On the heels of two high-profile surveillance controversies, Americans are once again grappling with the uneasy balance between public safety and civil liberties. From the corridors of Congress in Washington, D.C., to the bustling streets of Oakland, California, the debate over surveillance technology’s reach—and its potential for abuse—has reached a fever pitch.
Senator Lindsey Graham (R–S.C.), long a proponent of robust government surveillance powers, found himself in the crosshairs of those very tools. According to Reason, Graham’s phone records were secretly subpoenaed by federal prosecutors as part of Special Counsel Jack Smith’s investigation into former President Donald Trump’s role in the January 6, 2021, Capitol riot. The subpoenas, which covered the period from January 4 to January 7, 2021, came with gag orders approved by federal Judge James Boasberg, preventing telecom companies from notifying Graham or the other seven Republican senators affected. FBI Director Kash Patel confirmed the scope of the subpoenas, which have since sparked a fierce backlash from the senators involved.
Graham’s outrage was palpable in a recent Fox News appearance. "They spied on my phone records as a senator and a private citizen," he declared. "I'm sick of it." The senator has since penned a letter demanding Judge Boasberg’s suspension and impeachment, and has threatened to sue for "tens of millions of dollars." His anger, however, has drawn attention to a striking irony: Graham himself has been instrumental in crafting the very surveillance apparatus now ensnaring him.
As Reason reports, Graham voted for the Patriot Act in 2001, which dramatically expanded the government’s surveillance capabilities in the wake of the September 11 attacks. When whistleblower Edward Snowden exposed the National Security Agency’s mass collection of Americans’ phone records, Graham publicly supported the program, stating he was "glad the NSA is trying to find out what the terrorists are up to overseas and in our country." He even sought sanctions against countries aiding Snowden. Graham also voted to codify those surveillance powers into Section 702 of the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Act (FISA) in 2008, repeatedly backed its reauthorization, and in 2017 supported a bill that would have made Section 702 permanent—removing periodic opportunities for congressional review and reform. He’s also tried to undermine encryption for online communications, a move privacy advocates warn could make everyone less secure.
Now, faced with the personal consequences of those policies, Graham’s tune has changed. Yet, as Reason notes, his outrage seems focused less on the existence of sweeping surveillance powers and more on their use against him. The senator’s stance raises uncomfortable questions: Should surveillance powers be wielded only against “the bad guys”? And who decides who those are?
While the debate rages in Washington, a parallel controversy has unfolded in Oakland, California, where city leaders and residents are wrestling with the use of surveillance cameras as a tool for public safety. On November 18, 2025, the Oakland City Council’s Public Safety Committee voted down a request from the Oakland Police Department to expand the city’s Flock Safety surveillance camera network by up to 40 additional cameras, according to reporting by Betty Yu and James Torrez of KTVU.
The Flock system, which currently consists of about 300 cameras managed by the California Highway Patrol, captures license plates and the backs of passing vehicles. The program, which has cost the city $2 million, is credited by Flock with increasing Oakland’s crime clearance rates by 11% since its installation in 2024, and with helping solve roughly one-third of the city’s homicides. The police department had sought a two-year contract extension and the installation of more cameras, arguing that the technology is essential for investigating crimes—especially as the city struggles with low police staffing.
The committee meeting drew about 200 residents, many of whom were sharply divided over the proposal. Supporters, including Tuan Ngo, emphasized the cameras’ role in solving serious crimes and recovering stolen vehicles. "I'm here to urge you to strongly approve and fund public safety, and that includes the safety cameras that have been solving crimes, including shootings and homicides, have been helping us recovering stolen vehicles," Ngo told council members. Abu Baker, whose son was killed three years ago in Oakland, shared his frustration that investigators lacked enough evidence to identify a suspect. "Flock technology could have been useful to help catch that person. Who knows who they've gone on to hurt," Baker said.
Opponents, however, voiced deep concerns about privacy and the potential for abuse. Oakland resident Tanisha Cannon argued, "These cameras will not stop crime, they never have and they never will. They'll watch us, they'll track us, and they'll target us." Bria Woodland, another resident, warned that "safety does not come at the expense of privacy. Surveillance has historically been used as a tool to criminalize and incarcerate Black people and queer people of color." The debate spilled outside City Hall, where dueling rallies formed—one side championing the cameras as a public safety necessity, the other warning of the dangers posed to civil liberties and marginalized communities.
Among the most contentious issues was the fear that data from the Flock cameras could be shared with federal immigration authorities, threatening Oakland’s status as a sanctuary city. City officials sought to allay those fears, stating that data collected by the system is owned by Oakland, is deleted after 30 days unless it is evidence in an active investigation, and is not shared with out-of-state or federal agencies, including Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).
Ultimately, the committee voted against expanding the surveillance network, reflecting the city’s ongoing struggle to balance crime prevention with the protection of individual rights. The debate is far from over. As technology evolves and public safety concerns persist, cities across the country are being forced to confront the same questions: How much surveillance is too much? Who gets to decide? And can privacy and safety ever truly coexist?
Back in Washington, the spectacle of Senator Graham’s sudden conversion to the cause of civil liberties has not gone unnoticed. Some hope that his experience will prompt meaningful reforms to federal surveillance laws—reforms that could protect all Americans, not just those in the halls of power. For now, though, the tension between security and privacy remains unresolved, echoing from Congress to city councils and, ultimately, into the lives of ordinary citizens.
The events in Oakland and Washington serve as stark reminders that surveillance, whether digital or physical, is never just an abstract policy issue. It is a matter of power, trust, and the kind of society Americans want to build. As the debate continues, one thing is clear: the conversation about surveillance, privacy, and public safety is far from over.
