Dayton put black plastic bags over 72 license plate cameras after federal immigration officials accessed the data more than 7,100 times. The police chief called it a “user error in setting permissions”—a phrase that deserves its own exhibit in the bureaucratic-understatement hall of fame. While cities scramble to contain the fallout, Ohio’s state agencies are moving in the opposite direction: spending more, asking fewer questions publicly, and expanding Flock Safety’s AI-powered surveillance app-style network into territory far beyond traditional policing.
From Cop Cars to Cubicles
Workers’ comp investigators, fire marshals, and prison officials now tap into the same camera network that tracks your car on public roads.
Flock Safety operates more than 90,000 automated license plate readers nationwide. The cameras capture still images triggered by motion, then use machine learning to identify vehicles by plate number, make, model, and visible markings—all searchable in a national database. The effect resembles a searchable map of any vehicle’s movements across public roads.
Ohio state agencies have been steadily buying in:
| Agency | Spending |
|---|---|
| Bureau of Workers’ Compensation | $6,000/year initially, now $24,000 annually for fraud investigations |
| State Fire Marshal | $21,000 last year, plus five dedicated cameras for fire and explosion probes |
| Dept. of Rehabilitation and Correction | $171,000 in 2025, $213,500 in 2026, for contraband prevention at adult prisons |
| Dept. of Youth Services | roughly $50,000 over two years at juvenile facilities |
| Attorney General’s Office | $30,000 in 2023, jumping to $75,000 in 2025 for drug and human trafficking cases |
Flock spokesperson Joshua Thomas maintains that local agencies control their own data. “All of the people who use our services own that data. Locally. They decide who they share it with,” Thomas said at a recent Cleveland City Club appearance.
What the Cities Already Know
Audits and council fights across Ohio reveal a consistent pattern—stated policies don’t survive contact with actual database permissions.
Columbus discovered nearly 16,000 immigration-related searches on its Flock network despite a city policy barring cooperation with federal immigration authorities, a pattern reminiscent of how apps have been caught secretly tracking users without meaningful consent. Kent’s city council moved to block its police department from entering any Flock problem-plagued contract at all. Cleveland narrowly passed a 9–6 vote for a six-month extension covering 100 cameras, with Council Member Joe Jones framing it as a crime-fighting necessity: “Our city is overrun with crime. We need to use every tool possible.”
ACLU spokesman Sean McCann sees that logic as circular cover for something more troubling, calling the technology “warrantless government spying” and arguing that residents “cannot trust any company that sells this technology to protect our privacy rights.”
There is a structural problem none of these city debates fully address: bag every camera on every pole in your ward, and state agencies can still track your vehicle through their own independent Flock access. All five state agencies declined to answer detailed questions about camera placement, data retention periods, or access controls. The surveillance network is expanding faster than anyone’s ability—or apparent willingness—to govern it.
