I have a usual walk in my neighborhood. It’s a subdivision, and my phone tells me the whole thing is about three and a half miles. It’s also a simple walk that’s rarely busy.

Our neighborhood doesn’t have sidewalks (which is a whole other thing of antisocial design). So my walk is in the street.

These days

I turn short of the end of one of the streets. Mostly on principle.

One of the houses has a camera above its garage door. Which is not something I cared much about. Until I realized it was talking to me.

I’m walking. A podcast is usually going in my ears. Or I’m running and listening to music. The houses are all interesting to my eyes. The people, I wave to. It’s nice knowing where you are and whose flowers are blooming.

That unnervingly uncanny-valleyish voice I was hearing just wasn’t a thing to me.

It was like the beeping of a truck backing up. Or the muzak in the grocery store. Am I in somebody’s way? No? Then it must not be for me.

I first noticed

that it went off every time I walked by. I’m not sure how many times I had walked the route by then. Or how many times it had gone off and I assumed it was for something. Just a coincidence.

It couldn’t be me, though, right?

Yes, of course it was me. Every time I walked by.

But I’m in the street. That’s a long driveway. And I’m not even in front of your house yet. Technically, I’m in front of your neighbor’s house. Why is the voice going off when I’m not all that near your house? Maybe if I walk on the other side of the street...

It still goes off.

OK, it’s sensitive. That’s annoying.

Then I noticedwhat it was saying.

I took out my earbuds and listened.

“You are being recorded.”

Of course, I recognized that they had a camera right away. I know what cameras do. And cameras on houses have become commonplace.

But I started to realize what was happening.

Every time I walked down the street, a person was recording me walking in the street. And announcing to the world that this was happening. And doing that to every family on a stroll, every letter carrier and delivery person, every road crew and garbage collector.

All of us are on notice. A preemptive Don’t mess with me I suppose.

There’s a difference

between knowing we’re being recorded and that someone wants me to know that they are recording my walks in a public street.

And without wading into the distracting weeds of the contours of first amendment principles, I simply wan’t to offer the difference between doing something and saying you’re doing something. Between seeing a camera as a deterrent and offering an antisocial face toward one’s neighbors.

It isn’t the camera; it’s the voice.

Because now I’m inclined to avoid you. Not because I’m doing something wrong, but because if something happens, I’m on your camera. Every day. And I stop looking like a neighbor to you—I’m now a threat.

Something has come between us. Not because they’re recording what goes on near their house (though I’m not keen on that). But because they are announcing their distrust.

It’s like a No Trespassing sign—only it talks to you when you’re walking by. Hey, you! We’re watching! Don’t get any funny ideas!

And it is this sense that I find striking. The character of the neighborhood changed.

This, then, is the cost.

The cost for us that this person wants to protect their castle. This is the impact. It isn’t heightened trust, but the opposite. Trust that they won’t trust me.

And now, I have no reason to trust them, either.