The first fatal shooting of the year in Lansing, Michigan, was solved quickly. All four alleged shooters in the drive-by killing of 21-year-old Jaivion Husband on January 27 were arrested the same night.
The circumstances around the men involved in the shooting were complicated; three of the four were fellows with Advance Peace, a violence intervention program that was launched in Lansing in 2022, after initial hesitation from law enforcement. The fellowship is designed to keep people who have been engaged in shootings away from situations like these through concentrated mentoring, daily communication, job opportunities, skills development, and monthly stipends.
After the suspects had been arrested, Paul Elam, a criminologist at the Michigan Public Health Institute who helped bring Advance Peace to town, visited the fellows. One of them, a 19-year-old who had been with the program since the beginning, broke down in tears, telling Elam that he knew getting into the car that night was a mistake. “He told me, ‘I let you down, I should have called,’” Elam recalled. “They let somebody influence them to hop in the car and go do something. He was able to articulate that he was changing his behavior, but he had this moment where he didn’t do what he knew was right.”
The tragedy reminded the leaders that a moment is all it takes. The fellows “have so much coming at them daily,” Elam said. “You don’t know what they’re being pressured to do.”
In the two-plus years since Advance Peace came to Lansing, gun violence in the city has dropped by 52 percent, according to police data, and community activists, along with law enforcement, are pointing to the program’s success. The program isn’t perfect, some city leaders acknowledge, but it is making long-term strides to accomplish mutual violence prevention goals.
Residents in Lansing said the actions taken by the police, including a focus on repeat offenders and illegal firearms, have also played an important role. To sustain the city’s progress, police officers and community workers are navigating the streets carefully — cooperatively, but independently.
Since its inception in 2010, Advance Peace has been effective in other cities including Richmond, CA and Rochester, NY. Unlike other national anti-violence organizations, this one doesn’t focus on geographical areas, victims of shootings, or people who could potentially get involved with gun violence. Instead, their violence interrupters identify people through information from family members or others plugged in on the streets who are shooters — people often unknown to the police. Once they identify the shooters, they enroll them in an 18-month fellowship program, during which they work directly with community violence interrupters, or credible messengers, who check in on them multiple times a day. In Lansing, one interventionist works with as many as five fellows at once.
“If a shooting occurred this week, nobody’s going to talk to the police, but they’re going to talk to our people,” said Elam. “The target population for us is folks who are engaged in gun violence, who are evading law enforcement and the justice system.”
Throughout the mid-to-late 2010s, shootings in Lansing weren’t concentrated in specific areas; gun violence was more sporadic and random, especially across the south side of the city, where 60 percent of the population lives. No particular demographic or age group was overrepresented among perpetrators or victims, a reflection of the city’s relative progress in addressing the historic segregation that still dogs nearby cities like Detroit, Grand Rapids, and Kalamazoo.
That all changed after COVID-19 hit and retaliatory conflicts worsened between different groups on the southwest and west sides — neighborhood beefs, escalated on social media during lockdowns, turned into shootings. Shootings in Lansing increased by 80 percent between 2019 and 2020. In 2021, the city notched the highest number of homicides ever, with 25.
“It was lawless. A lot of young men were engaging in this back-and-forth, cyclical gunfire, and you had kids dying,” said Michael Lynn, a local activist who runs The Lansing Empowerment Network and The Village Lansing, two organizations focused on addressing and providing wrap-around services to those most affected by gun violence. “When the pandemic happened, it was like a bomb went off in the city.”
Shootings in Lansing have been in decline since the peaks of 2021, similar to national trends and the result of strategic work by community groups and law enforcement after the surge in youth violence. Though the program now receives widespread praise, when Advance Peace was first introduced in 2021 as a potential option for tackling the worsening crisis, Police Chief Robert Backus said the model didn’t “sit well” with his colleagues. “There was skepticism about how it focused on people you knew were your priority offenders,” Backus said.
Marlon Beard, a credible messenger with Advance Peace, said at first “everybody was looking at it like, ‘so you guys gonna pay shooters and sponsor them to buy them guns.’ I think that was just ignorance of not really sitting down to do your research.”
Once law enforcement and city leadership were educated about the mechanics of the program, they became more receptive to it, Beard said.
During a recent event on the Michigan State campus, a handful of fellows, along with the credible messengers, learned about financial responsibility and entrepreneurship through an exercise led by Archie Hudson, a local business owner in Lansing. On the streets, these kids are often treated as — or posture as — adults, but in this setting, as they asked inquisitive questions and answered with “yes, sir” and “no, sir,” their age was apparent. Some were just 13 or 14. More importantly, they were comfortable around the credible messengers and other leaders of Advance Peace, the result of a hard-won trust.
“We never involve the police. Every conflict we’ve had resolved doesn’t involve the police,” said DeAndre McFadden, one of the credible messengers, as they’re called, who is working for the program. “They know they can’t infiltrate the situation the way we can. So far, the police have respected our space and our work.”
Though Advance Peace doesn’t share any information with the police, a key reason the organization retains its credibility, the authorities provide Advance Peace with regular shooting data and a list of names of people they believe to be involved in gun violence.
“It’s almost like we’re running parallel to each other, like we both have the same goal, which is no more violent incidents,” Chief Backus said, noting that the priority of police is enforcement and accountability. “We have an obligation to represent victims, and if someone is our suspect, we have an obligation to put that person in front of a judge.”
Despite the success of recent efforts, distrust between residents and the Police Department persists. That distrust stems from a decade of police shootings in and around Lansing, and a lack of transparency from the department on how the investigations progress, community leaders said. Since 2020, there have been four officer-involved shootings in Lansing, which has a population of roughly 112,000, and all of the cases were deemed “justifiable.” By comparison, in the 10 years before 2020, there were four. In the most recent case, in December 2023, officers shot and killed Stephen Romero, a Hispanic man, after they were called for a domestic dispute.
“How can we create real positive relations when all of this is consistently going on,” asked Lynn, the local activist.
Backus acknowledged that police shootings erode progress, and since they’ve happened more frequently since 2020, it’s been difficult to rebuild trust. “When they’re happening so often in a short time, it doesn’t give us time to repair those relationships,” he said, adding that unsolved homicides and people’s unwillingness to speak to the police also hurt officers’ credibility in the community.
“Ain’t nothing changed,” said Beard, the Advance Peace worker, referring to the tense relationship between the community and law enforcement. “The same way we get looked at as Black men — because one Black man did something, we all did it — that’s kind of how we view the police.”
One of the fellows with the program said if the police ever tried to talk to him, he’d “just walk away and not say anything.”
Over the last few years, the department has tried to put more emphasis on developing trust in the community by hosting more events, getting in front of active local groups, and being more visible in struggling areas. It has also focused more on firearms access. But the road to strategic cooperation is long.
That’s why activists, residents, and police agree that Advance Peace is crucial. A recent study of the program revealed some promising data, showing that over 90 percent of the fellows no longer use guns to resolve their conflicts. Yet just as the program is beginning to show its worth, the city is in jeopardy of losing it, as it’s funded in large part by community violence interruption grants from the federal government that were terminated in April by the Department of Justice, leaving cities like Lansing scrambling for alternative funding sources. Some groups have joined a lawsuit against the Trump administration to restore the funding.
DeVone Boggan, who is originally from Lansing and founded Advance Peace in Richmond, California, in 2010, said the recent funding issues are another example of why local cities and counties need to include funding for community violence intervention work in their fiscal budgets. “That local infrastructure must budget for CVI practices,” Boggan said. “That’s the only way to sustain the work.”
