How Flock Cameras Incorrectly Monitored Me for Days Due to 'Stolen' License Plates and Prompted Police Action Against Me

      Joel Feder

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      “Are you armed?!” the police officer shouted. “Step out of the vehicle!”

      On an otherwise typical Sunday afternoon in late June, I decided to take the $155,000 Range Rover I was borrowing that week to run some errands with my wife. I had no idea that this choice would trigger a technological chain involving surveillance cameras, AI, and law enforcement, resulting in me and my wife being surrounded by police, hands on their weapons, in a Kohl’s parking lot in suburban Minnesota.

      After returning our Amazon packages, we had just backed out of the parking spot by a couple of feet when four police cars suddenly encircled us. The officers jumped out and began shouting. It's a situation that can rapidly escalate, so despite my lack of preparation, I complied, exited the vehicle with my hands raised, and tried to understand what was happening.

      Eventually, after a tense hour, I figured it out. The Plymouth Police Department had been tracking me for days using Flock license plate cameras, waiting for the right moment to act because they believed I had stolen the Range Rover. The reason I was identified as a dangerous car thief stemmed from a simple data error made 2,000 miles away in California, creating a unique case that Flock’s AI camera system couldn't handle.

      We now exist in a surveillance state where cameras affixed to stoplights monitor our cars, devices, pets, and even us. This is merely the beginning; soon, these cameras may be activated through our children’s school buses. Whether you’ve stolen a vehicle or are simply driving down the road without any wrongdoing, like I was, once these systems target you, the outcome is nearly predetermined. Welcome to the future. It’s a frightening place.

      Joel Feder

      Back in the Kohl’s parking lot, I stood there with my hands raised, still processing the shock of reversing the Range Rover and spotting four police cars appear on the backup camera, their lights flashing. Officer Max Ganshyn asked me once more if I was armed or if there were any firearms in the vehicle while two other officers moved to the passenger side to extract my wife. He searched me and, realizing I posed no threat, requested my ID. Then he inquired about the ownership of the Range Rover.

      “It’s a complicated answer, and I’m happy to explain, but I need you to be patient,” I responded. I attempted to clarify what The Drive is, the nature of my job, and how I could be driving a six-figure luxury SUV that wasn't mine. A look of confusion crossed his face. “Yeah, I’m not into cars,” he admitted. Fortunately, another officer was familiar with us.

      On the other side of the vehicle, the officers were interrogating my wife; our accounts matched as we were both telling the truth, which seemed to ease the officers somewhat. Yet they were still not letting us go. I saw my chance and asked directly: What is happening here, and why are we being detained?

      “The plates on this car are stolen,” Officer Ganshyn replied. My expression must have shown disbelief because he continued, explaining they weren't sure if the vehicle itself or just the plates were stolen. This made absolutely no sense. Car manufacturers keep meticulous records of their media fleet. The vehicles all have specific manufacturer or dealer plates that are logged every time one enters or exits. Eventually, the officers checked the Range Rover’s VIN, and it came back clear, but in their eyes, the plates were definitely stolen.

      Before I could absorb that, another officer delivered the big revelation: they had actually been monitoring me around town for days through Flock cameras. However, they kept losing track of me, so when a camera alerted them to the Range Rover being spotted at Kohl’s that morning, they quickly set up an ambush and waited for my wife and me to leave the store and enter the SUV.

      I had been keeping the Range Rover in my garage, which is why they kept losing track of me until they found me at Kohl’s. Joel Feder

      I was shocked, but somehow still composed enough to request to see the camera footage. One of the officers pulled out his phone, opened the Flock app, and showed me two images: a wide-angle shot of the Range Rover at an intersection and a close-up of the New Jersey license plate, which clearly read 34 10 DTM and stated VEHICLE MFR along the bottom. Critically, the number 10 was in a much smaller font than the rest of the plate, which is a non-standard format New Jersey uses for manufacturer plates.

      Again, I tried to explain that I had no idea why a license plate on a press car would be flagged in this manner. “Can you call Range Rover?” Officer Ganshyn asked. That was a tall order on a Sunday. As I began making the call, he added