What you call something determines what rules apply to it.
A camera with propellers becomes legal if you insist it isn't a drone. An autism diagnosis becomes contested if a documentary asks the right questions. A mail carrier becomes invisible infrastructure until you watch him navigate a neighborhood for thirty years. The moment you can redefine what something is, you've already won the argument about what it can do.
We don't actually disagree about facts as much as we disagree about categories, and whoever controls the category controls what obligations, regulations, and permissions follow. HoverAir isn't lying about their camera's capabilities—they're simply positioning it outside the regulatory taxonomy where those capabilities would trigger oversight.
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The cost of this strategy is permanent instability. Channel 4's ADHD documentary isn't wrong because it contradicts science; it's controversial because it suggests the category itself might be malleable, which terrifies everyone who built systems around the current definition. Once you show the seams in a category, you can't sew it back up invisibly.
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The players who win going forward aren't the ones with better arguments—they're the ones who move faster than institutions can reclassify. A mail carrier's golf club, a camera that isn't a drone, a diagnosis that depends on who's listening. The architecture of power is increasingly the architecture of naming.
Power moves first to the category itself, then to the definition, then only finally to the rules that follow—which is why everyone fights hardest about what to call the thing, not what it does.