Baltimore City stands at a crossroads—between fragile progress and a perilous retreat. As the U.S. Department of Justice continues scaling back its civil rights oversight, the city’s landmark police reform agreement—the consent decree born after the death of Freddie Gray—is under growing threat.
A consent decree is a court-approved agreement between a police department and the federal government to reform the department’s practices.
That decree, forged nearly a decade ago in the wake of national outrage over Gray’s fatal injuries in police custody, was never meant to be symbolic. It was a promise—of structural change, of safer policing, and of justice. The Baltimore Police Department itself has called the consent decree “a mandate for positive transformation to benefit the community and the Department.”
But now, as the Justice Department backs away from similar agreements in cities like Minneapolis and Louisville, Baltimore’s own hard-won progress is in jeopardy.
The communities with the most at stake—Black and Latino residents—have lived under the weight of unconstitutional policing for decades. For us, the decree is more than a legal document; it’s a lifeline. Without action from city and state leaders, that lifeline could fray.
A National Retreat with Local Consequences
The Department of Justice’s recent decision to withdraw consent decrees in Minneapolis and Louisville, citing “faulty legal theories”, signals a swift retreat from federal civil rights oversight. Even more concerning, investigations in other cities–Phoenix, Memphis, and Oklahoma City–are being shelved and previously issued findings of civil rights violations are now being quietly retracted.
This reversal dismantles one of the strongest resources for reform in police departments with documented histories of abuse and racial profiling. As consent decrees disappear, Latino and Black communities lose vital protections and are left vulnerable to the injustices these agreements were designed to address.
The Post-Floyd Momentum—Now at Risk
In the wake of George Floyd’s murder, consent decrees were a cornerstone of federal efforts to address police violence. But just weeks before the five-year anniversary of Floyd’s death, the Justice Department announced it would exit those same agreements in Minneapolis and Louisville. That decision signaled a sharp reversal from national police reform.
Since January, nearly half of the Justice Department’s Civil Rights Division attorneys have resigned, many citing internal turmoil and waning political will. Without federal backing, departments are once again left to monitor themselves, despite years of evidence showing that this approach often fails to protect communities or hold officers accountable. Trust in reform is critically at risk, and vulnerable communities are left with few avenues for justice.
Can Local Governments Hold the Line?
Mayors in Minneapolis and Louisville insist they’ll stay the course, even without federal enforcement. Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey and Louisville officials have publicly reaffirmed their city’s commitment, stating they would uphold every aspect of the agreement originally negotiated with federal oversight.
But we’ve seen this before. Without outside accountability, reform too often becomes a slogan, not a standard. Police unions push back. Budgets tighten. Promises fade.
City leaders may want to do the right thing. But without the leverage and scrutiny of federal oversight, the tools to get there become harder to wield. And progress—hard-fought and still unfinished—becomes increasingly fragile.
Baltimore’s Consent Decree: Progress Amid Precarity
Baltimore City remains one of the last cities where a federal consent decree is still active. There’s been measurable progress—reforms in officer support and detainee transport have led to compliance and reduced federal monitoring in those areas. A federal judge recently ended court oversight in those categories after the Baltimore Police Department maintained reforms for over a year. These improvements came through new policies, officer training, and equipment upgrades.
But major portions of the decree—use of force, racial bias, misconduct investigations—remain under scrutiny. Without the Justice Department’s continued presence, even these areas of improvement could stall. Or worse, backslide.
Advocates Warn: Don’t Abandon the Mission
Civil rights leaders are sounding the alarm. National attorney Benjamin Crump, who’s represented the families of Breonna Taylor and George Floyd, has warned against a pattern of promises made in tragedy, only to be quietly abandoned in time. From Breonna Taylor to George Floyd, Crump has called out the betrayal of Black communities forced to relive the same pattern: outrage, reform promises, and eventual abandonment. The same cycle now threatens Baltimore City.
Groups like the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC) and the NAACP stress: the consent decree isn’t red tape—it’s a shield. It protects communities that have too often been targeted and traumatized. And though the Justice Department may be stepping back, its original findings remain: Baltimore Police engaged in systemic violations. That hasn’t changed.
What’s shifting is who’s still willing to enforce change.
The Burden Shifts to Baltimore City
The path forward demands urgent local action. Baltimore City cannot afford to “wait and see.” As the Justice Department withdraws, the burden of reform falls squarely on local governments—many of which lack the capacity, political will, or community trust to carry it forward alone. For Baltimore City, this shift is especially dangerous. Black and Latino communities, already subjected to disproportionate surveillance, racial profiling, and police violence, now face the erosion of one of the few structural tools that offered real accountability.
Black and Latino communities in Baltimore City have been promised change before. They shouldn’t have to fight again just to keep the progress they’ve already earned. The question is no longer what the Justice Department will do—it’s whether Baltimore City is ready to finish what it started.
The consent decree was born in crisis. Its survival will depend on whether we treat it as a mandate—or a memory.
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