Editorial Opinion: What If George Floyd Died of Old Age?

We are still waiting for a change that isn’t built on the corpse of another Black man. The evolution of our intellectual trauma continues. 

The chart below is from Minnesota's Spotlight on Poverty https://spotlightonpoverty.org/states/minnesota/

By Don Allen, Journal of A Black Teacher (2025)

The tragic murder of George Floyd under the knee of former Minneapolis police officer Derek Chauvin sparked global protests, forced America into a national reckoning on race, and ignited a multi-billion-dollar industry around social justice. But we must now, years later, ask a hard and perhaps uncomfortable question: Would Black society be any different if George Floyd had died of old age?

The answer, while layered in nuance and painful truth, is not as clear-cut as the mainstream narrative would suggest.

Since Floyd’s death in May 2020, hundreds more Black men across the country have been killed in encounters with law enforcement. According to Mapping Police Violence, over 1,000 people are killed by police every year, and Black people continue to be disproportionately represented in that statistic. The system remains intact. The knee is still on the neck, figuratively and literally, in too many communities from coast to coast.

Meanwhile, in Minneapolis and St. Paul, a new economy emerged almost overnight: one fueled by pain, outrage, and slogans. “Black Lives Matter” became a brand, and the Twin Cities turned into ground zero for this social justice industrial complex. Millions of dollars poured in—some well-meaning, some exploitative—and yet, the poorest Black neighborhoods remain underfunded, over-policed, undereducated, and underserved. What changed?

Ask around in North Minneapolis or St. Paul's East Side, and you'll hear it: flashy murals and painted streets can’t fix generational poverty or trauma. Neighborhoods that were already struggling before 2020 now face the added burden of being showcased as symbols of progress without receiving any of the actual structural change that progress requires. Organizations cashed checks in the name of George Floyd, yet many of those who profited were nowhere to be found before his death—and even more have vanished since.

So, was George Floyd a hero? That’s a question many are too afraid to ask. Floyd did not choose martyrdom. He wasn’t a civil rights leader, a community organizer, or a politician. He was a man, flawed and human like all of us, who became a global symbol not by his actions in life, but by the manner of his death. That symbolism—manufactured, manipulated, and monetized—raises ethical questions about the forces of social engineering that decide who becomes a pillar of reckoning and who remains a footnote.

To be clear, the outrage was justified. The demands for justice were necessary. The marches, the chants, and the legislation that followed were driven by real pain and legitimate fury. But once the cameras left, once the nonprofit industrial complex folded their tents, what was left?

Would the Twin Cities, would Black society, be any different if George Floyd had died of old age in his sleep? Probably not. That’s the heartbreak. Because it means we are still waiting for justice to be proactive, not reactive. We are still waiting for change that isn’t built on the corpse of another Black man.

Until systems—not just slogans—are overhauled, until resources are equitably distributed, until schools in Black communities look like those in the suburbs, and until the death of any man—George Floyd or anyone else—doesn’t have to be the price paid for progress, we will keep asking this same question. And the silence in response will be its own indictment.

The true measure of change will not be in murals or hashtags but in outcomes. Let’s stop pretending otherwise.