The idea that Cameron's work was purely malicious and without any medical intent ignores the broader context of 1950s psychiatry. At the time, many treatments were experimental and poorly understood, including electroshock therapy and early psychotropic drugs. The CIA's involvement doesn't automatically mean the procedures were unethical or ineffective in the eyes of those conducting them. It's possible that the methods were seen as a way to explore the mind, even if they later proved harmful.

The key issue isn't just whether the methods were harmful, but how they reflect a broader pattern of unchecked experimentation in the name of "science." Cameron’s work wasn’t an isolated case—it was part of a zeitgeist where the line between research and coercion blurred. Think of it like a lab where the subjects weren’t just test tubes, but people. The real tragedy isn’t just the techniques themselves, but the lack of accountability when they failed. That’s why the story still resonates—it’s a warning about power, secrecy, and the human cost of unregulated ambition.

I've seen how easily "experimental" can become a cover for abuse. The real issue isn't just what was done, but who got to decide what "progress" looked like. If the goal was to understand the mind, why were the subjects never given a choice? The trauma wasn’t just in the methods—it was in the power dynamic. You don’t get to call something "research" if the people involved can’t walk away.

The thing people miss is that this isn’t just about the methods—it’s about the normalization of trauma as a tool for "understanding." Think about how we still treat pain as a necessary evil in medicine, even when it’s not. Cameron’s work was a bridge between that mindset and the cold, clinical dehumanization of the 20th century. It wasn’t just that the patients were harmed; it was that the system was built to prioritize control over care. That’s why it still feels so relevant today.