flood the market, claiming they can build your brand—even if they’ve never done it themselves.

Early on, I succumbed to this trap. I paid for advice, strategies, and coaching that sounded impressive but delivered nothing. No growth. No clarity. There were only empty buzzwords that had been recycled from a thousand Instagram carousels.

It was only when I stopped outsourcing my voice to strangers and began applying battle-tested knowledge that results came.

Lessons From the Battlefield

In military intelligence, our survival depended on learning from seasoned professionals who had used the tools they taught. When we were trained in handling surveillance equipment or firearms like the SIG Sauer or M4, the instruction didn’t come from a theorist or a TikTok creator.

It came from people who had used those weapons under fire.

Why? Because real knowledge is not read—it’s earned.

Podcasting is no different.

If someone has never struggled with scheduling guests, editing audio late at night, troubleshooting bad sound, managing public backlash, or growing an audience one subscriber at a time—what are they really teaching you?

Real Mentorship Requires Real Scars

I now choose to learn only from practitioners. I choose to learn from individuals who have both personal and professional scars. Real podcasters. Real entrepreneurs. Real fighters.

As Harvard Business Review pointed out in their 2022 piece titled “Why Great Mentors Matter More Than Ever,” the most impactful mentors offer experience-based guidance, not motivational clichés.

They share their mistakes. They provide applicable advice. And most importantly, they know the field because they’ve walked it.

If you’re building a business or podcast, you don’t need inspiration—you need instruction. You should seek guidance not from a spectator, but from an experienced professional.

The New Rules of Advice

Here’s how I now vet anyone offering me guidance:

1. Have they done what I’m trying to do—successfully?
   Not once. Not 10 years ago. However, they have been consistent and active recently.

2. Do they have verifiable results and testimonials?
   I’m not concerned about follower count. I care about impact.

3. Have they experienced and overcome failure?
   If they haven’t bled for what they preach, I’m not listening.

4. Is their advice tailored or templated?
   Cookie-cutter strategies kill creativity. I want context, not copy-paste.

Conclusion: Advice Is a Compass—Point It True North

Too many people fail not because they lacked drive, intelligence, or vision—but because they followed a map drawn by someone who had never been to their destination.

This article serves not as a cautionary tale, but rather as a call to action. Make sure to conduct thorough research before seeking mentorship, coaching, or advice for your business or podcast. You shouldn’t waste your time, money, and message on marketing theory.

I don’t regret the mistakes I made. I learned from them. I rebuilt my show, rebuilt my voice, and returned to what I knew best—fieldcraft, truth, and resilience.

The right voice at the right time can change your life.

But what if you choose the incorrect one?

The wrong voice can bury your dreams before they have even taken breath.

So ask yourself: Who’s holding the compass? And have they ever walked your battlefield?

Introduction: When Silence Became the Loudest Weapon

I remember the precise moment when something in the air shifted.

It was September 1990, and I was standing in the grey streets of Croatia—not yet a soldier, not yet at war—but already living inside a quiet rebellion.

The newspapers had changed their tone. For the first time in my life, I saw headlines that did not praise the Socialist Republic of Yugoslavia but hinted at national identity, sovereignty, and freedom.

On the radio, songs once forbidden were suddenly permitted. Nationalistic melodies, long erased from public life, were now echoing again—softly at first, as if testing the limits of censorship, and then louder, prouder.

That day, I noticed something even stranger: there were two types of police on the street. One wore the insignia of the newly emerging Croatian state; the other still carried the emblems of socialist Yugoslavia. 

The streets had become a stage for silent confrontation. Meanwhile, the Yugoslav People’s Army stood in the shadows, unmoving, calculating, and waiting for the right moment to strike.

I grew up in a communist system that taught us silence, fear, and obedience. 

We whispered in our kitchens, looked over our shoulders, and learned early how to speak without speaking. Years later, I would go to war. 

But before the bullets and blood, there was a revolution of ink, music, laughter, and resistance without a single gunshot—the kind that changed the world without firing a bullet.

This article is about those revolutions—the ones fought with yogurt, with theatre, with whispered songs—and the underground networks of communication that kept them alive in the shadows of surveillance states.

The Anatomy of a Nonviolent Revolution

Nonviolent revolution is often misunderstood as passive or weak. 

In truth, it is strategic psychological warfare, designed to dismantle authoritarian power structures by undermining their legitimacy and morale.

Political scientist Gene Sharp, in his seminal work The Politics of Nonviolent Action, documented 198 methods of civil resistance—from symbolic public acts and mass petitions to strikes, silent vigils, and humor-based ridicule of state power. 

Instead of directly confronting the regime, these tactics employ a strategy known as “political jiu-jitsu” to turn its violence and rigidity against itself.

In societies where secret police monitor every word, and expressing dissent can mean death, nonviolent tools are not soft—they are intelligent. 

They appeal to mass participation while minimizing the physical risk to individuals, making repression more costly for the regime and increasing public sympathy for the resistance.

Speaking Without Words: Theatres, Songs, and Code in East Germany

In East Germany (GDR), one of the most tightly surveilled states in history, dissent had to be coded, cultural, and covert.

Churches such as Leipzig’s Nikolaikirche became gathering places for prayer and peace vigils. These meetings were technically legal—religion was tolerated—but they served as psychological training grounds for mass resistance.

Protesters didn’t yell slogans; they lit candles. That symbolism could not be crushed without the regime revealing its brutality.

The Stasi, East Germany’s secret police, had over 90,000 employees and nearly 200,000 informants by 1989. Under such conditions, resistance evolved into a language of metaphor:

• • Underground theatre performances used allegorical plots to critique control.

  • Rock musicians incorporate political messages into their lyrics.

  • Graffiti artists employ abstract images instead of direct calls to protest.

  • Samizdat literature was distributed by hand, with each copy being manually typed.

The regime couldn’t arrest a song or ban a metaphor—not without confirming its paranoia. In the end, East Germans didn’t shout down the wall—they sang it down. 

On November 9, 1989, the Berlin Wall fell, not with explosives, but with people peacefully flooding the checkpoints, emboldened by years of coded resistance.

Field Notes from Berlin: Walking the Path of Resistance

Last year, I walked the streets of Berlin—not as a tourist, but as a researcher retracing the forgotten footprints of resistance. I visited the Stasi Museum, stood inside the interrogation rooms, and studied how ordinary East Germans risked everything to defy the regime. 

What struck me most was not the brutality of the state but the creativity of the people. 

Resistance lived in hidden symbols: poems typed on tissue paper, theatre plays with subversive metaphors, and rock bands with double meanings. 

I spoke with archivists and survivors who reminded me that you didn’t fight the Stasi with fists—you fought with trust, whispers, and imagination. That same spirit echoes in every nonviolent movement across history.

The Yogurt Hits the Wall: Albania’s Peaceful Insurrection

In 1990, Albania was Europe’s last Stalinist state. Isolated, impoverished, and ruled by the iron-fisted Party of Labour, it had banned religion, private ownership, and nearly all forms of independent expression.

But the revolution that came was unexpectedly… dairy based.

As protests swelled in the northern city of Shkodër, demonstrators threw containers of yogurt at police and state buildings. 

Why yogurt? 

Yogurt was a cheap, symbolic, and non-lethal weapon. Unlike rocks or Molotov cocktails, yogurt could not be portrayed as violent aggression—yet it covered uniforms in humiliation and defiance.

Soon, students across Albania joined the movement, using ridicule and absurdity to disarm the regime. Protesters mocked official slogans, staged sit-ins dressed as clowns, and exposed the regime’s contradictions using satirical posters and parody songs.

Crucially, these tactics forced the government into a dilemma: either ignore the protests (which encouraged more) or crack down (which exposed their fear).

 Eventually, the regime collapsed, paving the way for the first democratic elections in 1992.

Yugoslavia: When the Revolution Turned Violent

Unlike Albania or East Germany, Yugoslavia’s breakup descended into war. The reason? Nationalist manipulation and ethnic propaganda outpaced nonviolent resistance.

While Slovenia’s Ten-Day War in 1991 was a quick and media-savvy move toward independence, the situation in Croatia and Bosnia devolved into full-scale conflict. 

Militant leaders used television, radio, and newspapers to incite hatred—the same communication tools once used for resistance were now weapons of psychological warfare.

But even here, nonviolent movements persisted.

In Serbia during the 1990s, the youth-led group Otpor! rose in defiance of Slobodan Milošević’s authoritarian grip. 

They used graffiti, viral humor, theatrical protest, and mock funerals of the regime to ridicule power. Instead of using slogans like “freedom” or “democracy,” Otpor asked absurd questions such as “Got milk?” accompanied by a picture of Milošević.

The security services were confused. Should they arrest teenagers for drawing stick figures? Beat up students holding birthday parties for democracy?

Eventually, Milošević fell—not to NATO bombs or tanks, but to a critical mass of defiance spread across humour, symbols, and strategic civil disobedience.

The Modern Blueprint: From Rice Pudding to Lego Men

Recently, student-led movements across Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and Latin America have adopted a new playbook for nonviolent resistance, building on the past.

These methods are unconventional:

• • These methods include the use of Lego figures adorned with protest signs in public squares.

  • One method involves organizing pillow fights in front of government buildings.

  • One strategy involves holding up mirrors to riot police, forcing them to see their own reflection.

  • They use rice pudding as a symbol of “soft but persistent” resistance.

This strategy has proven to be effective for the following reasons:

• • Evades censorship.

  • This strategy garners widespread attention.

  • It elicits emotional reactions such as humour, shame, and curiosity.

  • This strategy weakens the moral authority of the regime without inciting deadly retaliation.

These tactics draw heavily from psychological principles—particularly the use of shame, absurdity, and empathy as tools of influence. They are not accidental; they are strategic.

Outwitting the Watchers: Communication Under Surveillance

Communication played a crucial role in all these revolutions.

In Yugoslavia, people learned to speak in codes—using family metaphors, nicknames, or half-sentences that only made sense if you knew the context. 

We never said “revolution”—we” said “things are changing.” We didn’t say “freedom”—we” said “the air is lighter.”

Phone lines were tapped, mail was read, and neighbours were informants. But people adapted:

• • They met at weddings, funerals, and church services to exchange information.

  • They smuggled books inside flour bags.

  • They created networks of trust, where even body language and eye contact conveyed meaning.

These survival tactics—refined under surveillance—are now used by activists in places like Iran, China, and Belarus. 

While the tools have evolved to include encrypted apps instead of paper notes, the principles remain unchanged: safeguard the message by placing trust in the messenger.

Conclusion: Life Is Still the Battlefield—But Now We Fight with Symbols

Looking back, I now realize that the most powerful revolutions are those that don’t look like revolutions at all. They begin in whispered songs, in chalk drawings, and in absurd jokes that make dictators look foolish instead of feared.

As someone who later fought in war—who saw firsthand what happens when the bullets replace the metaphors—I believe the silent revolution is the braver path. It requires patience, wit, trust, and courage without a uniform.

In a world where propaganda is slicker and surveillance more invasive, the fight continues—not just in the streets but in the minds and hearts of people. 

Sometimes, the power of a yogurt pot surpasses that of a gun.