I’m stepping down as a Uniswap delegate.
In any system, when things begin to deteriorate, you’re faced with three options: speak up, remain loyal, or walk away. I tried voice. I offered feedback, challenged narratives, and asked questions — assuming that open governance meant open minds. I assumed that loyalty, even when critical, might be treated as valuable. But over time, that belief was tested — and slowly, eroded.
I began to sense that voice had limits — not formally, but functionally. That there were boundaries, invisible but enforced, around what kind of participation was welcome and what kind became… inconvenient.
It’s hard to say when those boundaries hardened. But I noticed that after certain disagreements with the Uniswap Foundation, and with key figures like Erin and Devin, things started to shift. Not publicly. Not explicitly. But subtly. I can’t say with certainty that criticism triggered consequences. But when doors quietly close, when relationships cool without cause, when reputational signals ripple through the industry — you begin to notice patterns.
One wonders whether a delegate can oppose a Foundation-led proposal and still expect fair engagement. Whether voicing concerns around budgetary overreach or governance design leads to being seen as adversarial rather than accountable. One wonders if independence itself becomes a liability in a structure that increasingly appears to reward alignment over honesty.
Maybe this isn’t intentional. Maybe it’s just how influence works when it accumulates unchecked.
But whether by design or inertia, the Foundation’s behavior seems to have prioritized insulation over collaboration, and in doing so, may have actively harmed the Uniswap — and damaged the careers or credibility of those who didn’t go along quietly.
Voice was dulled. Loyalty was punished.
And so, exit becomes the only move that doesn’t compromise the self.
To the Uniswap community:
There’s a version of this story where everything looks fine.
Proposals go through the right channels. Discussions happen in forums. Delegates vote. Treasury funds get allocated. And yet — something feels off. Not broken, exactly, but hollowed out. As if the forms remain but the function has shifted.
You might start to wonder whether voice has become a ritual, not a mechanism.
Whether community input is meant to inform — or to validate.
Whether participation is being used as a proxy for consent.
When voice is absorbed but not acted upon, and loyalty is extracted from those too principled — or too tired — to exit. In such systems, those who remain aren’t always the most aligned, just the most inert.
If governance becomes a performance — if outcomes feel sculpted before they’re proposed — then we are no longer participating in decentralization. We’re attending it.
Uniswap, once a symbol of credibly neutral infrastructure, risks becoming a brand managed through optics. But decentralization without accountability is just theater. And theater, eventually, collapses under its own fiction.
The question isn’t whether the system works. It’s who it works for.
There are people in this governance who continue to act with clarity, integrity, and grit — not because it’s rewarded, but because it’s right. People who spoke when it was easier to stay silent. Who stood firm when others turned opportunistic. Who treated governance not as a brand, but as a responsibility.
I saw you. I respect you. And I thank you.
I leave this role not bitter — but clear-eyed. This experience has taught me exactly what matters, and more importantly, what doesn’t. I’m done lending credibility to a system that refuses to earn it.
— Pepo