Beyond Symbols: What Floyd and Kirk's Deaths Reveal About Us
How Binaries Blind Us to Common Ground and Non-Zero-Sum Solutions
George Floyd and Charlie Kirk share a birthday today, twenty years apart. That coincidence, random and meaningless in most contexts, now carries unexpected weight. It reminds us that before they became symbols, before their names became tribal tokens, both were human beings who entered the world the same way we all do.
Yet, tragically, our most salient memories are of how they left this world.
Both Floyd and Kirk died violent, public deaths that sparked nationwide movements. And, for highlighting challenges with respect to criminal justice and political violence, both deaths demanded serious national conversations.
Instead, we got tribal sorting exercises.
Binaries Sever Our Humanity
Floyd and Kirk, the complex multi-faceted individuals, were each flattened under the polarized narratives their deaths ignited. Consider how quickly Floyd’s death stopped being about Floyd himself. Almost immediately, the national conversation calcified into a binary: Were you Black Lives Matter or Blue Lives Matter? Floyd’s humanity and agency were squeezed from the right and the left: little more than a felon to some; a victim of oppression to others. A human being became a symbol to be claimed or rejected.
The response to Kirk’s death has followed a similar trajectory. Instead of grappling with what the public assassination of a political figure means for our democracy, many are retreating into familiar trenches. Was he a hero or a villain? Are you pro-free speech or anti-free speech? Pro-MAGA or anti-MAGA? These reductive questions flatten Kirk’s life into competing caricatures. To many, he was a bigot who peddled hate. To many others, he was the embodiment of everything good about America, a martyr for freedom. The man himself—complex, contradictory, human—disappeared.
Along the way, observers are flattened, too, trained to package our own complex values, beliefs, and goals into ideological binaries. As our thinking narrows, relationships with those who appear “problematic” dwindle—our lives and humanity are impoverished.
Binaries Sever Our Politics
The cost of side-taking in the aftermath of these high-profile deaths extends beyond the harm done to our humanity. It also reaches into policy, taxing our ability to find common ground amid complex political challenges.
Criminal justice reform isn’t a zero-sum game between police and communities. Research suggests that reforms making police more transparent and accountable simultaneously make officers safer while reducing community harm. But when we’re trapped in the Black Lives Matter versus Blue Lives Matter binary, as in the years following Floyd’s death, we can’t access these non-zero-sum reforms. Most Americans, when asked directly, oppose the type of excessive force used on Floyd, but our fracturing under the intense pressure of binary discourse prevented us from finding that common ground.
Kirk’s death also crystallized widespread fear about America’s future. Stemming the tide of political violence also demands non-zero-sum thinking. We need to understand what drives political violence, how to protect democratic discourse, how to disagree vehemently while maintaining civic bonds. These are complex problems requiring complex thinking. Meanwhile, the vast majority of Americans on both sides of the aisle agree: political violence is never acceptable. The problem is that even with this overwhelming agreement, each side sees the other as the chief source of political violence.
Uniting on the common ground we already share requires us to resist easy binaries and grasp all four dimensions of the challenges we face. Doing so can offer real insights, giving us access to non-zero-sum solutions—solutions that don’t animate partisan conflict.
When we view real human beings like George Floyd and Charlie Kirk through one dimensional lenses, we dishonor their humanity and thwart our capacity to solve complex political problems. But, both examples can provide us with a thread back to our common goals, if we let them. To see this means recognizing that real human beings are never symbols, that worthy policy solutions rarely fit partisan categories, and that our shared humanity matters more than our tribal affinities.
Lauren Hall is an author and political scientist whose writing on “radical moderation” critiques binary thinking to promote multidimensional perspectives on personal, social, and political issues. She is a professor and Associate Dean of Academic Affairs in Rochester Institute of Technology’s College of Liberal Arts. She serves as a Pluralism Fellow at the Mercatus Center, a Movement Partner with Builders, and as an advisor to the Prohuman Foundation.
Opinions expressed by guest authors do not necessarily reflect those of the Prohuman Foundation. We value diverse perspectives and invite submissions from those who can enrich our understanding of topics close to our mission: to promote the foundational truth that we are all unique individuals, united by our shared humanity.
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Great article! Interesting coincidence that they share a birthday. Thank you for this thoughtful piece.
The article reads like a fluff piece that falsely equates George Floyd and Charlie Kirk. Floyd was a career criminal, drug addict, and abusive partner—unfit to hold any moral flag. His sudden elevation as a national symbol revealed a deeper contradiction: he did not embody civic responsibility, yet was portrayed as its martyr. Turning such a figure into a moral symbol prevents honest discussion about oppression and justice.
Charlie Kirk’s background represents almost the opposite. He built his record around defending free speech and challenging ideological censorship in universities—values that reinforce, not erode, democratic society. Branding him a “bigot who peddled hate” is not a factual assessment but a political tactic used to delegitimize dissent.
When the article urges readers to “avoid binaries,” it misses that distinction between moral integrity and criminal conduct is not intolerance—it’s moral clarity. Most Americans are not rejecting compassion; they are asking for accountability and lawful order, values central to any functioning democracy.
After Floyd’s death, that balance collapsed. Public discourse was overtaken by DEI politics and mob rhetoric. Ideals like “human rights” and “common humanity” were redefined and weaponized—not to defend responsibility, but to excuse criminal behavior and denounce those who question the narrative. Under this distortion, DEI acts less as a path to equality than as a moral shield for lawbreaking.
This directly contradicts Article 29 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which emphasizes that every individual has duties toward their community, and that rights can be lawfully limited to protect others, morality, and public order. DEI policies deviate from that principle on two fronts: first, by rejecting the concept of equal rights founded on shared humanity, and second, by erasing personal accountability to law and community. That is not mere policy disagreement—it is a breach of the very human‑rights framework that underpins lawful citizenship and democracy itself.