Through our complicity we are ushering in a digital surveillance state that is steadily eroding basic freedoms
Standing in line at the Hilo Airport early last year, I encountered something new that gave me pause: a facial recognition scanner at the security checkpoint. When I asked the TSA agent if I could opt out, they replied with a simple “yes” and checked my ID as I handed it to him.
This holiday season, as I flew to the mainland (and now today am leaving the mainland for a trip to Asia), I’ve noticed some signs at airports informing travelers of their right to decline facial scanning. But some airports don’t include the signs — it’s been pretty haphazard so far.
This belatedly-provided information from TSA made me wonder: How many travelers have assumed the scans were mandatory since they were introduced, starting in 2020 in a few US airports, and steadily rolled out around the country since then? How many still assume they’re mandatory, missing the signs?
More importantly, what does this gradual rollout of biometric surveillance at airports tell us about where we’re heading as a society?
The introduction of opt-out facial recognition at airports is almost certainly a test case by TSA — a way to normalize widespread biometric surveillance by implementing it first in a context where people are already primed to accept heightened security measures — but to also give people a chance to opt out if they object.
It’s a classic example of the “thin edge of the wedge” strategy, where controversial practices are introduced gradually, starting in limited contexts where they seem most justified.
What makes this particularly concerning is the broader technological context. We live in an era where high-quality cameras are ubiquitous and cheap, computing power continues to follow Moore’s Law of exponential growth, and data storage costs plummet year after year.
And with the advent of ever-more powerful AI technologies we are going to see more and more of this kind of biometric surveillance in our lives.
The technical and cost barriers to implementing widespread surveillance are effectively gone. All that remains against a creeping digital surveillance state are legal and social constraints — constraints that seem increasingly fragile.
History shows us that governments and other centers of power invariably gravitate toward adopting new technologies of surveillance and control. This isn’t necessarily due to malicious intent — usually it’s driven by legitimate desires to enhance security, improve efficiency, or prevent crime.
But the road to dystopia is paved with good intentions. Once these tools are in place, the temptation to expand their use proves nearly irresistible.
We need only look to China to see where this path leads. The Chinese government has deployed the world’s most sophisticated surveillance infrastructure, using facial recognition, artificial intelligence, and big data to monitor its population in ways that would have seemed like science fiction just decades ago. As documented in books like “The Surveillance State,” by Chin and Lin, the Chinese Communist Party has created a system of digital totalitarianism that would make Orwell shudder.
Perhaps most alarming is China’s social credit system, which represents the next frontier in digital control. This system goes beyond mere surveillance, creating a comprehensive framework for monitoring and scoring citizens based on their behavior, purchases, social connections, and adherence to government preferences. While it might seem distant from Western democratic practices, similar systems are already taking root in more subtle forms.
Consider how credit scores in Western countries have expanded beyond their original purpose of measuring creditworthiness. These scores now influence everything from employment opportunities to housing applications. Insurance companies use sophisticated scoring systems based on increasingly intrusive data collection.
Social media platforms such as Instagram assign hidden “trust scores” to users. Each of these systems represents a piece of social credit infrastructure being assembled piecemeal, without the explicit government mandate that makes China’s system so obvious.
The potential for these systems to merge and expand is frightening. Imagine a future where your ability to board a plane, attend a public event, or access basic services depends on a composite score derived from your social media activity, purchase history, political donations, and personal associations.
The technology to implement such a system already exists — all that’s lacking is the social and political acceptance to deploy it fully.
Many in the West comfort themselves with the belief that “it can’t happen here” — that our democratic institutions and constitutional protections will prevent such overreach. But recent history suggests otherwise. The COVID-19 pandemic demonstrated how quickly established rights and freedoms can be suspended in the name of public safety. From lockdowns to vaccine passports, we witnessed an unprecedented expansion of state power over daily life, often enabled by digital surveillance technologies.
This isn’t to suggest that all surveillance technology is inherently evil or that there aren’t legitimate uses for tools like facial recognition. The question is one of limits and safeguards. Without strong oversight and clear boundaries, these technologies will inevitably be used in ways that fundamentally alter the relationship between citizens and state, between individuals and institutions of power.
The gradual normalization of facial recognition at airports exemplifies how surveillance creep works: Start with a seemingly reasonable use case, wait for people to become comfortable with it, then expand. Today it’s airports, tomorrow it might be schools, shopping malls, or city streets. Each step seems small and justified in isolation, but the cumulative effect is the creation of an infrastructure of total surveillance.
What’s particularly insidious about this process is how it shifts the burden of privacy protection onto individuals. Yes, you can opt out of facial scanning at the airport — if you know you have the right, if you’re willing to potentially face longer wait times, if you’re comfortable standing out from the crowd. This creates a subtle form of coercion, where the path of least resistance leads to the surrender of privacy.
And as mentioned it’s very likely that the voluntary nature of these scanning systems will quite soon be shifted to mandatory.
The solution against creeping digital authoritarianism lies in collective vigilance and active resistance to surveillance creep. We need robust legal frameworks that protect privacy rights and limit the use of surveillance technologies. We need transparent public debate about when and where these technologies are appropriate. Most importantly, we need to maintain our capacity for skepticism and our willingness to say “no” to the steady expansion of surveillance infrastructure.
The right to privacy — to move through public spaces without being tracked, identified, and monitored — and the right to travel are fundamental to human dignity and freedom. Once lost, these rights will be extremely difficult to reclaim. The time to protect them is now, before the infrastructure of surveillance becomes so embedded in our daily lives that we can no longer imagine a world without it.
Our future depends on our willingness to question and resist the creeping normalization of surveillance technologies. The face scanner at the airport isn’t just a convenience or a security measure — it’s a harbinger of the surveillance state we’re building with our silence, one small concession at a time.
