Written by Jonathan Caldwell.
Ben Shapiro, the sharp-tongued conservative voice behind “The Ben Shapiro Show,” dropped a bombshell on Tuesday, demanding that President Donald Trump wield his pardon pen to erase the federal convictions of Derek Chauvin—the ex-Minneapolis cop tied to George Floyd’s 2020 death. This isn’t just a casual aside; Shapiro’s gone all-in, rallying his listeners with a petition and a public letter aimed squarely at Trump, now 78. He’s framing Chauvin, 48 and locked away in a Texas prison, as a man wronged by a justice system buckling under mob rule—a claim that’s reigniting fierce debates over law enforcement, race, and fairness in America.
A Plea for Clemency: Shapiro’s Case
The crux of Shapiro’s argument is straightforward: Chauvin’s federal rap sheet—two civil rights violations from a 2022 guilty plea—should vanish with a stroke of Trump’s authority. One charge ties back to Floyd’s fatal encounter; the other stems from a 2017 arrest of a 14-year-old. A pardon wouldn’t spring Chauvin from his 22.5-year Minnesota sentence for murder and manslaughter, but it’d wipe the federal slate clean, a move Shapiro deems essential. He’s not mincing words, insisting the state trial was a sham—jurors, he says, were strong-armed by a society screaming for blood, not truth.
Shapiro’s letter pulls no punches. He paints a picture of a judicial process poisoned by “threats, coercion, and intimidation,” with politicians and pundits stacking the deck before evidence even hit the table. For him, Chauvin’s fate isn’t justice—it’s a trophy for what he calls the “Woke movement,” a catchphrase he wields like a hammer against progressive ideals. Whether you buy that or not, it’s a stance that’s got people talking, from barstools to boardrooms.
What Happened That Day in Minneapolis
Let’s rewind to May 25, 2020. Chauvin and his squad rolled up to a Minneapolis store after a clerk flagged Floyd for passing a fake $20 bill. Things escalated fast—Floyd ended up on the pavement, Chauvin’s knee pressing down for nine long minutes, all caught on a bystander’s phone. Floyd’s pleas of “I can’t breathe” echoed before and during the restraint; by the end, he was still, pulseless, and gone—dead at the hospital soon after. That video lit a match to a nation already on edge, sparking protests from coast to coast, some peaceful, some leaving cities smoldering.
The state trial in 2021 nailed Chauvin with unintentional second-degree murder, third-degree murder, and second-degree manslaughter—22.5 years. Shapiro’s take? It’s bunk. He leans hard on Floyd’s fentanyl levels and heart issues, arguing the real killer was “excited delirium,” not the knee. The autopsy showed no crushed windpipe, he points out, and Chauvin’s knee might’ve been on Floyd’s back more than his neck. No hate crime was proven either, he adds—a detail he thinks got buried in the rush to convict.
For adults who lived through 2020, this isn’t abstract. Maybe you remember curfews tightening your town, or a friend losing their shop to looters. Shapiro’s betting that frustration lingers—that folks see Chauvin as a fall guy for a messy, chaotic moment, not a lone villain.
Justice Under Fire: The Jury Question
Shapiro’s loudest charge is about the jury. He claims they were cornered—bullied by a public frenzy and political grandstanding that demanded guilt, evidence be damned. Picture this: protests raging outside, news cycles looping the video, elected officials all but calling Chauvin a murderer before the gavel dropped. “Blind justice had no shot,” he writes, and it’s a point that lands with some sting if you’ve ever doubted the system’s purity in a media-saturated age.
Hard numbers back the chaos: over 140 cities saw demonstrations, with damages topping $1 billion in some estimates. The trial was a circus—live feeds, endless hot takes. But here’s the rub: juries get shielded—sequestered, anonymized—to block that noise. Shapiro’s got no smoking gun proving coercion flipped the verdict, just a vibe that it could’ve. It’s a leap, but one that sticks in the craw of anyone who’s felt a crowd sway a tough call.
Trump’s Power and the Bigger Picture
Enter Trump, who’s already flexing his pardon muscle this term—thousands of January 6 rioters got his grace right out of the gate. Shapiro’s plea fits that mold, and Elon Musk’s X nod (“something to think about”) gives it extra juice. If Trump bites, it’s not just about Chauvin—it’s a signal on where his White House stands on cops, courts, and culture wars. Think of a retiree in Ohio, sipping coffee, wondering if this means more unrest or a reset. That’s the stakes Shapiro’s playing for.
A federal pardon won’t unlock Chauvin’s cell—state time still holds him—but it’d stir the pot. Historically, cops rarely snag clemency; this’d be a unicorn, maybe a spark for more. And with Musk in Trump’s ear, plus Shapiro’s megaphone, it’s not idle chatter—it’s a live wire in a divided country.
Our Take
Shapiro’s push to free Chauvin federally isn’t crazy—it’s calculated. He’s tapping a vein of distrust in how justice played out, and he’s not wrong that 2020 was a pressure cooker. Trials like that don’t happen in a vacuum; they’re messy, human, and flawed. But sidelining Chauvin’s role—those nine minutes etched in America’s memory—feels like a stretch. Floyd’s death wasn’t tidy; drugs and health were factors, sure, but that knee wasn’t nothing. Trump jumping in could deepen the rift—half the nation cheering, the other half seething. It’s less a fix than a flare-up.
