It should not take a death to push reform, yet Michigan finds itself—again—fighting to set a statewide standard for how policing should look, feel, and function. And this time, lawmakers say they are not waiting for another tragedy to spark action.
A bipartisan group of Michigan senators introduced an 11-bill package designed to create a baseline of policing policies across every city and county. The legislation pulls no punches. From instituting mandatory “duty to intervene” policies to revisiting the controversial use of no-knock warrants, this package signals an urgent attempt to confront a fractured system that too often fails to deliver justice equally.
Senator Stephanie Chang of Detroit leads the charge, grounding the effort in the principle that dignity and accountability are not optional depending on your ZIP code. “It shouldn’t matter where you are in the state. Everyone should be able to know and to expect how they’re going to be treated with respect and dignity from law enforcement,” she said. “And also that every law enforcement agency officer, regardless of where they are, should know that these policies are in place to ensure their safety as well.”
That clarity—knowing what to expect from the badge—remains elusive for many Black and Brown families in Michigan. Cities like Detroit, Flint, and Grand Rapids know too well what it means to carry generational distrust rooted in traffic stops turned violent, or community complaints that rarely yield change. These bills attempt to stitch together a broken patchwork of departmental policies where some jurisdictions treat de-escalation as optional, while others barely train for it at all.
Senator Jeff Irwin of Ann Arbor is pushing for deeper investment in that very gap. His bill focuses on training—not just tactical gun range sessions or vehicle maneuvers—but the soft skills that build bridges before they’re burned. “It’s interesting to me that there’s so much time devoted to that and there is not as much time devoted to type of community policing and relationship building,” Irwin said, adding that this is “also a big part of what officers need to do to keep a community safe.”
The proposals cover a wide scope of reforms. They call for uniform use-of-force policies, stronger body camera guidelines, mandatory background checks for officers, and detailed service records that follow them from one agency to another. Each bill centers accountability as not just a buzzword but a necessary function of public safety.
This is not the first time Michigan lawmakers have introduced a package like this. Previous efforts—mirroring many of the same measures—have failed to gain the traction needed to reach the governor’s desk. This time, however, Chang and her co-sponsors say the political winds are shifting, and they are building coalitions across ideological lines to push it through.
That collaboration is crucial, especially with the Michigan House still under Republican control. Chang, who chairs the Senate Civil Rights, Public Safety, and Judiciary Committee, is moving carefully. She hasn’t announced a hearing date yet but made it clear that this package is a top priority.
Skepticism from law enforcement remains. The Fraternal Order of Police, one of the state’s largest law enforcement unions, previously opposed the package outright. In a letter to the legislative committee, union president Michael Sauger argued that these reforms miss the most pressing concern for departments: recruitment and retention. “First and foremost, the most important law enforcement related issue in Michigan is recruiting and retention of police officers,” he said. “These bills not only don’t address that, but some of these bills, if passed, will make the problem of recruiting and retention far worse.”
That pushback speaks to a fundamental tension. On one side, community members and lawmakers demand clear, enforceable policies to prevent harm and rebuild trust. On the other, police organizations warn that the rules could push potential recruits away or penalize officers too harshly for human error. But when those “errors” cost lives—especially Black lives—the stakes are too high to wait for consensus that may never come.
For many Black Michiganders, this legislation is long overdue. It speaks directly to lived realities where police response feels more punitive than protective, more harmful than helpful. The bills ask departments to do more than simply exist—they ask them to serve, to communicate, and to self-regulate.
And that includes calling out fellow officers when they cross the line. The proposed “duty to intervene” policy requires law enforcement officers to step in when a colleague uses excessive force or abuses their authority. That step alone could mean the difference between another deadly encounter and a saved life. It challenges the long-standing blue wall of silence that has shielded misconduct in far too many cities.
The legislation also takes on no-knock warrants—tactics that have drawn national outrage after high-profile tragedies like the killing of Breonna Taylor. While details on how Michigan’s version would be restructured remain forthcoming, the signal is clear: legislators want greater scrutiny and consistency across departments before doors are kicked in without warning.
There’s also a deeper call embedded within these bills: a demand for systemic clarity. Without statewide standards, officers can leave one department under questionable circumstances and start fresh somewhere else, without transparency or oversight. That lack of continuity opens the door to abuse and erodes the integrity of policing as a profession.
By introducing standardized officer service records and more thorough background checks, lawmakers aim to bring sunlight into a system that has too often operated in shadow.
That said, the road ahead is still lined with uncertainty. Getting bipartisan support in a politically divided legislature requires more than good policy—it takes negotiation, pressure, and persistent public demand. Chang acknowledged that reality, saying she and her colleagues are working with conservative groups to ease concerns and earn broader buy-in. This move suggests a strategy not rooted in partisan lines, but in moral ones.
This effort is about more than policy—it’s about power. Who gets to define what safety means? Who decides whose lives deserve protection? For too long, the answers to those questions have excluded voices from Black, Brown, poor, and immigrant communities. This legislation, at its best, creates space for those voices to be heard, codified, and enforced.
Yet community members must stay watchful. As these bills move through hearings and possible amendments, the language may shift, the priorities may be tested, and the weight of opposition may push to dilute what could be transformational. Now is the moment for community organizations, civil rights leaders, students, clergy, and everyday residents to stay engaged—to read the bills, attend the hearings, and hold lawmakers accountable.
Because reform that does not include the people it impacts most is not reform at all.
Michigan has a chance to lead with policy shaped by lessons learned and hard truths faced. And if lawmakers meet this moment with courage, this package could be the start of a new standard—one that puts justice at the forefront, not the aftermath.
For those who have marched, protested, and organized after names like George Floyd, Patrick Lyoya, and countless others, this legislation represents a call to keep pushing. Not because reform is a finish line, but because it is a necessary step toward a Michigan where safety does not come at the cost of dignity.
And where no family has to wonder if the law will protect them differently just because of where they live or how they look.
That’s not political. That’s personal.