For the protection of Jonas, a minor, we have anonymised his name.

Being watched

When I met Jonas, he was cautious. He shook my hand politely as I introduced myself in broken Lithuanian. He looked me up and down, trying to figure out who I was. I tried to relax the atmosphere by inviting a friend of his to sit in on the interview, but that didn’t calm his nerves. It was only when the translator – a colleague and friend of mine – reassured him that I wasn’t a police officer, things started to ease. After this, he seemed comfortable, leaning forward in his chair. He was eager to answer my questions, which he did quickly and with precision. Although, I was never totally sure who to address – Jonas or the translator.

Wrapped around Jonas’s leg is a device that looks like a shackle: a circle of smooth grey steel, as thick as a bike lock. While we talked, Jonas dabbed at his ankle with a stained cloth, where the device had rubbed his skin. Almost immediately, he told me that the device was physically painful: “It hurts, the friction causes blisters.” I was not surprised – the device looked like it was meant for someone older, with a bigger leg.

This circle of metal is called an electronic monitor. It is a GPS-enabled device used to track the location of people on probation, or convicted of a criminal offence. I wanted to know how Jonas lived with it everyday. Some of his routines seemed ordinary for a young adult: “I go to school and exercise in the gym. I help my grandmother and my mother. And sometimes I go to my father”. At times, he even forgets the device is there.

But that routine is repeatedly broken by the demands the bracelet places on him. He described waking up at different hours to charge the device: “If the bracelet has around 20% battery, it starts to vibrate. It alarms me so that I have to charge it – sometimes at three, four, or two at night. And as soon as possible, I have to put on the charger. If I don't, the police will come.” For Jonas, the monitor is inseparable from the threat of the police.

Each morning, Jonas is required to press a button that lets probation officers verify his location: “Once I wake up, I charge the electronic monitor and click one of the buttons. Then they can track where I am.” This has been his life for several months, and will continue to be for another few, while he is on the device.

Another risk hanging over him is the possibility of breaking curfew. He must be home by a specified hour each evening. Repeatedly breaking curfew can mean several months in prison. He stated that usually the officers give people three chances and it is only after the third time that they are sent to prison. However, he also told me that if he is “...late for the second time, they will put me in jail. For others, they give three chances, but for me, they gave me two chances.” As far as I knew, he hadn’t broken any curfews and I felt uncertain why he said he had fewer chances.

One possible reason is that Jonas is from the Roma community, which has been the target of discrimination from the police in Lithuania. Friends who introduced me to Jonas have been working on this issue and warned me of the risks of publicly sharing his story – such as the possibility of informal sanctions upon him by the police.

This fear of retribution from the police is based on the community’s previous experiences with the institution. Many of the Roma have already had their homes destroyed in the Parubanka, a former Roma district in Vilnius, for being dubiously considered ‘illegal’. I also knew about cases of police violence against Roma. In 2024, the Lithuanian police settled a court case by paying 20,000 euros to a musician who had attended a Roma wedding. During the wedding, he was struck with a baton, while police made arrests after noise complaints. Witnesses claimed police violence. This, however, is difficult to prove, as the police had turned off their body cameras. Before doing so, a police officer stated to a colleague: “Išjunk šitą nesąmonę” (“Turn off this nonsense” – meaning the body camera).

However, electronic monitoring is not only impacting the Roma community. Jonas says he knows adults and teenagers from various backgrounds – mostly ethnic Lithuanians – who are also on the device. Over a month ago, I reached out to the Lithuanian Probation Service’s media contact to confirm whether the service had statistics on the ethnicity of those on electronic monitors. I asked, in English, if there is a minimum age at which someone can be placed under monitoring, and what happens to the personal data of those surveilled after their release. I haven’t yet received a response – although a language barrier could be a reason for this.

An alternative – and a threat

To understand the broader context, I spoke with Simonas Nikartas, a criminology professor at Vilnius University and former head of probation in the Lithuanian Probation Service. He was in office when electronic monitoring was first introduced in Lithuania in 2012.

One of the reasons for its use is to provide an alternative to prison. In practice, Nikartas argues, it’s now sometimes being used on people who would never have faced prison in the first place: “[on those people] who do not go to prison, who do not commit severe crimes”. Instead, the device often targets individuals involved in financial or corruption crimes – people who, according to Nikartas, pose no physical threat and might not have been convicted at all.

Jonas was convicted of an offence and views the electronic monitor as a harsh punishment, despite it being an ‘alternative’. The electronic monitor is a constant reminder to him that the threat of jail is inescapable, as the device follows his every move.

One of the most comprehensive studies on the topic of electronic monitoring was conducted by assistant professors Eirn Eife (​​University of Illinois at Chicago) and Gabriela Kirk (Northwestern University). Their study, published in 2020 at Punishment & Society journal, argues that people on electronic monitoring devices are “at the mercy of the [police] officers” and “this fear dictated the rest of their experience on electronic monitoring”. The study concluded that the electronic monitor is a reminder to those on the device that, even in the privacy of your own home, you do not ‘own’ yourself. Your body’s actions are dictated by the government, you are “in the possession of another person”.

The reason for this study being so valuable is that, unlike others – which use the probation department to select people to interview – this was a random sample of 60 people found through newspaper adverts. This allowed for the study to possess a critical distance from the probation department, as no one was pre-selected by the institution itself.

For those on the device, the physical threat of relocation to the prison is combined with the possibility of indebtedness. I asked Jonas how much damaging the device would cost. I knew it was high, but I didn’t expect a figure that would force most people to leave school in order to repay it. He told me he must pay 2,500 euros if he breaks the metal band itself. It also has a charger, which – if broken – costs 350 euros. Finally, there is a thin band of plastic cloth which supports the metal device and keeps it from sliding down his leg. According to him, it would cost 50 euros.

Expanding electronic monitoring

To highlight the extent to which this device has expanded across Lithuania, Professor Nikartas told me, “Lithuania is one of the leading countries in Europe according to the number of people on electronic monitoring”. This is supported by the fact that in 2023, 2,574 people in Lithuania were under intensive supervision and 793 people court ordered obligations by the probation service. Both of which involve the imposition of an electronic monitor. These statistics mean Lithuania had 117 monitored people for every 100,000 people. For comparison, in the same year, Poland only had 7,791 people on this device, or 21 per 100,000 people.

It is difficult to find cross-European statistics on this issue due to differences in recording habits. However, in 2020, a study was carried out which compared electronic monitoring practices among three European countries. None of the surveyed countries, England and Wales (19 monitored people per 100,000), Belgium (15 per 100,000) or the Netherlands (4 per 100,000) were even close to Lithuania.

Professor Nikartas indicates a key turning point in the expansion of electronic monitoring in Lithuania. In 2019 new legislation was passed that expanded its use for a broader range of sentences. Before, it was primarily for people just coming out of prison – to track their behaviour before ending their probation. Now, it extends to suspended sentences, educational measures, and restriction of liberty. Just two years after 2019, the number of new people on an electronic monitor had more than tripled from 437 to 1,370.

Part of the controversy around electronic monitoring is that it outsources punishment to private companies. Corporations are involved in manufacturing these devices, which are then rented or bought by governments. Internationally, this practice began in the 1980s in the United States as an effort to create a new form of punishment outside of prison. It was then brought to the UK, who started their own programme in 1991. Later, it was adopted by other European countries such as Sweden and Denmark from the mid to late 1990s. Lithuania was a late-comer to this industry and only started in 2012 – but the program ran into major issues almost immediately.

Between July 2012 and November 2013, the Lithuanian Prison Service paid 333,700 Litas (96,666 Euros) for services that were not provided. Companies received contracts to supply the devices, and the prison service rented them regardless of whether they were actually used. Nikartas states, “...they were wasting money because they rented the equipment but there were no people [probation staff] to use it.” However, as more and more people were put on the device, the practice steadily grew.

One of the primary risks of this expansion is the government enabling private companies' desire to expand their product. One of the key companies to benefit from the increased use of the devices in Lithuania was the Swiss firm, Geosatis. The company is looking for new ways to apply the technology, as shown by the range of ‘solutions’ advertised on its website. Among others, immigration detention.

As noted by Prof. Nikartas there is a “risk [around] whether the politicians and legal regulations provide the market. The 2019 regulation practically provided the market”.

‘Humane’ brands for ‘dangerous’ people

Another reason this has been implemented, is the claim that electronic monitoring constitutes a humane practice. Norway, for example, is one of the largest government funders of the electronic monitoring programme in Lithuania, with its grants contributing to the purchase of 1,300 devices since 2022. This Spring, Mindaugas Kairys, Director General of the Lithuanian Prison Service, stated: “The Norway Grants have made a significant contribution to a more progressive correctional system in Lithuania based on respect for human rights and justice.”

As these statements suggest, there has been a general move towards less incarceration in the country. Just four years ago, in 2021, Lithuania had the highest incarceration rate in the EU but today, it no longer holds this position. Fewer people are in Lithuania’s prisons, and developments within the prison service – such as the expansion of electronic monitoring – could be a reason for this shift. Despite these changes, Lithuania still remains one of the highest incarcerators in the EU, per capita.

The move away from prison toward more ‘humane’ alternatives has still caused suffering for people like Jonas. Attempts to frame this as being respectful of ‘human rights’ can obscure the harsh realities of stigma and discrimination that individuals like him face. The electronic monitor visibly marks Jonas as a criminal and shows that he poses a threat.

The device is obvious to anyone who meets him – it is a large ring of smooth metal that no one would willingly put on their leg. If you want to go swimming it will be visible, and if you want to wear shorts it will be visible. You could possibly hide it under a long, loose pair of trousers, but the moment you lift your leg it is visible. The fact that he is from the Roma community adds another layer – it is a visible sign that shows who the ‘dangerous’ minorities are.

Jonas said that for him it was necessary to hide the device. Otherwise, people treat him differently – and this was reflected in how Jonas spoke about his school. He didn’t want other students or teachers to know he was wearing the device: “I hide it in school. Everywhere in public spaces I try to hide it.”

This possibility of discrimination is made stronger by the fact that Jonas sometimes forgets he is wearing it. For instance: “When I'm sitting in the bus, I put my leg like this [raises leg, exposing the device] and people immediately sit in the next seat.” He also told me that, “When people realize I have a bracelet, they start to keep me at a distance, they start to fear me.” He constantly has to police his own body to ensure no one around him is scared.

These feelings are similar to other racialised groups who have been placed on the bracelet across Europe. Monish Bhaita is based at York University and is a leading scholar in Britain on electronic monitoring and race. He interviewed twenty people on the device who were all from a migrant background living in Britain. They described “the suffocating feeling of being constantly watched and perceived as a ‘dangerous’ (non-white) person in public spaces”. Everyone knows you are a criminal with the tag on and you are treated like one.

Once people see the device, they immediately press Jonas about what he did. “People ask me in the gym – why were you put on it? I hide the device not just because people are afraid, but also because they ask questions and interrogate me.”

Partly, I have chosen not to reveal what Jonas was convicted of because it would make it significantly easier for people to identify him. This is not to suggest that individuals who act in harmful ways should not have their actions addressed. Rather, what needs to be highlighted is the manner and rate at which electronic monitoring has developed over the last decade in Lithuania. This has involved shackling someone both young and racialised.

After I had interviewed Jonas, I wondered about other teenagers like him who are on the device. People swimming in lakes, playing basketball and eating kebabs as the sun sets. I imagined they would be watching the time, anxious about making it home. Not because they would be met with an annoyed parent but the police. The same kids who might wake up in the middle of the night to charge the device.