The Final Revival of Opal & Nev

by Dawnie Walton

I’m not talking about blaming victims. I’m just saying that some of us are naturally stronger, better equipped to deal with the bullshit than others, and that’s the same as saying that some people are taller than others. Just fact, no judgment. And for those who are going through the tough times and don’t have that kind of strength inside them already? Well, that’s all right, because trust me: It can be learned. You just have to copy the right people, and the rest falls in place.

But my personal definition of success is that you don’t do a goddamn thing you don’t want to. If you ain’t feeling it, you ain’t gotta do it.

See, this is what I say about America—we always gotta be assigning shit, always labeling it and stuffing it in a box. Always dictating who’s allowed to own what. But end of the day, that don’t have nothing to do with the music, you dig? The music is fire and passion and soul, and however you express it is how you express it.

Nev used to play at being different, but I don’t know if he ever understood what being different really means. That the regular people like to beat back what’s different, because it scares them half to death.

And that right there is very typical of white people—won’t do what’s right till they’re directly affected.

From this point on, I knew, I wanted to curate this story standing on the premise that the lives and legacies of Black men, like my father, cannot be reduced to the awful shit white men do to them. That the voices of Black women like Opal should not be discounted or diminished in deference to those who have hijacked our shine whenever it suits.

Many things can be true at once, and we must find inspiration in the materials we have. Materials of all different moods and textures.