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What is the relationship between Congo, coronavirus and mobile phones?cause and effect! Yes, they are interconnected and interdependent!Scientists can show us that the root cause of the corona virus is political and financial control. this harmful behaviour causes: Poverty, corruption, geopolitics, Rwanda genocide, deaths, rape, pillage, Congo rare-earth minerals mining by terror and forced child labour, unethical trade, blood phones made in China, Wuhan wet markets to feed poorexploited phone factory workers, bioweapon development, ecological destruction,biodiversity loss, hungry people eating bats and other wild animals, corona virus, lockdowns, more deaths, distrust, dehumanisation and so on... hence the future is more uncertain than ever and more and more people are in despair.but one man dares to stand up and scares the hell out of those responsible...'May I call you the Dutch John le Carre?' In an interview with Alphonse Muambi, Congolese Expert on Africa and Strategic Resources, Globalisation and Development.'I have to say, this is an exciting book.' In an interview with Pim van Galen, Journalist at Dutch Public Television (NOS). 'We could perhaps stop the bleeding, but not the bullets.' Cecile Dehopre, Doctors without Borders.'Van Campen not only tells an enthralling tale, he raises awareness and confronts some major issues like child labour, working conditions and conflict minerals in Congo's mining industry today.' Bas van Abel, Founder Fairphone.

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers
Date de parution	10 décembre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781398418103
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Corona Crisis: Nature Strikes Back
Bloodphone or Fairphone?
Van Campen
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-12-10
Corona Crisis: Nature Strikes Back Corona Crisis: Nature Strikes Back Prologue Chapter 1 Natural Resources Chapter 2 Old Friends Chapter 3 Memories Chapter 4 Shopping Chapter 5 Going Back Chapter 6 Perilous Moves Chapter 7 The Shit Hits the Fan Chapter 8 The Real Game Begins Chapter 9 Check. The King Needs to Make a Move Chapter 10 Do Horses Jump? Chapter 11 Check Again. The King Stumbles Chapter 12 Anxious Moves of a King Chapter 13 Moves of a Queen Chapter 14 A Last Pawn Chapter 15 Reshuffling the Game Chapter 16 Explanations Chapter 17 Endgame? Chapter 18 Davos Chapter 19 Home at Last Epilogue
Van Campen is concerned with human and non-human life, the environment and social cohesion. Having travelled the world, he physically experienced and survived an Exocet attack in Iran, worked under military protection in Angola during the civil war fought over diamonds and oil, witnessed the chaos of Kinshasa, walked the dirty streets of Lagos and obeyed orders to stay indoors during curfew in Abidjan when the first civil war started. He understands that economic interests will never allow democratic consultation by the people. Through this story, he offers a scientifically sound solution to end the Congo conflict over mineral resources.
This work is dedicated to Doctors Without Borders (MSF) and the victims of conflicts over natural resources all over the world.
This story may be of value for www.thesentry.org and their team of policy analysts, regional experts and financial forensics investigators who follow the money in order to create consequences for those funding and profiting from genocide and other mass atrocities in Africa and to build leverage for peace.
I hope that people from the World Economic Forum, United Nations, commodity traders, scientists, business and finance people, and any governmental or non-governmental organisation interested in sustainable development goals and corporate social responsibility will take some time to read this book.
Copyright © Van Campen (2020)
The right of Van Campen to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781398418080 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781398418097 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781398418103 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
I thank the people who took the time to read the original story Coltan, Congo’s Curse for their feedback which helped me review and update the manuscript. Because of its importance to the world, the general public and the continued suffering peoples of Africa, China and everywhere on this planet, I decided to publish the story under the contemporary title Corona Crisis , because it scared the hell out of everyone. The book hopefully raises awareness about the interdependence and interrelatedness of the Corona Virus Outbreak with the irrational mutilation of life, nature, biodiversity, the environment and the destruction of social cohesion, because nature will inevitably strike back by claiming what was stolen from her. No one escapes the universal laws of nature, not even the rich. But change is in your hands. The choice is yours.
Thanks to Walter Smaalders for the cover design and to Sue Zimmermann for the editing of this manuscript.
Thanks to Cécile Dehopre and Eleonora Zimmermann of Doctors Without Borders (MSF); Max von Kreyfelt, Alphonse Muambi and Pim van Galen at Café Weltschmerz; Lina Ruiz and Bas van Abel of Fairphone; Vladimir Bondars and Jessica Walker of Dukascopy TV; Rob King; my publishers at Austin Macauley, and all the people who like my stories. A special thanks to Dr Fritjof Capra, Dr Pier Luigi Luisi, Henk Hadders, Javier Livas Cantú, Paul Pangaro, Mick Ashby and all systems thinkers and cyberneticians who confirm that systems science provides answers which can help us solve global conflicts and ensure long-term survival for all.
– Van Campen, 2020
‘This world needs leaders who are true leaders and who can lead without causing those who are to be led to suffer.’
April 07, 1994: Kigali, Rwanda
‘Outpost to Eagle, Outpost to Eagle, come in.’ The call was repeated. ‘Where are you?’
I grabbed my radio, pulled out its antenna and whispered, ‘Eagle here, we’ve almost found them, sir. At this very moment, we’re following a boy who knows where they are. I’ll call you again when we’re there. Oh my God, you should see this! Blood’s running down the streets into the gutters. There are bodies everywhere! Who’s doing this? Are ordinary people killing other ordinary people at random?’ I walked on with two other soldiers, following a ten-year-old who had run towards us and told us what had happened.
‘Mister, we have to be careful. Those butchers are everywhere. Let’s walk under the trees in the shade.’
Suddenly, a pickup truck filled with young men waving machetes sped through the street. I recognised some of them as RAF 1 . We immediately took cover in the shadows. I heard their exhilarated voices, screams, singing and laughing as if they were going to a soccer match. Thankfully, they ignored us, so I assumed they had not noticed us. They drove on, following people who were running in front of them, trying to find a place to hide. ‘Shit, they’re hunting down everyone and killing them on the spot,’ I concluded.
After every couple of yards, we had to step over the mutilated bodies of men, women and children, until we reached a building that looked like a storage facility.
‘Eagle to Outpost, Eagle to Outpost,’ the walkie-talkie creaked, and static noise followed.
‘Outpost here, go ahead.’
‘We’re entering a building which was probably used to store fertiliser or other chemicals. It smells terrible inside; we’re having to step over dead people here too.’
‘Keep us posted, Eagle.’
‘Correction, Outpost, we’re in some kind of clinic. Wait a minute, this must be the morgue, what a mess! I can smell formaldehyde and chlorine, possibly mixed with human excrement.’
What we stumbled upon was downright dreadful. My stomach suddenly turned, and I vomited. We had been looking for my lost comrades for two days. And now our search had come to a terrifying end. They were all there, mutilated. They were undressed. It looked as if they had been killed by suffocation. Their genitals had been cut off and stuffed into their mouths. Also, I noticed that they had bullet wounds. I had read about this way of torture. It had been introduced in Africa about a hundred years previously by Belgian colonial agents who devised all kinds of torture to maximise rubber production with impunity. On the floor were ten of my mates, or at least what was left of them. ‘Are they all here?’ I asked. One of my people was counting them.
‘There are ten,’ was what he said. ‘Ten, but I can recognise only seven, three faces have been beaten to a pulp.’
‘Let’s get them out of here!’ I ordered. ‘Sergeant, you call and get a truck here as soon as you can. I’ll notify Outpost to tell them that we’ve found them.’
An hour later, we heard the engine of a UN truck in front of the building. The driver and four other soldiers came in and helped us carry the bodies. We laid them next to each other in the loading area. ‘Captain,’ urged the driver, ‘we had much difficulty in reaching you. Several times we had to step out to clear the road as dead people were blocking it. The RAF are setting up roadblocks everywhere and have started murdering people according to the ethnicity on their IDs. If your papers tell them you are a Tutsi, you die, but if you try to lie, you die as well. We only have about half an hour before nightfall, we must hurry.’
I thanked the boy. He looked at me as if he almost forgot something. ‘Wait! Please wait,’ he pleaded and ran away but came back a few minutes later with his mother and father. He pleaded, ‘Please help us, sir. We have no place to go. They are looking for us. They destroyed our house and we’ve been hiding in the basement.’
After all the bodies were loaded, I told them to come with us but that they had to sit with the dead in the back of the truck.
‘That is no problem, sir. We have been surrounded by thousands of them since this genocide started.’
His use of the word “genocide” told me that the boy was very smart. How smart, I was only to find out many years later.
We drove back to our compound in silence. Everyone was speechless, numb from what we were experiencing. No words could describe such an ordeal, the massacre, the sheer uselessness of it all. The driver frantically turned the wheels from left to right to avoid running over dead or dying people. A woman who could still walk tried to jump on our truck, held fast for a few seconds but fell off. I wanted to stop and help her but that would have been suicide for all of us. At that moment I knew that her desperate expression of fear and my decision to drive on would haunt me for the rest of my days. What we experienced and saw that afternoon would be etched onto our brains forever. No one could escape such visions, erase such memorie