Crowds of people in the embattled city of Goma, in the eastern Democratic Republic of Congo, lined the streets like a parade route to witness the departure of the Rwanda-linked M23 rebel group this weekend. Eleven days after the mutineers stormed and then occupied the strategic provincial capital, they withdrew to bases outside the city, though maintained a presence at the airport. As the rebels left, they sang victory songs, brandished weapons and vowed to return “if [Congolese President Joseph] Kabila provokes us.” Read the full spread at The Daily Beast.

Please support these beautiful sisters: Grammy nominee Nnenna Freelon, choreographer Kariamu Welsh and visual arts activist Maya Freelon Asante. They are collaborating on an amazing inter-generational project on women’s work called The Clothesline Muse. Watch the video for yourself and DONATE before the campaign expires next week!

Thank you KJ DELL’ANTONIA of New York Times’ Motherlode blog for originally posting this article about the throes of parenting. Anyone with small kids is going to feel me on this one!

GO SLEEP SOMEWHERE ELSE

I have a 2-year-old daughter and a 3-year-old son who sleep in bed with me and my wife. Every. Single. Night.

It wasn’t always this way. My wife and I used to spoon. If one of the kids woke up, we would take turns jumping out of bed to change, feed and rock them back to sleep. Then we would lay them in their cribs, tiptoe back into the master bedroom and snuggle into each other’s arms. It was perfect.

At around 2 1/2, our son mastered the art of twisting door knobs. He learned that instead of crying or calling for us to assist him at night, he could just as easily sneak into our bed and make himself comfortable. His sister quickly followed suit. Before I knew it I was sleeping on the edge of my own bed, with two haphazardly sprawled toddlers between me and my beloved cuddle buddy.

Our kids have grown so dependent that they can barely drift off for an afternoon nap if one of us in not lying beside them. It’s gotten to the point where I sleep in my son’s bed several nights a week because there is barely room enough for me in my own bed.

My wife seems content with the status quo, or at least reluctant to send our children into exile. I, on the other hand, am at my wits end. I’m tired of wrapping myself in a Power Rangers blanket with my legs dangling off the edge my son’s tiny bunk bed, while he nestles next to my wife on my Tempur-Pedic mattress!

Our band’s drummer, Stephen, whose wife gave birth to a healthy and adorable baby boy less than two weeks ago, often asks me about fatherhood. I’ve told him that deciding to be a dad is like deciding to be a musician: there is no money in it, you work really late nights, and you have to get used to crashing on a couch.

Parents, I know you’ve been there. Any advice for shifting the kids back to their own mattresses once things are out of hand? How about for convincing a spouse who doesn’t mind the invasion that there’s something to be said for everyone sleeping in his or her very own space? (Besides putting up YouTube videos or persuading the family blogger at The New York Times to help you make your case. He’s tried that.)

What do you do when you’re the only member of the family who hasn’t bought into the idea of the family bed?

Pierce Freelon is a musician in the hip hop and jazz quartet The Beast and a professor in the music department at the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill. He blogs at TheBeastMusic.com.

I was invited by the United Nations Foundation to present at Rio+Social, a forum where activists, politicians, moguls and artists discuss how social media and new technologies can serve the greater good. It’s part of Rio+20, the U.N.’s conference on sustainable development. I’ve been performing alongside producer and DJ Apple Juice Kid (aka Stephen Levitin), with whom I teach a Beat Making Lab in the music department at UNC-Chapel Hill.

Rio is beautiful. Gorgeous landscapes, delicious foods and welcoming people have made this an incredible experience. I’m a Durham native, and I love my hometown, but Rio has reminded me that travel is one of the most important things a person can do.

Travel is maximized when exchange takes place – when one connects with people and each party takes something from the other. It’s like creating good music. The more artists bring their unique experiences to the table, the higher the possibility for robust collaboration.

During our performances in Rio I’ve tried to channel the diversity and creativity of Durham culture. While Apple Juice Kid DJs, remixes and mashes American beats, with vocals from Sergio Mendes and Brazilian Baile Funk, I improvise, sing, sample and rap. On several occasions we have invited Brazilian drummers and percussion players to join us, enhancing the cultural exchange.

Another important aspect of travel is being in the company of good people, preferably locals. Apple Juice and I could easily have chosen to be picked up from the airport by U.N. handlers, and driven to a local hotel. We could have ordered the continental breakfast and taken a shuttle to and from official Rio+20 events. We live in a globalized world where it is easy to succumb to the convenience and comfort of familiarity. But what fun is that? I didn’t come to Brazil to sleep at the Hilton, and eat eggs and bacon for breakfast.

Our Brazilian ambassadors were the Borges – a Triangle-based family whose eldest daughter attended Durham Academy with my wife. The patriarch, Salvador Borges, is a cardiologist at Duke Hospital who has lived in the Triangle for two decades, and travels to back to Brazil several times a year. The family graciously agreed to host me and Apple Juice Kid during our stay and I am deeply grateful. I am not only appreciative of the family for its hospitality but also thankful to live in such a diverse community. People from all over the world find a second home in Raleigh, Durham or Chapel Hill, bringing their customs, rituals, culture and experience with them to North Carolina.

The Borges have provided intimate exposure to Brazil, which has extended far beyond Rio’s borders. I’ve seen lush mountains erupting out of sandy beaches in Niteroi. I have eaten delicious, organic guava, pinha, banana and sugar cane straight off the trees in Itacoatiara. And the meat. Oh my. I’ve tasted the most delicious home-cooked Brazilian churrascaria in Angra Dos Reis. Drenched in sea salt and cooked to perfection these slivers of tender beef melt in your mouth accompanied by fresh, garlic-infused rice, beans and vegetables. Muito bom (Portuguese translation: very good).

But some of our best time in Brazil has been spent in Rio. On our second night here we found ourselves in Larangeiras, Rio at Salvador Square. There was a mix of cultures, hipsters and international residents hanging out there. It was about midnight. Apple Juice took out his djimbe and we started an impromptu performance on the street. After a few minutes some of the locals joined in. One of our new friends turned an empty film reel into a tambourine. Another turned a wooden box into a kajon, slapping polyrhythms with his fingers and palms. I improvised at the top of my lungs, mixing Brazilian anthems with American ones, alongside dozens of our new friends and complete strangers well into the night.

It was some of the most fun I’ve had in a long time.

Every day, 6,000 girls from the Horn of Africa to sub-Saharan nations are subjected to female genital mutilation (FGM). With fierce determination and deep love for their communities, brave African activists are leading a formidable, fearless grassroots movement to end 5,000 years of FGM. An insightful look at the frontlines of a quiet revolution taking the continent by storm, this extraordinarily powerful film is one of the first to focus on African solutions to FGM.

Forty Seven years ago today, Malcolm X was assassinated. Activist, Journalist and Durham resident Lamont Lilly reflects on Malcolm’s enduring legacy in this piece, entitled: We are Malcolm X - This in Remembrance.

“It is incorrect to classify the revolt of the Negro as simply a racial conflict of black against white, or as a purely American problem. Rather, we are today seeing a global rebellion of the oppressed against the oppressor, the exploited against the exploiter.” - El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz, 1964

Brief, yet exhaustive, this passage best represents the Malcolm X America doesn’t want you and I to know—the more complete post-Mecca Malcolm who could once again ignite an entire nation if only he were properly revisited. It seems like just yesterday, the life and times of Malcolm Little were resurrected through Spike Lee’s 1992 cinematic production, Malcolm X. Bold, vivid and vulgar, Spike’s production wasn’t only a history book for the hood; it was the artistic catalyst of a new cool: the infamous black “X” hat. It was also an introduction to Malcolm as a martyr of resistance.

How unfortunate, though, that such a revival was short lived for a generation of budding hip hoppers who were never lucky enough to meet George Wallace or Lincoln Rockwell, were never exposed to the White Citizens’ Council and never learned about Malcolm in school. Once I discovered Malcolm, I clearly understood why. Could you imagine all the Black men and political prisoners America has incarcerated converting into disciples of Malcolm X? Why, the oppressed would have their own nation by now!

Malcolm’s teachings were simple: Black is beautiful; love your roots, family and community; feed the mind; atone within; and know thyself and the rest will follow. Quite the gentle giant, Malcolm was “The Hate That Hate Produced.” He did possess an unwavering commitment to Black liberation. And what’s wrong with that? Was it true that Malcolm openly declared war against imperialism, colonialism and white supremacy? Damn right! But understand that Brother Malcolm wasn’t just a Negro leader, he was a global figure for the entire African Diaspora - for the working, poor and oppressed worldwide. Malcolm was a NOI (Nation of Islam) apostle turned international Pan-Africanist and Human Rights advocate. He wasn’t a racist, not even a “reverse racist,” as often depicted. He loved The People—his people and all people. Malcolm called out any institution, organization or government that wasn’t for The People. To Malcolm, one was either for the oppressed or against the oppressed, regardless of race or social class. He would tell you in a minute, “We got some Black devils running around here, too!” He was man so complex that, at times, he would even check himself. To Malcolm, NO ONE was exempt from being accountable to the masses. No one was exempt from being accountable to the truth. Malcolm Little was the story of true redemption. A man who hated, learned to love, and then learned to re-love. He was a mercenary for unadulterated justice.

In James Baldwin’s dagger of a memoir, No Name in the Street (1972), he meticulously dedicates five pages to Minister Malcolm—intimately reflecting upon their few interactions and the qualities he fiercely admired. Even in disagreeing with certain points, one couldn’t help but marvel at Malcolm’s tenacious and articulate “plain talk” - particularly from the lips of an ex-convict with no high school diploma. Malcolm was sharp—so sharp that long time veteran and Civil Rights organizer Bayard Rustin eventually refused to publicly debate with him.

Malcolm was an avid reader and an equally profound listener. Brother Malcolm would take the words of an opponent, and if they weren’t careful, hang them with their own rhetoric - especially when engaging enthusiastic integrationists such as James Farmer (founder of CORE). Yet, unlike many of today’s Uncle Tom Black spokesmen, Malcolm never spoke or wrote to impress folk. This self-proclaimed “field negro” would instead communicate in a language all could understand—from the highest to the lowest, and from the youngest to the oldest. What most formal academicians fail to realize, or acknowledge, is that Malcolm was The People’s Champ. He was a street prophet who could relate to Oxford University’s most esteemed professors just as sincerely and effectively as with Kenya’s Revolutionary Wing, the Mau Mau. Malcolm would extend the common street hustler just as much dignity as he would Jomo Kenyatta, Patrice Lumumba or Kwame Nkrumah.

Malcolm was ahead of his time. While the majority of Black political figures of his era sought freedom and liberation through social inclusion (through public toilets and white restaurants) Malcolm championed Human Rights over Civil Rights and Workers’ Rights over capitalism. He even championed Women’s Rights. For some, it was okay for our mothers and sisters march the Edmund Pettus, be sprayed with hoses and bitten by dogs, but not to have an opinion or be given a microphone. Not so to Brother Malcolm. In organizing his OAAU (the Organization of Afro American Unity), Malcolm systematically sought strong sisters who could play equal roles in planning, teaching, and helping to build a revolutionary movement. His adoration for women like Fannie Lou Hamer, Shirley Graham Du Bois and elder sibling, Ella Collins, was a personal denouncement of male chauvinism. Minister Malcolm would have loved Shirley Chisholm. He poignantly articulated upon his return from Ghana, Guinea and Algeria that “Africa will not be free until it frees its women.”

I state the above to say this, brothers and sisters: more so now than ever, it will be critical amidst our mounting struggles that people of all nations thoroughly re-explore the full range of Malcolm’s thoughts and analyses. His actions, deeds, personal evolution, stages of development and ideological building blocks are just as relevant today as they were in February 1965. While today we may have a ‘dark man’ in office, there are far too many in prison. Job loss and ‘Urban Renewal’ continue to wreak havoc, while pig brutality seems to have gone UP in the Black community, at least from Oscar Grant’s perspective. Not to mention, the NAACP is back fighting resegregation, right here in Raleigh, our state capital. This is what Brother Malcolm was trying to get us to understand almost 50 years ago.

The beauty of Malcolm was that only he could represent the truth of the Black experience with such fury and eloquence—only he could dissect the brutality of American hypocrisy with such fearless clarity and impenitent passion. With heart and mind, body and soul, he awoke the dead and led the army…from the front…into the street…through the rain…into the middle of the ghetto…and right in front of Mr. Hoover and his COINTELPRO. In the end, Malcolm was me and Malcolm was you. Malcolm was ‘The People’ and the beat of our hearts. He was the one who came and gave life as he went—our Black Freedom Christ who dared to stand tall. We didn’t lose Brother Malcolm; he was a shepherd of the sheep who gave himself. Thanks Brother Malcolm, Black lives on. I, too, am Malcolm X. The oppressed live on!

Lamont Lilly is a monthly columnist for Spectacular Magazine and contributing editor with the Triangle Free Press. In 2010 he served as an International Human Rights Delegate with Witness for Peace in Colombia, South America. He currently resides in Durham as an activist, organizer and writer.