Contribution
My Lords, we are talking today about live facial recognition at protests and why the police must not be allowed to use it until Parliament has agreed a clear and democratic code of practice. At its heart, Amendment 374 is about power and trust. Live facial recognition is not just another camera on a street corner; it is a mass surveillance tool that can scan every face in a crowd, compare people in real time against a watch-list and permanently change what it feels like to stand in the public square. Once you normalise all that at protests, you change the character of protest itself.
If people think that simply turning up at a demonstration means that their face can be scanned, logged and potentially mismatched to a suspect list, some will decide that it is safer to stay at home. That is a direct, chilling effect on the right to protest, to assemble and to speak out against, or for, the Government. We should not let that happen by stealth through a patchwork of local decisions and internal guidance that most citizens will never see. That is what is happening at the moment.
The technology itself is far from neutral. We know that facial recognition systems can and do get things wrong. They perform differently across age groups and ethnicities. A false match in the context of a protest is not a minor inconvenience. It can mean being stopped, questioned, detained or stigmatised in front of your friends, your colleagues or your community, not because of something you did but because an algorithm made a guess. Allowing that at political protests without proper rules and oversight is an invitation to injustice.
It is not enough to say, “Trust the police. We have internal policies”. The question here is not whether any particular chief constable is well-intentioned; it is whether the state should be able to scan and track people at political gatherings without Parliament having debated, defined and limited that power. In a democracy, if the Government want tools that can alter the balance of power between citizen and state, they must come to Parliament, set out the case and accept constraints.
That is why a publicly debated statutory code of practice matters. It is where we answer basic questions that are currently left in the grey zone. In what circumstances, if any, is live facial recognition at a protest justified? Who sets the watch-lists and on what criteria? What happens to images of people who are not of interest? Are they actually deleted? If so, how quickly? Who can access them and for what purposes? What independent oversight exists when things go wrong? Until those questions are answered openly, the use of live facial recognition at protests rests on unpublished risk assessments and technical documents that ordinary citizens cannot challenge and that elected representatives cannot easily amend. That is the opposite of how intrusive powers should be operated in a liberal democracy.
We should also be honest about the precedent. If we accept live facial recognition at protests now, without a code, it will be used more often and for more purposes later. Once the infrastructure is there and the practice is normalised, it will be very hard to row back. The time to set limits is before the rollout, not after the abuses. Police should not have, without parliamentary approval, the ability to quietly turn every protest into a data-harvesting exercise, watching not just the few who pose a risk but the many who are simply exercising their rights.
The principle is simple: if live facial recognition is to be used at all in the context of political protest, it must be under a clear and democratically approved code of practice, debated in Parliament, tested against our human rights obligations and subject to real oversight and redress. Until that is in place, the police should not be allowed to deploy this technology at protests.