Money Meant for ADDICTS Went to Police SUVs

October 11, 2026

police car roof with flashing blue lights at night — Photo: travelarium.ph / Shutterstock

When governments treat opioid settlement dollars as general-purpose cash instead of restricted public-health funding, the result is predictable: lifesaving care loses to gear purchases that are easier to buy and simpler to defend at a council meeting.

The Short Version

Washington Township in New Jersey used opioid settlement funds to buy two Chevrolet Tahoe police SUVs and a network of Flock license-plate cameras, according to municipal spending records cited by multiple outlets.
The expenditures were paid from the township’s dedicated opioid account, with itemized payments for cameras, data services, and renewals spread across 2025 and 2026.
New Jersey’s guidance is explicit: settlement dollars must support prevention, treatment, recovery, and other opioid-use-disorder remediation, not general government purchases.
Public-health experts say license-plate cameras are a law-enforcement surveillance tool, not an evidence-based intervention for overdose prevention.

What Washington Township Bought With Opioid Money

Public reporting and analysis of Washington Township’s bill lists show that the municipality used opioid-settlement funds to pay for two 2024 Chevrolet Tahoe police SUVs and a suite of Flock license-plate recognition cameras, with the vehicles and cameras together approaching $268,000 across 2024–2026. The camera purchases did not arrive as a single check; they were recorded as multiple payments from the opioid account—for example, $35,000 for 10 cameras in April 2025, $7,020 for two cameras in February 2026, and $17,634.99 for five additional units—along with charges for data retention and renewals tied to Flock Group Inc..

One detail stands out because it links spending and state reporting line-by-line: the township reportedly certified to New Jersey that it spent $170,446.70 on a “school-based narcotics and education program” and “drug education,” while records for the same period show $170,446.70 in payments for the Tahoes and the first 15 Flock readers—down to the cent. That match does not, by itself, decide compliance; it does, however, frame the core question sharply: were these purchases part of a bona fide, allowable opioid remediation program, or were they backfilled as education to satisfy paperwork?

What The Rules Actually Require

Unlike discretionary grants, opioid settlement funds come with purpose-built guardrails. New Jersey’s official guidance states that settlement dollars must be used for opioid prevention, treatment, recovery, and other strategies delineated in the agreements—and may not be used for other purposes. The state comptroller echoes the point, emphasizing that local governments must track every deposit and expenditure and remain accountable for allowable use under the settlement and state law.

That does not mean police are categorically excluded. New Jersey allows certain law-enforcement activities that are directly tied to opioid remediation—pre-arrest diversion, police-assisted treatment referrals, overdose response, co-responder models, first-responder training, and transportation to treatment among them—so long as they are integrated into an evidence-based or evidence-informed program. The compliance hinge is programmatic: what the equipment enables and how it is deployed within an approved opioid strategy, not merely who owns it.

Do Cameras And Patrol SUVs Qualify As Opioid Interventions?

The evidence presented so far cuts against that claim for ordinary deployments. Rutgers public-health scholar Rafael E. Pérez-Figueroa was unambiguous: Flock systems are a law-enforcement surveillance tool; they are not an evidence-based public-health intervention to reduce opioid use or prevent overdose deaths. Surveillance cameras excel at identifying stolen vehicles and tracking suspect plates. They do not screen for substance use disorder, expand access to medications like buprenorphine, or increase naloxone saturation in the community—interventions with demonstrable impact on mortality and recovery.

Vehicles follow a similar logic. A dedicated cruiser assigned to a co-responder team that transports people to treatment, conducts follow-ups after overdoses, and makes warm handoffs could plausibly fit within the rules. A general-purpose patrol SUV is harder to justify. The compliance test is not the make and model but their documented use inside an approved, measurable opioid program. Absent that frame, an SUV is simply fleet expansion paid from a restricted fund—exactly what state guidance warns against.

The Paper Trail That Raises Red Flags

Two record patterns elevate this beyond a philosophical debate. First, the opioid account paid the Flock bills and police-vehicle costs directly, rather than funding a defined program with outcome metrics, staffing, and clinical partners—how compliant jurisdictions structure diversion or post-overdose initiatives. Second, the one-to-one match between the township’s certification for “school-based” drug education and the exact sum spent on Tahoes and cameras suggests back-end classification rather than front-end program design. While a municipality can run an education program through law enforcement, the spending profile here—hardware, vehicles, data contracts—does not look like curriculum, counseling hours, naloxone distribution, or youth prevention services.

Local leaders have argued at public meetings that plate readers can disrupt “addiction-related crime” and thereby contribute to remediation goals. Crime prevention is a legitimate municipal aim; it is not, by itself, an evidence-based opioid intervention. The settlement’s premise is narrow by design: spend this money to reduce opioid-use disorder and overdose harm in ways research supports. The bar is higher than “helpful to public safety.” It is “effective for opioid outcomes,” with records to prove it.

Washington Township spent opioid settlement money meant for treatment and prevention on Flock cameras and police SUVs instead. A local delete-after-three-years rule only removes the township’s copy of a plate read. The same read, shared in real time with Flock and any partner…

— Patriot Tags USA (@PatriotTagsUSA) October 10, 2026

This Town Is Not An Outlier—And That’s The Problem

The Washington Township episode sits inside a national pattern: as settlement dollars move from attorneys general to counties and towns, a large share is reported under broad “other” categories that blur treatment, public safety, and general government uses. One legislative analysis estimated that roughly 41 percent of reported spending through 2024 fell into “other,” a catchall that often sweeps in law-enforcement-related costs and mixed programs. Elsewhere, states have devoted sizable portions to sheriffs or jail costs; some municipalities have funded concerts or generic technology purchases—decisions later criticized by oversight bodies for straying from remediation intent.

New Jersey has seen this tension firsthand. Press and watchdog reviews have highlighted towns using opioid funds for surveillance systems, unmarked vehicles, and public-relations materials, while treatment access, recovery housing, and harm-reduction infrastructure remain underbuilt relative to need. The common thread is not malice but governance: when goals are diffuse and program design is thin, equipment tends to crowd out services. Dollars go where procurement is easy and measurable in hardware counts, not in recovered lives.

What Compliance Looks Like In Practice

The state’s own framework points to a straightforward path. Start with an explicit opioid strategy—diversion, post-overdose outreach, medication initiation, recovery navigation—co-developed with health providers. Define caseloads, referral pathways, and outcome metrics. Then, and only then, buy the equipment necessary to execute that program: vehicles outfitted for transport and field engagement; IT systems to track referrals and follow-ups; training for officers and clinicians working as a team. Every invoice traces back to a program deliverable; every dollar is auditable against opioid outcomes.

In contrast, paying for license-plate cameras and patrol SUVs directly from the opioid account, then describing the spending as “drug education,” fails the smell test. The purchases may advance general policing goals, but the settlement requires more than that. It requires an evidence-informed line of sight from expenditure to reduced overdose risk, improved treatment uptake, or sustained recovery—supported by documentation sturdy enough to satisfy auditors, not just headlines.

Bottom Line

Washington Township’s use of opioid-settlement funds for Flock cameras and police SUVs illustrates a broader governance challenge: when restricted dollars meet local procurement habits, the mission can drift. New Jersey’s rules are clear about the destination—opioid prevention, treatment, recovery, and properly structured public-safety partnerships. Hardware can play a role when it is the tool of a documented intervention. Standing alone, it is a detour.