2025 marked an unexpected but systemic shift in U.S. municipal governance: cities began treating the procurement of surveillance technologies not as a routine administrative procedure but as a full-fledged political decision. And it was this approach—not new laws or court injunctions—that became the most effective strategy for curbing mass surveillance.
At least 23 jurisdictions over the year terminated, canceled, or refused automatic license plate reader (ALPR) programs, including Flock Safety contracts. These included Austin, Oak Park, Evanston, Hays County, San Marcos, Eugene, Springfield, and even Denver, where conflicts between city council and mayor highlighted the fundamental question: who really decides on digital city control?
For decades, cities operated within so-called legacy procurement practices—administrative inertia prioritizing “efficiency,” cost thresholds, and speed over democratic oversight. In this logic, surveillance technologies were treated as technical tools, not political choices with profound human rights implications.
Vendors actively exploit this inertia through “pilot loopholes.” Free trials, no-cost offers, and short-term contracts allow police departments to bypass formal procurement procedures. By the time contract renewal is considered, the technology is integrated, normalized, and seen as “essential.” Political decisions are disguised as “service continuation.”
This creates a dangerous information asymmetry: cities become dependent on vendors not only technologically but conceptually—over data management, retention periods, third-party access, and inter-agency sharing.
Research and advocacy show that this model is deliberate. Surveillance vendors consciously obscure the political nature of their products behind administrative rhetoric: “capability enhancers,” “force multipliers,” “efficiency tools.” Contracts often appear on consent agendas, bypassing public discussion.
Particularly problematic is cooperative purchasing, allowing cities to join pre-existing framework agreements, avoiding competitive bidding. This effectively privatizes public policy formation: decisions about who and how to surveil are made by the market, not elected bodies.
In 2025, this mechanism faltered for three reasons.
First, audits revealed insufficient safeguards in Flock Safety operations—from unclear access rules to risks of secondary data use.
Second, public mobilization increased. Residents questioned not just camera settings but the very legitimacy of their existence, especially given cooperation with federal agencies and immigration enforcement.
Third, local lawmakers realized that refusing contract renewals is not radicalism but responsible governance.
In Hays and San Marcos counties (Texas), officials demanded proof of system effectiveness—and received none. The “force multiplier” myth crumbled. In Oak Park, audits led to the removal of eight cameras; in Evanston, the 19-camera network was entirely shut down. By year’s end, Eugene and Springfield had deactivated a total of 82 cameras.
A key argument was the risk of vendor lock-in. Once a proprietary system becomes central to police operations, a city loses control over its own public safety data. Switching vendors or ensuring transparency later becomes nearly impossible.
Denver illustrated the flip side. Despite a unanimous city council vote rejecting the contract, the mayor unilaterally continued the partnership with Flock Safety. Council member Sarah Parady rightly called this the imposition of mass surveillance without public process. Such cases demonstrate why procurement must be political, not technical.
For Ukraine, the 2025 experience in the United States offers a particularly important lesson. Since 2022, Ukrainian cities and government agencies have been actively implementing digital security systems: video surveillance, traffic analytics, automatic license plate recognition (ALPR), and “smart” platforms for law enforcement. These technologies are often procured through simplified procedures, tenders, or framework agreements without broad public discussion. As in the case of U.S. cities, this creates the risk that decisions about mass surveillance become “technical” rather than political, effectively removing them from community oversight.
This issue has several dimensions for Ukraine. First, the lack of transparent rules and independent oversight means a potential violation of human rights: privacy, freedom of movement, and the right to protest. Second, the risk of vendor lock-in—when cities are tied to a specific technology provider—is already observed in some municipal projects. This results in a loss of control over community data, including video streams and metadata, and makes it difficult to switch providers or conduct audits without significant costs.
Third, the U.S. experience shows that civic mobilization and the political stance of local representatives can effectively restrain excessive surveillance without new laws. For Ukrainian communities, this is a signal: democratic control over procurement is an effective mechanism against total surveillance. It is important not only to develop legal frameworks but also to establish transparent tender procedures, open discussions, and reporting practices so that the community can make informed decisions about security.
Finally, integrating procured technologies into unified surveillance systems increases the risks of unnoticed data collection and secondary use. For Ukraine, this means that without control over the political and financial aspects of procurement, “smart” cities risk becoming a mechanism of mass control rather than a tool for security.
Conclusion: the experience of American municipalities demonstrates that decisions about mass surveillance are political choices, not just technological ones. Ukrainian communities should implement transparent procurement procedures, independent audits, and mechanisms for public participation to ensure that technology serves security, not surveillance or the restriction of human rights.
The experience of 2025 proved that mass surveillance is not inevitable. It does not automatically arrive with technological progress—it is chosen. And through procurement mechanisms, communities can say “no.”
The key question is not whether technology can police a city “more efficiently.” The question is whether the community wants to be surveilled in that way. This decision belongs to voters and their representatives, not software vendors.
For cities in the U.S., Europe, and beyond, the lesson is universal: reclaiming democratic oversight of procurement is one of the most direct paths to protecting privacy, community autonomy, and the rule of law in the digital age.
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Violetta Loseva
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