Black Community Opinions

Leading While Black & Blue: In the Wake of George Floyd

Chief Larry Boone recounts the personal and professional turmoil of leading Norfolk’s police force in the wake of George Floyd’s death—navigating trust, identity, and public unrest while choosing integrity over safety or popularity.
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Balancing Identity, Leadership & Public Trust During Moments of Social Unrest & The Aftereffects

By Chief Larry D. Boone
Urbana, Illinois Police Dept.

Sunday (May 25) marks the anniversary of George Floyd’s murder, I find myself reflecting deeply on the profound impact the event had on me, both personally and professionally.

On the evening of May 28, 2020, as the ashes of unrest burned in Minneapolis with the Minneapolis Police Department’s third precinct engulfed in flames, a somber realization settled across the country.

Demonstrations over George Floyd’s tragic death had sparked a wave of protests that were both deeply emotional and highly charged. In Norfolk, where the streets were filled with voices demanding justice but remained largely peaceful, the tension was palpable.

By May 29, the Norfolk Police Department had received troubling intelligence indicating that the First Patrol Precinct was targeted for destruction the following day. With the recent violence in Minneapolis in mind, there was a clear and present concern for the safety of officers and professional staff at the precinct. The plan was straightforward to monitor the situation closely and prepare for any eventuality.

On May 30, as reports filtered in that several hundred protesters had gathered at the precinct, my usual role of observing from a distance took on a more immediate urgency. I arrived at the precinct to find a sea of faces; the magnitude of the gathering was quite alarming. As I parked my vehicle, the thought of deploying the Crowd Management Team (CMT) was a looming possibility, but their presence felt like a last resort. I needed to understand the crowd and the threat level more intimately.

For a brief moment, it looked like the protestors were leaving, moving toward the nearby university. I was somewhat relieved and thought we might have just dodged a bad situation. But that calm was short-lived.

I heard over the radio that the crowd was returning, now bigger and more resolute. One of the officers reported they’d heard the group was planning to storm the precinct this time.

At this moment, I faced a critical choice. The order came through to deploy the CMT, and I knew that such a move could provoke further unrest. I envisioned the potential clash, the chaos that could ensue, and decided to take a different path. Besides we were severely outnumbered. Trusting the social capital we had built over years of engagement with the community, I left my vehicle and positioned myself in front of the precinct.

The crowd surged around me rather quickly, their anger palpable, their voices roaring of frustration. Surprisingly, fear didn’t come over me. Instead, I searched the sea of faces, hoping to find someone familiar. Then, amongst the sea of people, I spotted a young man with a bullhorn. I approached him, requested the bullhorn, and began to speak.

“Your voices have been heard,” I said. “We understand your grievances, and I know these are difficult times.”

I then made an attempt to find middle ground between the community’s frustration and the police position by saying, “However, you cannot blame an entire profession for the acts of one individual. Most police are good people merely trying to do a difficult job during a very difficult time!”

The remarks were met with visible frustration and only seemed to escalate tensions. Members of the crowd responded with angry shouts, some using profanity and expressing that they were unwilling to accept what they saw as empty or dismissive statements. I then spoke from the heart, trying to connect with the crowd by acknowledging their pain and frustration.

I said, “What happened to George Floyd was wrong. I stand with you in the belief that justice must and will be served.”

In that moment, I felt a subtle shift, a sense that, for the first time, I was beginning to connect with them on a deeper level. I could tell they hadn’t expected to hear those words from me. As I continued discussing various topics of police reform, their tone began to change. Eventually, they started chanting, their voices rising in unison “March with us, March with us!” A demand that would test the boundaries of my role as police chief and the trust I was trying to build in that moment between us.

With each chant, I could feel the tension rising, so I made the decision to step into the heart of the crowd.

There, they began asking me a barrage of questions about police brutality and the need for police reform. The engagement stretched on, lasting what felt like hours, as I fielded every question – honestly.

Again, I felt a sense of relief as I knew marching with them would have caused significant problems with the rank and file and would not be viewed positively by some.

However, that brief sense of relief was short-lived as the crowd’s chants quickly resumed, this time more demanding, “March with us, March with us!”

But then, in a pivotal moment, the chants went silent. A young man stepped forward, holding a “Black Lives Matter” sign and said, “Chief, back your words up by holding this sign.”

I understood that holding the sign was about more than just symbolism it carried potential career repercussions and could deeply divide the department. Some officers vie

wed Black Lives Matter as a critique of law enforcement, and my decision could be seen as political, divisive, or even an acknowledgment of systemic failures. Such an act could fuel mistrust, lower morale, and foster resistance to my leadership.

But, refusing it risked escalating the situation to a point of possible violence and destruction.

The sign bore the names of those who had become symbols of the call for police reform and justice. Among them was the name of an individual who had been armed with a gun and was involved in an officer-involved shooting with one of my officers – an officer I had publicly supported just weeks earlier. I knew that holding the sign would be seen as a gesture of solidarity by some in the community, but also seen by some as a betrayal of the police force, I represented.

However, to me, the sign simply meant, “Black Lives Matter too.” It was a call for recognition, dignity, and justice an affirmation that Black lives deserve the same value and protection as any other. I never imagined that such a straightforward expression of humanity would be misinterpreted by some as suggesting that other lives don’t matter. That idea is completely absurd.

In a moment of deep reflection, I was overcome with inner conflict. I’ve had the privilege of working alongside some outstanding officers of all races dedicated professionals who serve with honor and integrity. Yet the hard truth is that law enforcement has not always treated minority communities particularly the Black community with fairness or respect. Beyond everything else, I couldn’t ignore my own painful memories.

One incident that still haunts me happened when I was in middle school. I was big for my age and that seemed to make me a target. The police stopped me, saying I “fit the description.” Once they realized I wasn’t the suspect, there was no apology just a racial slur and a kick to my backside. I was so terrified and humiliated in that moment that I lost control and urinated on myself.

Even as a police chief, I haven’t been immune to profiling. The weight of those experiences is something I carry with me and are impossible to set aside.

Despite that history, I still found myself torn – caught between my duty to the badge and my commonality with a community shaped, like me, by lived experiences of injustice. It was a deeply personal struggle. But in that tension, I also felt a responsibility to lead, to advocate for meaningful reform, and to help rebuild the trust that has been broken.

So, I took a deep breath and lifted the BLM sign. The crowd fell into a heavy silence so dense, it felt as if you could slice through it. In that stillness, time seemed to stand still.

That day, the protests ended without violence; no one was hurt, and nothing was destroyed. But the calm on the streets didn’t reflect the storm that followed. The incident caught fire, spreading from local to national news and beyond.

Praise came swiftly from the Black community, grassroots organizations, local universities, and a range of local and state officials, including the Governor and even the Duchess of Sussex, Meghan Markle. But over time, a wave of resignations swept through the police department not just in Norfolk, but across the nation.

While I firmly believed police reform was necessary, I also saw how some measures overreached. As the pressures grew, the early praise and public support I had once received began to wane. A few stood by me, though mostly in quiet ways a message here, a nod there, gestures that spoke louder than words. Meanwhile, the voices of opposition grew louder, more persistent, and harder to ignore.

Their outrage seemed to drown out the softer voices of solidarity. Additionally, I watched as individuals and even some police organizations that had once praised my leadership began to distance themselves.

It was a day marked by intense choices, and my actions that day would be remembered as a complex and significant chapter in the ongoing dialogue about justice and police community relations.

The attached photos from that day capture a pivotal moment and spoke volumes. Amidst a sea of protesters, these images reflected a complex interplay of vulnerability and hope.

Throughout the summer, protests in Norfolk remained peaceful, even as some neighboring cities faced looting, arson, and widespread property damage. Norfolk’s ability to maintain calm during such a volatile national moment was a testament to both the women and men of the Norfolk Police Department.

I retired from Norfolk in May 2022. After a brief break I started interviewing for police chief jobs. I was a finalist in every police chief job I applied to. As expected, in almost every interview the BLM march surfaced sometimes directly, other times more subtly.

As a Black police chief – I recognize that white chiefs may face similar challenges as well. Black police chiefs carry a profound and often heavy burden. There’s an unspoken expectation that they will stand for the Black community; reflect its pain, hopes, and demands for justice even as they serve within a system that has long struggled with that very community. At the same time, they’re called to push for change from within, guided by the weight of their own lived experiences.

There is often hesitation in addressing racial issues, driven by the fear of losing support or position within the force. Speaking out can feel like walking a tightrope.

While we know systemic issues within law enforcement must be confronted, doing so can be perceived as undermining the institution itself. Pushing for change might create division and alienate those who see such conversations as disruptive.

Yet, as leaders, we have an obligation to represent the communities we serve and the officers we lead. This is a responsibility that demands courage, especially when navigating an institution historically slow to address these critical concerns. Ultimately, we must summon the integrity to lead, even when it feels uncomfortable, and ensure that progress is prioritized over comfort even at our own peril.

I’m often asked whether, given the chance, would I make the same decisions again. My answer is always yes. I’ve never led for popularity; I’ve led to do what’s right.

Throughout every challenge, I’ve remained grounded in a principle I first learned from my college football coach, Erk Russell, the legendary head coach at Georgia Southern University. Coach Russell instilled in us a simple yet profound mantra: “Do Right.”

It wasn’t just a slogan. It was a way of life, a call to integrity, accountability, and ethical conduct. It meant making the honorable choice, taking responsibility, and always striving to contribute something positive to the world around us.

“Do Right” became more than a team motto; it became the foundation of our identity and for me, a lasting moral compass. It continues to guide how I lead, how I serve, and how I live.

Urbana Police Chief Larry D. Boone was Chief of Police for the City of Norfolk in May 2020 at the time George Flyod was killed by former Police Officer Derek Chauvin in Minneapolis, Minn. Boone retired from Norfolk Police Department in 2022.