Crime rates continued to fall in 2025, with homicides down 21% from 2024 and 44% since a recent peak in 2021, likely bringing the national homicide rate to its lowest level in more than a century, according to a recent Council on Criminal Justice analysis of crime trends in 40 large U.S. cities.
The study examined patterns for 13 crime types in cities that have consistently published monthly data over the past eight years, analyzing violent crime, property crime, and drug offenses with data through December 2025.
The report found:
- Reported levels of 11 of 13 offenses were lower in 2025 than in 2024, with nine offenses declining 10% or more. Drug offenses were the only category that rose during this period, while sexual assault remained even.
- Looking at trends over a longer period, only reported motor vehicle theft and non-residential burglary remained elevated compared with 2019 levels, before the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic and nationwide social justice protests of 2020.
- Two crimes that captured significant public attention during the pandemic era—carjacking and shoplifting—have receded from their peaks. Reported carjacking has declined 61% since 2023, while reported shoplifting is down 10% from 2024.
When nationwide data for jurisdictions of all sizes is reported by the FBI later this year, there is a strong possibility that homicide in 2025 will drop to about 4.0 per 100,000 residents. That would be the lowest rate recorded in law enforcement or public health data going back to 1900—and would mark the largest single-year percentage drop in the homicide rate on record.
While the downward trajectory of crime is clear, it’s extremely difficult to disentangle and pinpoint what’s actually driving the drop, said CCJ President and CEO Adam Gelb. “As a result, we have a battle of sound bites and abundant claims of credit but scarce evidence to back them up.”
To help inform this debate, the Council released a supplemental assessment featuring perspectives from leading experts on the primary drivers of the recent decline, specifically in homicides. Last week, CCJ also held a webinar with several of these experts to dive in further.
Here’s what they emphasized.
- No Single Cause. Researchers and practitioners broadly agreed there’s no single explanation for the decline. Instead, it reflects multiple forces moving in the same direction, from prevention efforts and law enforcement strategies to broader social changes following the pandemic shock.
- Community investment and prevention. Several experts pointed to increased investment in violence intervention and prevention programs that engage at-risk groups, as well as federal funding that helped stabilize local governments and bolster police forces during a period of extreme disruption.
- Changes in criminal justice practice. Many cities sharpened their focus on the small number of neighborhoods and repeat offenders driving violence, improved shooting investigations and clearance rates, and worked through court backlogs that built up during the pandemic.
- Broader social and behavioral trends. As the pandemic disruptions faded, daily routines normalized. More people returned to work, school, and public spaces, increasing "eyes on the street" and reducing opportunities for violence to escalate unchecked.
Now the question on everyone’s mind is what comes next. Will crime rates continue to fall in 2026? Some of the experts CCJ spoke with expect further declines, while others warn that the end of federal funding could slow progress.
The administration’s immigration enforcement operations are a big unknown. It could deter crime, but it could also erode trust in police, making it harder to work with communities to reduce violence.
The Council on Criminal Justice will continue to monitor these crime trends in American cities, so that these critical debates are grounded in facts and evidence, not partisan soundbites.
Ernesto Lopez is a senior research specialist at the Council on Criminal Justice.
Demonstrators rally outside the U.S. Supreme Court as justices hear oral arguments on whether President Donald Trump can deny citizenship to children born to parents who are in the United States illegally or temporarily, on Capitol Hill, in Washington, Wednesday, April 1, 2026. (AP Photo/Mariam Zuhaib)
Luz Angela Nuñez with her daughter Aisha Quershi Nuñez at their home in College Point, Queens. Photo: Mia Anzalone for Documented.
Kimberly Alvarez, 25, with her daughter Evangeline and her husband John Alvarez in Medellin, Colombia. Photo courtesy of Kimberly Alvarez.Alvarez arrived in New York City in February 2024 with her husband John Alvarez as asylum seekers from Venezuela. In April 2025, Alvarez found out she was pregnant with her first child, a baby girl. Her first reaction, she said, was fear.“How am I going to keep her alive?” she said. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘How am I going to be able to take care of her?’”At the beginning of Alvarez’s pregnancy, she said she was aware of the immigration enforcement occurring around the country, but vowed not to let it deter her from showing up to her doctor’s appointments.“When you went out, you were always on alert because you didn’t know if [ICE] might be around. I never saw anything suspicious,” Alvarez said. “But of course, you feel scared.”In October, when Alvarez was six months pregnant, her husband was detained by ICE agents at 26 Federal Plaza. When the immediate shock wore off, she obsessively checked the Online Detainee Locator System to find out where her husband went. A day later, she discovered that he was being kept at Delaney Hall detention center in New Jersey. Alvarez quickly set up an account to pay for phone calls, and every two days, she would pay about $10 for a one-hour call, updating her husband about the baby, her appointments and how she was doing.“Crying was the only way for me to release the tension,” said Alvarez, who worried that her lack of sleep and bad diet were impacting her baby. “Crying was the only way for me to release the tension.”—Kimberly AlvarezThat tension built up day by day, week by week following her husband’s arrest. Alvarez had stopped her work as a cleaner in the neighborhood’s synagogues two weeks before her husband’s detention because of her pregnancy. The plan, she said, was to rely solely on his income as a maintenance worker for “the food, the rent, everything.” Left with few choices, Kimberley had to rely on her mother’s income as a cleaner. The older woman had moved to New York from North Carolina to assist with Alvarez’s pregnancy. “I feel like I’m supposed to help my mom, not the other way around,” Alvarez said. “I felt powerless because I couldn’t do anything.”On Dec. 9, Alvarez gave birth to a daughter, Evangeline. While her baby was healthy, Alvarez’s anxieties did not go away. While she returned to cleaning synagogues a few months after Evangeline’s birth to help make ends meet, Alvarez and her daughter rarely left home. Alvarez said she felt paralyzed, getting frequent alerts from a neighborhood WhatsApp group when ICE was spotted nearby. One day, she said, ICE arrested her friend’s husband in Sunset Park, in an area where she would sometimes take Evangeline for walks.“I’m so afraid that I’ll go out and run into one of them and that they’ll take her away from me,” Alvarez said. “That’s my biggest fear, that someone will take her away from me and I won’t know where my daughter is.”In March, her husband decided to voluntarily remove himself from the United States and move back to Colombia, where he is originally from. It was a family decision, but it was not a happy one — hiring immigration lawyers was too expensive, Alvarez said, adding that staying in the U.S. felt too uncertain. 
Sharice Davids, who is also Kansas’ first LGBTQ+ member of Congress, is in her fourth term. (Michael Brochstein/SIPA/AP)
Deb Haaland was the first Native American secretary of the Interior, and if elected in New Mexico this year, she would become the country’s first Native American woman governor. (Drew Angerer/Getty Images)