In the early 1950s, he arranged for the CIA to pay $240,000 to buy the world’s entire supply of LSD. He brought this to the United States, and he began spreading it around to hospitals, clinics, prisons and other institutions, asking them, through bogus foundations, to carry out research projects and find out what LSD was, how people reacted to it and how it might be able to be used as a tool for mind control.
Now, the people who volunteered for these experiments and began taking LSD, in many cases, found it very pleasurable. They told their friends about it. Who were those people? Ken Kesey, the author of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, got his LSD in an experiment sponsored by the CIA by MK-ULTRA, by Sidney Gottlieb. So did Robert Hunter, the lyricist for the Grateful Dead, which went on to become a great purveyor of LSD culture. Allen Ginsberg, the poet who preached the value of the great personal adventure of using LSD, got his first LSD from Sidney Gottlieb. Although, of course, he never knew that name.
MK Ultra poorly understood and exaggerated. Called for correctly the interrogation problem. How do you get a person who does not want to talk and divulge secrets to talk and when they are talking how do you know they are telling the truth?
No one way found to be effective. Drugs in particular found to be very unreliable.
One way above all however found to be effective. Prostitute coached. Men want to impress women they are someone of importance. What better way to impress than to tell secrets in “confidence” of course.
You read through most of the stuff from that era, and you inevitably come to the conclusion that most of our “intelligence agencies” were clubs for wayward immature children who were acting out their fantasies.
Look at how many times they tried killing off Castro; if they were at all serious or meant to do it, Castro would have died–But, they were playing cloak and dagger games, not doing serious intelligence work. The utter lack of maturity in some of those schemes is mind-boggling–You want to reach through time and slap the sh*t out of the stupid little bastards. Poisoned cigars? Really? Smearing poison on his scuba diving mouthpiece? Look, you want someone dead, you kill him, period. If it means you carpet-bomb the area he’s in with an Arc Light, so mote it be. You kill him, you don’t play games with him like you’re James Bond.
There’s an essential element of immaturity, a sense of playing games for the sake of games, that permeates British and then US “intelligence” efforts. These are not serious people; they are children aping the efforts of grown-ups, without supervision or restraint. Witness the latest idiocy these ass-clowns are pulling right now, with Trump. The whole thing is going to end in tears for them, when the rest of us catch on to what they’ve been doing in our names for the last few generations. I don’t doubt but that it’s all going to end in with a bunch of them decorating lamp posts in Washington DC, starting with their Congressional patsies.
Serious men don’t play these games. They get things done, and get them done the way that the Italian Resistance dealt with Mussolini–Sheer, simple brutality. You want to know what someone knows? Fire up the blowtorches–They’ll talk. It’s a rare man who can withstand a serious interrogator who isn’t lost in sadism. You need information in a hurry, you can get it. The subject of your inquiry won’t like it, but they’ll tell you everything they know about the time they realize that the only way to distract you is to give you another target for attention.