The modern automobile has effectively transformed into a sophisticated surveillance device, shedding its identity as a mere mode of transportation to become a rolling node in the global data economy. While consumers have long scrutinized the data hygiene of their smartphones and smart home devices, the automotive industry has quietly built an ecosystem that harvests personal information on a scale that rivals, and in some specific metrics exceeds, the capabilities of Big Tech. According to a scathing report by the non-profit AP News, citing research from the Mozilla Foundation, automakers have largely failed to protect consumer privacy, with every single one of the 25 brands reviewed earning a failing grade. This represents a systemic shift in the industry’s revenue model, where the monetization of driver behavior is becoming as critical to the bottom line as the initial sale of the hardware itself.

The depth of this data collection is not limited to driving telemetry or GPS coordinates; it has expanded into intimate biological and demographic profiling that would disturb the average commuter. The research highlights that sensors, microphones, cameras, and tethered phones collect everything from facial expressions to weight and health information. Perhaps most alarming is the revelation that certain privacy policies, such as Nissan’s, explicitly state the manufacturer’s right to collect information regarding a driver’s “sexual activity” and “intelligence.” This shift indicates that legacy automakers are pivoting aggressively to catch up with the data-rich valuation models of companies like Tesla, often bypassing the ethical safeguards that have slowly begun to rein in Silicon Valley.

The proliferation of sensors and always-on connectivity has allowed manufacturers to bypass traditional consent models, creating a scenario where drivers are unknowingly trading their biological and behavioral privacy for the convenience of navigation and remote start features.

The mechanisms for this data extraction are embedded deep within the user agreements that few drivers read before driving off the lot. Unlike a smartphone app that requests permission to access a camera or microphone, a vehicle’s consent is often buried in a stack of paperwork signed during the high-pressure finance process. As detailed by Mozilla in their “Privacy Not Included” analysis, 84% of the car brands reviewed share personal data with service providers, data brokers, and other undisclosed businesses. Furthermore, 76% of these brands claim the right to sell that personal data. This creates a secondary market where the driver is the product, and the car is merely the collection tool. The data is not staying within the walled garden of the manufacturer; it is leaking out into a broader ecosystem of insurers, marketers, and government agencies.

Tesla, often cited as the pioneer of the software-defined vehicle, ranked as the worst offender in the study, largely due to the unreliability of its AI-powered driver-assist systems combined with its immense data vacuuming capabilities. However, the issue is not limited to electric disruptors. Legacy brands like Ford, Toyota, and Subaru are equally complicit in this new paradigm. The distinction between a car company and a data company has evaporated. While European manufacturers like Renault perform marginally better—largely due to the regulatory handcuffs of the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR)—US consumers are left exposed in a regulatory vacuum. In the American market, the only real protection is the consumer’s ability to walk away, a choice that is becoming illusory as virtually all new vehicles come equipped with these tracking technologies by default.

The seamless integration of third-party data brokers into the automotive ecosystem has operationalized driver metrics for the insurance industry, leading to real-world financial consequences for vehicle owners who believe their driving data is private.

The financial implications of this surveillance architecture are already being felt by consumers, often without their direct knowledge. A recent investigation by The New York Times revealed that General Motors and other manufacturers have been sharing driving behavior data—such as hard braking, rapid acceleration, and late-night driving—with data brokers like LexisNexis Risk Solutions. This data is then sold to insurance carriers who use it to adjust premiums, often resulting in significant rate hikes for drivers who never explicitly opted into a “usage-based” insurance program. This represents a breach of the unspoken social contract between automaker and owner: the expectation that the car works for the driver, not for the actuary.

This pipeline from dashboard to data broker illustrates the high stakes of automotive privacy. It is no longer a theoretical concern about targeted advertising; it is a direct hit to the cost of ownership. The industry defense, often articulated by trade groups like the Alliance for Automotive Innovation, is that data collection is essential for safety and innovation. They argue that features like crash detection, predictive maintenance, and autonomous driving require vast datasets to function. While true for telemetry, this argument collapses when applied to the collection of genetic information or sexual history. The disconnect between the data required for safety and the data actually collected suggests that safety is often used as a Trojan horse for broader surveillance capitalism.

As federal regulators lag behind the rapid pace of technological implementation, state-level agencies are beginning to launch aggressive investigations into the legality of these opaque data-sharing practices.

The regulatory environment is beginning to shift, albeit slowly, as the scope of the problem becomes clear. The California Privacy Protection Agency (CPPA) has launched an enforcement review into connected vehicles, focusing on whether these practices violate the California Consumer Privacy Act (CCPA). As reported by The Verge, the agency is specifically looking at how vehicles collect and process location data and whether consumers are being adequately informed. This state-level scrutiny is critical because, unlike the European Union, the United States lacks a comprehensive federal privacy law. This leaves automakers to navigate a patchwork of state regulations, often defaulting to the lowest common denominator of privacy protection in jurisdictions where regulators are less active.

On the federal level, lawmakers are beginning to take notice of the national security and domestic safety implications of connected vehicles. Senator Ed Markey has been a vocal critic, particularly regarding how this data can be weaponized in domestic abuse situations, where stalkers can track a victim’s location through their vehicle’s app. The potential for foreign adversaries to access this data is also a growing concern, leading to scrutiny of Chinese-manufactured components in the supply chain. However, until substantial legislation is passed, the industry operates largely on a system of self-regulation, which the Mozilla report clearly indicates has failed. The current “notice and consent” model, where users click “I agree” to a 50-page document they haven’t read, is fundamentally broken in the context of a physical object like a car that may have multiple drivers.

The disparity between the robust privacy protections afforded to European drivers and the unchecked data harvesting in the United States highlights a two-tiered system of digital rights based on geography.

The contrast between the US and European markets serves as a control group for the efficacy of privacy legislation. In Europe, the GDPR mandates data minimization, meaning companies can only collect data that is strictly necessary for the service provided. This is why Renault, a French manufacturer, received the “least bad” rating in the Mozilla study. They are legally compelled to design their systems with privacy in mind. In the US, the default is data maximization—collect everything now and figure out how to monetize it later. This geographic disparity proves that the technology exists to build connected cars that respect user privacy; what is missing in the American market is the legal imperative to do so.

Furthermore, the definition of “consumer” in this context is becoming increasingly blurred. Is the consumer the driver, the passenger, or the pedestrian captured by the car’s external cameras? The industry’s current approach ignores the privacy rights of passengers who never signed a user agreement but are nonetheless subject to biometric scanning and audio recording. As noted in coverage by Wired, the ability for a vehicle to discern who is driving and potentially link that to individual profiles creates a surveillance dragnet that extends far beyond the owner of the vehicle. This raises complex legal questions regarding wiretapping laws and two-party consent states, areas where the automotive industry is currently skating on thin ice.

The industry’s continued reliance on obfuscated privacy policies and the bundling of essential safety features with data extraction creates a coercive environment for consumers who have no viable alternatives.

The Alliance for Automotive Innovation has pushed back against these critiques, stating that they have developed “Consumer Privacy Protection Principles.” However, these principles are voluntary and non-binding. The trade group, which represents major players like GM, Toyota, and Volkswagen, insists that the industry is committed to transparency. Yet, the reality of the user experience contradicts this. To opt-out of data sharing often requires navigating obscure sub-menus, making phone calls to customer service, or, in some cases, losing access to critical features like navigation or emergency roadside assistance. This “all-or-nothing” approach effectively coerces consent, as few drivers are willing to brick their infotainment systems to protect their data.

The future of the automotive industry hinges on trust. As cars become increasingly software-dependent, relying on over-the-air updates and subscription services for revenue, the relationship between manufacturer and owner becomes an ongoing service contract. If consumers feel that their vehicle is acting as a spy for insurance companies or data brokers, the backlash could be severe. We are already seeing the early stages of this with class-action lawsuits emerging against GM and LexisNexis. If automakers cannot self-correct and establish a genuine ethical framework for data handling, they will likely face a heavy-handed regulatory correction that could stifle the very innovation they claim to protect.