Olivia: Jackson, what do you think is the most common phrase a person says right before they die? Jackson: Oh, wow. Morbid start. I don't know... 'I love you' to their family? Or maybe just calling out for help? Olivia: Both are common. But George Floyd's last coherent words, while a police officer's knee was on his neck, were a desperate mix of both: 'Mama, I love you!' and 'Tell my kids I love them!' It’s a detail that changes everything. Jackson: Wow, that’s… heartbreaking. I knew he called for his mother, but I didn't know he was also saying 'I love you' to his kids. It completely changes how you see the event. Olivia: That heartbreaking detail is at the core of the book we're discussing today, the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography His Name Is George Floyd by Robert Samuels and Toluse Olorunnipa. Jackson: And these aren't just any authors. They're both highly-respected journalists from The Washington Post. They conducted over 400 interviews for this book, trying to answer one question: who was the man, not just the symbol? Olivia: Exactly. And they start with that very human detail—his lifelong habit of saying 'I love you' to almost everyone. It wasn't just a final plea; it was his signature. Jackson: That’s incredible. It’s such a powerful entry point into a story that most of us think we already know.

Olivia: It really is. The authors show that this phrase, "I love you," was something Floyd, or "Perry" as his family called him, said constantly. He'd end phone calls with it, text messages. It was just part of his DNA. Jackson: So this wasn't a one-off thing? It was his brand? Olivia: Completely. They tell this moving story about his friend, De’Kori Lawson. For years, Floyd would end their calls with 'D, I love you, bro.' And for a long time, Lawson would just brush it off, you know, like, 'All right, whatever, man.' Jackson: Yeah, I can see that. It can feel a little intense if you're not used to it. Olivia: But as they got older, and they saw friends die from gun violence, overdoses, and police brutality, Lawson started to understand. He realized Floyd meant it with this deep earnestness. Their very last phone call, just before Floyd died, ended with them both saying it. Lawson later said, "We always said we were going to give each other our flowers before we died." Jackson: That gives me chills. It humanizes him in a way that a protest sign or a news headline just can't. But the book doesn't paint him as a saint, right? It's been praised for its unvarnished portrayal. It talks about his struggles with addiction and his criminal record. Olivia: Absolutely. And that's the genius of the authors' approach. They don't shy away from his flaws. They detail his arrests, his battle with drug dependency, his personal mistakes. They even quote Floyd from a social media video where he says, "I’ve got my shortcomings and my flaws. I ain’t better than nobody else." Jackson: That's a really important detail. It makes him more relatable, not less. Olivia: It does. The power of the book is in that very contrast. Here is this complex, flawed, deeply loving man who, as a teenager, told his sister, "Sis, I don’t want to rule the world; I don’t want to run the world. I just want to touch the world." And he meets this system of brutal, cold indifference. The story isn't about a perfect martyr; it's about a human being full of love and hope whose life was shaped, and ultimately extinguished, by forces far bigger than himself. Jackson: That idea of a 'system of indifference' feels huge. The book argues his struggles weren't just personal. How do they connect his life back through history?

Olivia: They do it in one of the most powerful ways I've ever seen in a biography. They essentially argue that George Floyd's life was caught in a 'sand trap' of poverty and racism that was built over generations. And they prove it by taking us back to his great-great-grandfather. Jackson: His great-great-grandfather? How far back are we talking? Olivia: We're talking right after the Civil War. His name was Hillery Thomas Stewart. He was born into slavery in North Carolina. After emancipation, he did something almost unthinkable for a Black man at that time. Through sheer will and hard work, he started acquiring land. Jackson: Okay, that’s impressive. How much land are we talking about? Olivia: By the late 1800s, Hillery Thomas Stewart had amassed 500 acres. He became one of the wealthiest Black landowners in his entire county. Jackson: Wait, 500 acres? As a formerly enslaved man? That’s an incredible story of success against all odds. That should have set his family up for generations. Olivia: It should have. But this is where the systemic part comes in. His White neighbors didn't see it as a success story. The book says they resented his prosperity, and behind his back, they called him "the rich nigger." And then, the system began to work against him. Jackson: What happened? Olivia: His land was systematically stripped away. It wasn't taken by force in the middle of the night. It was taken through legal and financial maneuvers—complex documents he, being illiterate, couldn't read. And the final, crushing blow? In 1920, the county government sold his last 24 acres at auction to cover an alleged unpaid tax bill. Jackson: How much was the bill? Olivia: Eighteen dollars and eighty-three cents. Jackson: You're kidding me. They took his family's future over less than twenty dollars? That's not just bad luck; that's theft by paperwork. Olivia: Exactly. And with that, the generational wealth was gone. The book traces the direct line from that moment of dispossession to the next generation. Floyd's grandparents, H.B. and Laura Ann Jones, were trapped as sharecroppers on that same North Carolina land, working for White landowners, perpetually in debt. They worked their entire lives and, as one of their children said, "died with nothing." Jackson: Wow. So this history of land theft and sharecropping feels so distant, but you're saying it directly impacted George Floyd in the 21st century? Olivia: Directly. That generational poverty pushed his mother, Cissy, to move the family to Houston in search of opportunity. But they ended up in the segregated, crumbling, and underfunded Cuney Homes housing project. He attended underfunded schools where athletics felt like the only way out. He was constantly harassed by police. The authors make the case that the 'sand trap' was already set. His personal struggles were happening on top of a foundation of historical injustice. Jackson: So that historical weight lands squarely on George Floyd's shoulders. And when his life is taken, it ignites a global firestorm. But the book asks a tough question: what does justice actually look like?

Olivia: It does. And the final part of the book is a masterclass in exploring that question. The authors use a metaphor that Reverend Jesse Jackson shared with the Floyd family: the conviction of Derek Chauvin was a "first down, not a touchdown." Jackson: But a conviction is huge! A police officer being found guilty of murder is incredibly rare. That's accountability. Why isn't that the touchdown? Olivia: Because the book shows that convicting one man doesn't dismantle the system that created him. The trial itself was unprecedented. The Minneapolis Police Chief, Medaria Arradondo, took the stand and broke the "blue wall of silence," testifying that Chauvin's actions violated policy and were not part of their training. That was a monumental moment. Jackson: I remember that. It felt like a crack in the foundation of police impunity. Olivia: It was. And the prosecution, led by Attorney General Keith Ellison, built an airtight case. But the authors juxtapose that legal victory with the political failure that followed. There was this massive wave of public support for real, systemic change. The main vehicle for that was the George Floyd Justice in Policing Act. Jackson: Right, the bill in Congress. What happened with that? Olivia: It passed the House, but it stalled in the Senate. The book gives this inside look at the negotiations. The Floyd family traveled to the White House on the one-year anniversary of his death. They met with President Biden and Vice President Harris. Floyd's six-year-old daughter, Gianna, famously said, "My daddy changed the world." There was all this hope and momentum. Jackson: So what was the sticking point? Olivia: The biggest one was a legal doctrine called "qualified immunity," which makes it incredibly difficult to sue police officers for civil rights violations. Democrats and activists saw ending it as essential for accountability. Republicans and police unions fought to keep it. And in the end, the political will just wasn't there. The bill died. Jackson: So the world is chanting his name, corporations are pledging billions to racial equity, a police officer is convicted, but the actual laws don't change. Olivia: That's the tension the book leaves you with. It’s the gap between a moment of cultural reckoning and the grinding, difficult reality of political and legislative change. It shows that even in the face of overwhelming public demand, the system is incredibly resistant to fundamental reform.

Jackson: So the book leaves us in this really tense place. We see the full humanity of this man, we understand the centuries of systemic pressure that led to his death, and we witness a moment of justice that still falls short of real change. Olivia: Exactly. The authors force us to confront that a single conviction doesn't dismantle the system that produced the crime. The book's real power is that it moves the question from 'What happened to George Floyd?' to 'What is it like to live in his America?' Jackson: And what is the answer to that? Olivia: The book leaves us with the unsettling answer that for many, it's a struggle to breathe long before anyone's knee is on their neck. The weight of history, of poverty, of segregated schools, of a biased justice system—it's a constant pressure. George Floyd's life becomes a testament to that struggle, and his death becomes a symbol of its most brutal consequences. Jackson: It’s a profound and challenging read. It feels essential, not just for understanding this one moment in history, but for understanding America itself. We’d love to hear your thoughts on this. What part of his story resonated most with you? Join the conversation on our social channels. Olivia: This is Aibrary, signing off.