A New Chapter for Newark
Federal Judge Poised to End Decade of Police Oversight After Historic Reforms
Newark stands at the brink of a historic moment. A federal judge has announced her intent to release the city’s police department from U.S. Justice Department oversight, marking the end of a decade-long reform effort that reshaped one of America’s most infamous law enforcement agencies. What began as a response to systemic misconduct has evolved into one of the nation’s most significant examples of police transformation.
Judge Madeline Cox Arleo praised the city’s “vast improvements in policing” since the 2011 federal investigation exposed rampant constitutional violations, from excessive force to illegal searches. “I hear today a resounding theme that progress has been made,” she said during Thursday’s hearing, attended by city leaders and community advocates. The public now has two weeks to comment before a final order is issued.
Today, Newark’s Department of Public Safety bears little resemblance to the agency once feared by its residents. The 1,100-member force is now 83 percent Black or Latino and recognized for its emphasis on de-escalation and community engagement. New recruits train in a state-of-the-art academy featuring virtual-reality simulations, while veterans complete annual refresher courses. Excessive-force lawsuits and related payouts have dropped sharply.
The results are measurable. In 2015, Newark reported 106 murders and 1,826 robberies. Last year, those numbers fell to 37 murders and 468 robberies—among the lowest in decades. As of early October, the city was on pace to record its fewest homicides in half a century. “Newark showed that consent decrees can work,” said Brian O’Hara, former Newark public safety director and now Minneapolis police chief.
Still, challenges remain. Certain violent crimes, such as aggravated assault and sexual violence, persist at troubling levels. A recent report from the federal monitor, Peter D. Harvey, cited continuing issues with data systems and internal affairs oversight. “The consent decree did not end police brutality,” said longtime activist Lawrence Hamm of the People’s Organization for Progress. “But without it, we would have had far more cases.”
Mayor Ras Baraka, who guided the department through three terms of reform, acknowledges the city’s gains and the work ahead. “The police department is better for it,” he said. “And the city is better for it. We still have to keep pushing these numbers down.” Newark has invested about $10 million in compliance and infrastructure—upgrading evidence storage, adopting body cameras before state mandates, and auditing footage regularly to ensure accountability.
For Public Safety Director Emanuel Miranda Sr., oversight brought lasting change. “We saw that when people are watching, people act differently,” he said. The transformation is visible even in symbols: at the former West District precinct, once notorious for a “Wild Wild West” sign featuring a gun, the space has been reborn as the Office of Violence Prevention and Trauma Recovery.
Today, that three-story building houses social workers and community outreach specialists rather than police. Its “war room,” decorated with murals, serves as a hub for the Brick City Peace Collective, which collaborates with dozens of neighborhood organizations. “We are a completely different department today,” said Deputy Police Director Leonardo Carrillo. “The consent decree is the best thing that ever happened to Newark.”
Deputy Mayor for Public Safety Lakeesha Eure sees the city’s progress as rooted in prevention. One new program, led entirely by men, targets domestic violence—identified as a leading factor in nearly half the city’s murders and aggravated assaults. “Our job is to talk in real time so we can get in front of this stuff,” she said. Last year, Newark referred more than 2,800 residents for support and social services.
That shift toward trust and collaboration was tested in 2020 after George Floyd’s murder ignited nationwide protests. In Newark, thousands marched outside the precinct that once symbolized racial division. But unlike in nearby New York City, where chaos led to curfews and clashes, Newark’s protests remained peaceful—thanks largely to the intervention of the Newark Community Street Team, which positioned itself between police and demonstrators. There were no arrests, no fires, only dialogue.
The story of Newark’s reform offers lessons that reach far beyond city limits. Across the nation, other police departments—once subject to similar consent decrees—have struggled to sustain reforms once federal monitors depart. But in Newark, collaboration between law enforcement, activists, and civic leaders appears to have built a foundation strong enough to endure.
As the federal monitor prepares to close the books, Harvey remains optimistic. “It’s not as if they believe themselves to have gotten to the finish line and they’re saying, ‘OK, we’re done,’” he said. “They recognize that they have more work to do—but now, they’re willing to do that work.” Newark’s long road to reform may finally be reaching its destination—but its journey toward justice continues, one hard-earned step at a time.
