Police need to be accountable for Big Floyd’s death
I met George Floyd when I first got to Yates High School. It was summertime, and we were going for two-a-days. We were practicing with the football team, and he was a year ahead of me; I was in ninth grade, and he was in tenth. We called him Big Floyd because he was taller than everyone else. He played tight end and was a big man on the basketball team as well. If you didn’t know him, you would think his name was Floyd because everybody in Third Ward called him Big Floyd. We were cool ever since.
If you know anything about football, it’s like a brotherhood. You’re out there, you’re going through it together, and it’s a bond. We ran four miles a day, and it was a challenge — it either was going to make you or break you. To go through a challenge like that with your brother, it makes your bond tight. That bond is beyond the field; it’s forever. Even now, we may not see each other for months or years, but nothing’s changed.
One thing I always liked about Floyd was that he was always the same person. He was going to put a smile on your face, and he was a genuinely good person. Floyd made you laugh. He might not have been trying to make you laugh, but he still did. He wasn’t confrontational; he was good people.
As we got older, we always kept 100 with each other. We never switched up with each other. When I got into the music game, I already knew that Floyd was my day-one partner.
We had an underground fan base with Screwed Up Click, and it grew into a big mainstream thing. He saw all that, and he was supportive like a friend would be.
This week, I got a call from one of my friends, and he told me about it. He said Floyd had passed. When I went on Facebook, I saw a post, and I saw the whole thing. When I heard him say, “I can’t breathe,” I knew it was him. I was at home and I couldn’t believe it. I made myself watch it, even though it was hard. When they turned him over and put him on the stretcher, I was in awe. I can’t believe I just sat and watched the police kill Floyd.
Black men like Floyd are dying at the hands of the law. As black men, we know it could be any one of us. But then it happens close to home.
This was my brother. And to sit there and watch my brother die — the law killed my homeboy in front of the world. We watched him fight for his life until he was lifeless. That was torture. He died a horrible death, and that hurts. As long as we live, we will never forget it. This is a reality. The video is everywhere. You can jump on any social site right now and you can see it. He didn’t deserve that.
That was Big Floyd, begging for his life, saying he couldn’t breathe. He’s from Houston, Texas, Third Ward, and he was proud of it every day of his life until they took it. He was somebody. He’s got a whole community that loves him.
I’ve been keeping to myself processing what happened. At one point it seemed like a bad dream. Every corner you turn, they’re talking about George Floyd. It’s bigger than coronavirus. I’ve been with my family, my wife and my kids and thinking a lot. That’s about all you can really do. Think and pray.
We need to start holding these police officers accountable just like they’re holding everybody else accountable. When the law starts to punish police officers correctly, harshly, then we’ll see a step in the right direction.
At the end of the day, you know you’re going to go out, but you don’t know how you’re going to go out. We are the only race of people who have to train our children how to get pulled over by the police. But this has disturbed a lot of people from other races, and I want to see a change finally happen. We need everyone, every person — we need humanity to have respect for humanity for things to change.