Across US, citizens wage grassroots campaign against police surveillance cameras

As automated license plate readers proliferate nationwide, activists are blocking and dismantling the technology amid growing privacy concerns.

By Duabbly Staff

In neighborhoods from Minnesota to Texas, a quiet resistance is building against one of law enforcement's newest surveillance tools. Ordinary citizens are taking matters into their own hands, using pool skimmers, roof rakes, and other improvised methods to obscure cameras that track every vehicle passing through their streets. The movement reflects deepening anxieties about the reach of automated license plate readers and what civil liberties experts say represents an unprecedented expansion of police monitoring capabilities.

The technology at the center of this conflict is made by Flock Safety, an Atlanta-based company whose cameras have become ubiquitous across American law enforcement. According to the company, more than 5,000 police agencies now deploy its equipment. Nationwide, there are over 130,000 AI-powered automated license plate readers capturing data on public roads, according to DeFlock, an advocacy group that monitors the technology's spread.

Brady O'Rourke, a resident of Crystal, Minnesota, has become an unlikely activist in this emerging movement. Several times each week, he walks to a nearby intersection carrying a roof rake with a bright yellow sign attached to the end. When he reaches a Flock camera mounted at the street corner, he lifts the rake skyward, blocking the device's view of passing vehicles. Some drivers honk in apparent approval. His motivation is straightforward: he refuses to accept that his own tax dollars should fund surveillance of his neighborhood.

"I don't want to pay to be surveilled," O'Rourke explains. "My tax dollars are funding cameras at the end of my block. I don't want to live like that. I don't think anybody should have to live like that." His tactic was inspired by another activist in Florida who discovered that a pool skimmer could accomplish the same purpose. What began as isolated acts of obstruction has evolved into an organized resistance movement, with participants sharing techniques and coordinating efforts across state lines.

The cameras themselves represent a significant technological leap in how police monitor movement. Every month, these devices capture billions of license plate readings along with detailed information about vehicles: their makes, models, colors, and any visible modifications. This data allows law enforcement to reconstruct the movements of any driver over time, creating a comprehensive record of where vehicles have traveled. For privacy advocates, this represents a fundamental shift in police power.

Clare Garvie, deputy director of technology law and policy at New York University's Policing Project, describes the implications starkly. The cameras document when people travel to and from work, when they visit doctors, when they drop children at daycare. Law enforcement can now retroactively determine anyone's location at any point in the past by simply querying the database. "What we've enabled in practical reality is law enforcement to go back and look at where any of us was at any given point in time," Garvie says.

Law enforcement officials defend the technology's necessity. Jeff Potts, executive director of the Minnesota Chiefs of Police Association, acknowledges that license plate readers can be valuable investigative tools. Police have used them to recover stolen vehicles and locate missing people. A preliminary study even suggests the cameras may deter car theft by increasing the risk of detection. From law enforcement's perspective, these cameras represent a legitimate and effective public safety measure.

Yet the expansion of the technology has coincided with troubling revelations about its misuse. Officers have exploited the system to track ex-partners, accessing location data for personal stalking. Immigration enforcement agents have tapped into the databases without authorization from local governments. A sheriff's office in Texas reportedly used the technology to track a woman suspected of having an abortion. These cases underscore what Jay Stanley, a senior policy analyst with the ACLU's Speech, Privacy and Technology Project, calls the "unlimited potential for police fishing expeditions."

The accuracy of the technology itself presents another serious concern. A 2024 analysis conducted by a California police department found that Flock cameras misidentified license plates in 71 percent of the alerts sent to officers. This error rate means innocent people could become subjects of investigation based on faulty data. When combined with artificial intelligence systems designed to identify suspicious patterns, such errors can sweep up enormous numbers of innocent citizens into investigative dragnet operations.

Constitutional questions loom over the entire enterprise. Garvie argues that the indiscriminate nature of the data collection may violate Fourth Amendment protections against unreasonable searches. The country's founders, she notes, deliberately structured the government to restrict law enforcement from intruding into citizens' daily lives without specific justification. "We did not set up a system of governance in this country that says, 'Just don't do anything wrong and you won't have anything to worry about,' " Garvie states. The blanket surveillance enabled by these cameras stands in tension with that founding principle.

Recognizing the intensity of public backlash, Flock Safety announced changes to its system this week. The company, holding its annual conference amid considerable controversy, implemented new safeguards designed to prevent abuse. These modifications include shortening the duration that data is retained in its systems. Whether such measures will satisfy critics or substantially address the underlying concerns about mass surveillance remains unclear.

The grassroots resistance continues to grow nonetheless. Activists point out that meaningful oversight must come from elected officials and policymakers, not from tech companies eager to sell their products to police departments. Clare Garvie and other privacy advocates are calling for legislators to establish clear rules governing how the technology can be used, who can access the data, and what safeguards must be in place to prevent abuse.

Meanwhile, in neighborhoods across the country, citizens like Brady O'Rourke will likely continue their quiet protest. Standing at street corners with improvised tools, blocking cameras one vehicle at a time, they represent a growing movement insisting that surveillance technology should not be treated as inevitable. Their message to both police and policymakers is clear: a functioning democracy requires some sphere of privacy, some freedom from being tracked and recorded, simply for going about everyday life.