Paper Shields and Blind Spots

Rethinking PPO Enforcement in Michigan

Most people will never know what it's like to live under constant surveillance. Not the kind deployed by governments or corporations, but the kind that comes from one person—a stalker, an abuser, an ex-partner—who refuses to let you go.

For those who do know that reality, one of the only lifelines is a Personal Protection Order (PPO). The sad reality is that they fail far too many people, often when it matters most.

A PPO is, at its core, a piece of paper. It's meant to legally prohibit someone from contacting or being near you. When violated, it can carry penalties ranging from fines to jail time. But here’s the truth most people don’t hear: PPOs are only as strong as the systems that support them. And right now, those systems are stretched, disconnected, and failing many of the very people they were meant to protect.

Let me walk you through a real-life scenario that my wife and I have encountered too often in our advocacy work. Imagine someone in Newaygo County, Michigan, gets a PPO against a former partner who has exhibited stalking behavior. A few weeks later, they travel to Oakland County for an event, and the stalker shows up. Threats are made, police are called, but no charges are filed. A report is made, but it stays local.

Now they’re in Kent County. The stalker slashes their tires. Police respond, but once again, no charges are made. The person is held overnight and released. Still, no data crosses county lines. Now they’re in Ingham County. The stalker tries to physically assault them but leaves before police arrive. A third report is made. But just like the others, it's invisible outside the borders of that specific county.

When the victim returns to Newaygo for a hearing on the PPO violations, maybe the judge issues a warning. Maybe not. Either way, the victim and the stalker leave court the same day, same time, and both stepping into the same parking lot.

This causes so much unneeded stress for the victim and its just basic understanding for safety. This scenario is also the reason most victims don't show up for the violation hearing, unable to afford an attorney and unwilling to jeopardize more of their safety for what happens after they walk out of court - they are aware there's no protection.

This isn’t theoretical. This happens. And too often, it ends tragically.

In 2023, a case in Wayne County drew statewide attention when a woman was murdered by a man she had a PPO against. He had violated it multiple times in multiple counties, but without formal charges in those counties, the judge overseeing her PPO renewal had no way to see the escalating pattern. The system didn’t fail because the laws were weak. It failed because the counties weren’t talking to each other and no one was tracking the overall status of her protection order.

Michigan isn’t alone. Across the country, victims are forced to bear the burden of tracking, reporting, and connecting the dots of their own trauma—while their abuser moves freely between jurisdictions.

According to the Stalking Prevention, Awareness, and Resource Center (SPARC), only 1 in 5 stalking cases that violate a protective order result in prosecution. And more than half of stalking victims report that law enforcement didn’t take their concerns seriously unless physical violence occurred.

That means a threat isn’t enough. Slashed tires aren’t enough. Repeated trespassing isn’t enough. For too many victims, the system requires bruises before it believes them.

Part of the issue is cultural. Law enforcement agencies, often understaffed and overworked, are trained to prioritize what they can see. A PPO violation without physical violence gets written off as a "drama issue" or a civil dispute. Judges, buried under dockets of cases, may not have time to review a pattern of behavior unless it’s been neatly packaged and charged.

But the larger issue is infrastructure. During CODA's two-year research into PPOs and their actual functionality, we discovered something most people would find hard to believe: the State of Michigan does not mandate the tracking or data collection of PPO's or their violations.

Let that settle for a second.

A judge grants an order of protection to someone who says, "I am unsafe. I need legal protection from this person." And yet, the state doesn’t require any agency to keep ongoing records of what happens next...

Why does that matter?

Because without tracking that information, we are discarding the very evidence a victim has provided about the danger they’re in. We’re ignoring the early warnings that often precede fatal outcomes. When the state doesn’t mandate that PPOs be tracked, it means there is no shared operating standard. And when there’s no standard, there’s no system—just scattered efforts and missed signals.

When we sat down with a representative from the Kent County PPO office, they were transparent. They explained that once a PPO is entered into the system, it's rarely touched again unless a police officer checks it during an encounter. Nothing gets added to the file. No record is made of climate shifts, repeated contact, verbal threats, or even consistent violations unless charges are filed. So what we end up with is a protective mechanism that isn’t actually tracking protection. It’s a placeholder.

And yet, every year we watch as bills get passed and public officials issue statements about how committed they are to domestic violence prevention. They applaud new laws requiring firearm surrender for those with PPOs—a rule that already existed—or tighter stalking definitions. But it’s window dressing. It’s performative safety. It’s putting a bandage on a wound that is gushing, knowing it will not fix the issue.

We went through hundreds of PPO's that stated criminal acts, peoples homes being set on fire, people being chased at high speeds, late night break in's all with no charges.

Sadly, one woman documented she had weekly contact with a predominate anti-violence advocacy agency, yet she was chased through her own home and hung out the second floor window by her leg. Her stalker served 30 days for that (criminal) act. Once released, came right back again and was given 60 days after breaking into to her home again. This was all after at least 5 violation warnings.

We’ve reached the point where we’re offering victims a promise we have no intention of keeping. “Here’s your PPO,” we say. “Now, don’t worry—we got you.” Except the reality is closer to, "Naw, we don’t need ya'll to track anything for those protection orders ....we good." And that’s not just ridiculous—it’s dangerous.

Back in 2021, our organization CODA developed a system that would solve this. We designed a cross-county PPO tracking platform that would allow law enforcement and court staff to see a complete record of incidents tied to a single PPO, regardless of where they occurred. We also proposed a multidisciplinary PPO team—neutral advocates trained to communicate between law enforcement and the courts, ensuring every violation is logged, tracked, and factored into judicial decisions.

The response? Slow. Not because the system didn’t work, but because our institutions have grown too comfortable with inefficiency. The standard mindset is: "It’s not my problem." If it doesn’t happen in their county, if the threat isn’t tangible, if the violation isn’t violent, it gets filed away or forgotten. But the person being followed, harassed, or threatened? They can’t afford to forget. They live with that fear daily.

What’s most disappointing in all of this is how normalized the gaps have become. Our communities, our systems, and even our conversations have grown used to treating safety as a reactive measure—only fully acknowledged after tragedy strikes. But protection shouldn't be a privilege tied to geography, paperwork, class, or luck. It should be a basic standard.

We need to begin thinking differently—not just as service providers, but as neighbors, colleagues, and fellow human beings. If someone in your community can’t count on a system to respond when they’re in danger, then the system is incomplete (period).

You may never need a PPO. But someone in your apartment complex might. Your child's best friend could need protection or someone in your congregation. When they’re unsafe, we are all less safe.

It’s okay to slow down, to look around, and to ask more questions.

We should want to understand how the structures we rely on really work. What are we passing into law? What are we funding? Where does accountability actually live? And more importantly, who is keeping track of whether it’s working?

This isn’t about outrage. It’s about responsibility. We owe it to ourselves—and to one another—to pay closer attention.

Stay informed & keep your community safe.

— Troy Rienstra