On May 25, 2020, George Floyd—a 46-year-old Black man and father—was murdered in Minneapolis, Minnesota, beneath the weight of a police officer’s knee. For nine minutes and twenty-nine seconds, Officer Derek Chauvin pressed his knee against Floyd’s neck, ignoring the cries of “I can’t breathe” that have since echoed across the globe. It was a moment that transcended any single city, state, or nation. It forced a collective confrontation with the deeply embedded systems of power, race, and force that have long governed American policing.

Floyd’s death, captured on video by teenager Darnella Frazier, became a seismic event. The footage was visceral, unavoidable, and all too familiar. But in a year already wracked by the COVID-19 pandemic, which disproportionately affected communities of color, Floyd’s public execution proved too much. The response was immediate and massive. Protesters filled the streets in all 50 states and in more than 60 countries. “Black Lives Matter” moved from the margins to the mainstream. Cities debated police budgets. Statues fell. Police unions panicked. And conversations long confined to activist circles entered kitchen tables and boardrooms.

I’m going to reflect on what happened after Floyd’s death—specifically how it shaped law enforcement in the United States. Has anything really changed? Or has the system, once again, absorbed the shock and returned to business as usual? This piece explores changes in policing policy, shifts in public trust, data on use of force, resistance from entrenched institutions like police unions, and the psychological toll on officers themselves. The goal is not just to take stock of the past but to ask what kind of future is possible—and necessary—for American policing.

Policing Reform in the Wake of Tragedy

The death of George Floyd ushered in what many thought would be a transformative era for American law enforcement. Within weeks, cities and states began introducing legislation aimed at curbing police brutality, increasing transparency, and restoring public trust. According to the National Conference of State Legislatures, over 30 states passed more than 140 new policing laws between June 2020 and June 2021.

These laws took various forms. New York passed the Eric Garner Anti-Chokehold Act, criminalizing the use of chokeholds. California’s AB 1506 mandated that the state’s attorney general investigate police shootings involving unarmed individuals. Colorado eliminated qualified immunity as a defense in state civil lawsuits. And in Floyd’s home state of Minnesota, legislators required crisis intervention training and updated the use-of-force policy to prioritize de-escalation and sanctity of life.

Municipal responses were even more dramatic. The Minneapolis City Council initially voted to dismantle the police department and replace it with a community-based public safety model. Although that specific plan failed at the ballot box in 2021, it sparked a broader dialogue around alternatives to traditional policing. In some places, “defund the police” became more than a slogan; cities like Austin and Los Angeles reallocated portions of their police budgets to housing, mental health services, and community programs.

Yet the push for reform met fierce resistance. By 2022, some cities reversed course, restoring or increasing police budgets amid rising concerns about violent crime. Political will waned. Federal efforts stalled. The George Floyd Justice in Policing Act, introduced in Congress in 2020, proposed sweeping reforms: banning chokeholds, limiting no-knock warrants, creating a national police misconduct registry, and ending qualified immunity. Despite passing in the House, it failed in the Senate, highlighting the enduring grip of partisan gridlock.

Floyd’s death may have cracked open the door to reform, but sustaining change has proven far more difficult.

Data on Use of Force and Public Perception Since Floyd

If George Floyd’s murder was supposed to mark a turning point, the data presents a more sobering picture. According to Mapping Police Violence, police in the United States killed more people in 2023 than in any year since 2013. The total exceeded 1,200 deaths, with Black Americans nearly three times more likely than white Americans to be killed by police despite being less likely to be armed.

These statistics paint a troubling portrait of continuity rather than change. Structural reforms and symbolic gestures have not translated into fewer killings. This disconnect raises the question: are the changes taking place at a surface level, or are they merely repackaging the same practices under different names?

Public trust in the police also remains fractured. A Gallup poll from 2021 revealed that only 18% of Black Americans had high confidence in the police, compared to 56% of white Americans. This was a significant decline even among white respondents, indicating a broader erosion of trust. Support for the Black Lives Matter movement surged in the immediate aftermath of Floyd’s murder, peaking at over 67%, but receded by the end of 2021. Political polarization played a role; many conservatives interpreted calls for reform as attacks on law enforcement itself.

Despite these challenges, some data points suggest pockets of progress. The use of body cameras has become widespread, with nearly all major police departments adopting them. Crisis intervention teams, which pair officers with mental health professionals, have been deployed in cities like Denver and San Antonio. These programs have shown promising results, reducing police shootings and increasing the likelihood of non-violent resolutions.

Still, these improvements remain limited in scope and geography. National coordination is lacking, and departments differ wildly in their adoption and enforcement of reforms. Without a federal mandate, the promise of transformation risks being diluted into a patchwork of inconsistent efforts.

The Role of Police Unions and Political Resistance

The outsized power of police unions has been a central obstacle to meaningful reform. Organizations like the Fraternal Order of Police (FOP), the nation’s largest police union, have wielded significant influence in blocking accountability measures, defending officers accused of misconduct, and resisting civilian oversight.

In Minneapolis, Derek Chauvin had faced 18 prior complaints over his career. Only two resulted in any disciplinary action. This is not uncommon. Many union contracts limit how and when an officer can be questioned after an incident, restrict public access to disciplinary records, and require the destruction of complaints after a certain period. These provisions, designed to protect officers’ rights, often function to insulate departments from transparency.

When calls to “defund the police” gained traction, unions were quick to push back. In many cases, their response was not merely defensive but aggressively adversarial. In New York, the Police Benevolent Association spent millions on political campaigns and media ads portraying reformers as anarchists. In Chicago, the union president publicly defended the January 6th insurrectionists.

Political leaders, too, have wavered. In the summer of 2020, elected officials across the country voiced solidarity with protestors and pledged reform. But as public focus shifted and media attention waned, so did the urgency. Rising crime statistics were used to justify increased funding for police departments, even when those rises were part of national trends with complex causes, including pandemic-related disruptions and economic stress.

The political pendulum swung back toward “law and order,” and the space for nuanced, community-based public safety strategies shrank. This dynamic has been particularly visible at the federal level. Despite President Biden’s stated commitment to reform, his administration proposed $37 billion in new policing funds in 2022 under the “Safer America Plan,” emphasizing hiring and training rather than structural change.

Resistance is not merely a hurdle—it is an active campaign to maintain the status quo.

Culture Shift or Cosmetic Changes? Evaluating the Depth of Reform

Despite the proliferation of reform language, critics argue that many changes are more cosmetic than structural. Consider the rise in departments adopting body cameras and de-escalation training. These are steps in the right direction, but their effectiveness hinges on enforcement. Body camera footage is often withheld, redacted, or misused. Training programs vary in quality and frequency, and few are evaluated for long-term behavioral impact.

Implicit bias training has become a common requirement in departments from Seattle to Boston. Yet evidence suggests that standalone sessions rarely produce lasting change. According to research published in Psychological Science in the Public Interest, most bias-reduction programs have little impact without accompanying policy and culture shifts. Teaching officers about unconscious prejudice without changing the institutional incentives that reward aggressive behavior is akin to patching a leaking roof during a storm.

Some departments have engaged in what activists call “rebrand policing.” New slogans are adopted. Vehicles are repainted with community-oriented logos. Officers are retitled as “peacekeepers” or “public safety ambassadors.” But if officers are still being dispatched to mental health calls with guns, if misconduct is still buried under union protection, and if communities are still surveilled rather than supported, then the changes are largely semantic.

Still, hopeful models exist. Ithaca, New York has proposed replacing its police department with a Department of Community Solutions and Public Safety. In Oakland, California, the Department of Violence Prevention operates separately from law enforcement, focusing on root causes like domestic abuse and youth violence. These initiatives are experimental and face funding and political challenges, but they offer a glimpse of what transformation, not just reform, might look like.

The real test is not whether departments can check the boxes of reform. It is whether they can redefine what safety means—and for whom.

The Psychological and Institutional Impact on Officers

While much of the conversation post-Floyd has centered on communities and reform, law enforcement officers themselves have undergone profound psychological and institutional shifts. In the months following Floyd’s murder, a wave of early retirements and resignations swept through departments across the country. A 2021 survey by the Police Executive Research Forum found that some agencies experienced a 45% increase in retirements and a 20% rise in resignations compared to the previous year.

Officers described feeling demoralized, vilified, and unsupported. Many said the public’s growing distrust felt personal, not institutional. The narrative that “all cops are bad” clashed with the identity many held of themselves as protectors and peacekeepers. This perceived hostility created a feedback loop: low morale leading to disengagement, which in turn led to poor policing outcomes and further eroded trust.

Yet within that discomfort lies opportunity. Several departments have begun to invest in officer wellness programs, trauma counseling, and peer support networks. The profession is beginning to acknowledge that policing, particularly in communities affected by trauma, takes a toll on mental health. Departments like those in San Antonio and Denver have successfully implemented co-responder models, where officers work alongside social workers and mental health professionals.

These programs not only reduce use-of-force incidents but also improve outcomes for officers and citizens alike. Officers report less stress, fewer burnout symptoms, and a renewed sense of purpose when they are not expected to be mental health experts, mediators, and warriors all at once.

If there is to be a path forward, it must include those within the system who are willing to change—and those who are exhausted from playing roles they were never trained to fill.

Conclusion: Beyond Mourning—A Mandate for Action

The death of George Floyd was a moral breaking point—a moment so stark, so slow, and so brutal that it forced even the most willfully blind to see. It exposed the fault lines in American policing, not as cracks but as chasms. And yet, nearly five years later, the question remains: has enough changed?

There have been real gains. Public awareness has shifted. Departments have adopted new policies. Some officers have faced prosecution, including Derek Chauvin, who was convicted on all charges. Grassroots coalitions have grown stronger. Conversations that were once taboo are now mainstream.

But the same structural problems endure. Police killings have not decreased. Federal reform remains stalled. Union protections continue to shield misconduct. Many communities are still overpoliced and underprotected.

The challenge now is to refuse the comfort of complacency. To reject symbolic gestures and demand meaningful change. To invest in community-led models of safety. To pressure political leaders beyond performative statements. To keep saying the names.

George Floyd was a man. A father. A brother. He should be alive today. Honoring him means refusing to accept a world in which his death was inevitable. It means building a world where no such death is possible again.

Let us not forget that justice is not a moment—it is a movement. And it is one that must continue, without pause.