WE ARE F*CKING TIRED!

We are f*cking tired. Not because violence has escalated, but because it has been continuous.

What has changed is not the presence of murder, authoritarianism, or state violence. What has changed is who now feels vulnerable.

Violence did not suddenly become a crisis. It became inconvenient.

For generations, the deaths of marginalized people were absorbed into the background noise of the nation. Black death was normalized. Brown detention was bureaucratized. Indigenous erasure was historicized. Queer and trans violence was individualized, pathologized, or dismissed as anomaly. These deaths were not met with mass mourning. They were not framed as existential threats. They did not provoke urgency.

They were managed.

Whiteness did not misunderstand this violence. It consented to it.

Silence was not ignorance. Distance was not neutrality. Inaction was not confusion. It was alignment.

Now, as authoritarian violence edges closer to white proximity, closer to white bodies, white futures, white imaginaries, there is sudden moral clarity. Suddenly, murder is intolerable. Suddenly, the system is broken. Suddenly, there is a call to stand hand in hand, side by side, in collective resistance.

We are f*cking tired of this revisionist solidarity.

Whiteness is not discovering injustice. It is discovering risk.

This is not awakening. It is self-preservation.

The language of unity being offered now is not grounded in accountability but in urgency without memory. It asks the most harmed to collapse history for the sake of speed. It demands a coalition without reckoning. It treats prior silence as irrelevant rather than constitutive. But silence was not a pause. It was a position. And even now, even in this supposed moment of moral clarity, erasure persists.

Nicole Good was not merely a name. She was not merely a symbol. She was a mother. She was a daughter. She was a wife to a woman. And still, her full humanity was omitted.

This erasure is not incidental. It is structural.

Even in death, only certain forms of humanity are allowed to remain visible. Even in mourning, the story is edited to preserve comfort. Even in outrage, the boundaries of recognition remain intact.

This is how power operates. It condemns violence while reproducing erasure. It names injustice while narrowing whose lives are legible. It calls for solidarity while refusing full humanity.

We are f*cking tired of movements that want our bodies but not our truth. Tired of revolutions that require selective memory. Tired of coalitions that ask the most harmed to suspend grief, rage, and history in order to belong. And we are also tired of being told that anger disqualifies us from care.

Anger is not the opposite of rest. It is often evidence that care still exists. It is the body registering that something sacred has been crossed. To take time for yourself is not always to become calm or detached. Sometimes it is to hold the rawness of what you feel long enough to understand it, rather than forcing it down until it resurfaces later in ways that crush the spirit or fracture the body.

Anger is not telling us to give up. It is calling us back to our humanity.

Suppressed anger does not disappear. It relocates. It settles into the nervous system, the breath, the spirit. To feel the total weight of anger is not to be consumed by it. It is to process what has been endured so that it does not hollow us out later.

In a world that benefits from our silence, anger becomes a form of truth telling. Not all anger needs to be acted upon, but all anger deserves to be listened to. It carries information about where harm has occurred and where dignity is still being claimed.

This is not a failure of empathy. It is a failure of political imagination.

A politics that cannot mourn Black life, queer life, trans life, immigrant life before whiteness is threatened is not a politics of liberation. It is a politics of containment.

We are not interested in unity without confession. We are not interested in resistance that refuses to name who benefited from the delay. We are not interested in urgency that erases its own timeline.

We are f*cking tired.

And this tiredness is not exhaustion. It is analysis.

It is the recognition that what is being offered now is not solidarity but recruitment, not justice but stabilization, not transformation but damage control.

If there is to be collective resistance, it must begin with historical honesty. If there is to be a revolution, it must refuse selective humanity. If there is to be togetherness, it must reckon with who was silent and why. Anything less is not liberation. It is repetition.

We are f*cking tired. And we are done mistaking belated concern for moral courage.

With care and intention,

Rev. Tonya D. Jackson