FOREWORD

The author, Gerd Michael Müller, born in Zürich in 1962, traveled as a photo-journalist to more than 50 nations and lived in seven countries, including in the underground in South Africa during apartheid. In the 80 years he was a political activist at the youth riots in Zürich. Then he was involved in pioneering Wildlife & eco projects in Southern Africa and humanitarian projects elsewhere in the world. As early as 1993, Müller reported on the global climate change and in 1999 he founded the «Tourism & Environment Forum Switzerland». Through his humanitarian missions he got to know Nelson Mandela, the Dalai Lama and other figures of light. His book is an exciting mixture of political thriller, crazy social stories and travel reports – the highlights of his adventurous, wild nomadic life for reportage photography .

(please note that translation corrections are still in progress and images will follow soon)

In 1992, I traveled to the Caribbean twice. First I took part in a sailing trip on the „Paso Doble“, which led from Grenada to Trinidad for Carnival, then I arrived via Barbados in Grenada exactly at the time when the nine year anniversary of the „liberation“ or also „occupation“ of Grenada (depending on your point of view) by US forces was celebrated. In St. George, the capital of Grenada, we were able to attend the official ceremony with the Prime Minister of Grenada, Nicolas Brathwaiter and the U.S. Ambassador in the presence of high-ranking U.S. military officials, after which the U.S. Ambassador’s PR lady invited me to a press breakfast on the aircraft carrier „U.S. John Rodgers“ stationed off Grenada. Exciting as this was, I did not want to miss this unique opportunity, after all, it is not every day that you can have breakfast on a warship that has a huge potential for destruction. The next morning, a U.S. Navy boat picked me up on the beach and drove me over to the warship, which was anchored off the coast of Grenada. First I was able to take a short tour and then have a conversation about U.S. policy with the commander and his press aide on the command bridge. In retrospect, this visit was not a good idea because I have been on the radar of the U.S. authorities and intelligence agencies since this incident and felt this at a later date in the Philippines and got myself into some „troubles“ there, whereupon I was ultimately declared „persona non grata“ in the Philippines. Certainly, my many visits to Cuba, which I made to the Caribbean tropical island in the 1990s, were also critically followed.

Let’s flash back briefly to why the Americans brought about a coup in Grenada. It was triggered by Maurice Bishop, who was born in Aruba to Grenadian parents and lived in Grenada from the age of 6. He studied law in England, where he absorbed the political ideas of the 1968 movement, the Black Power movement and Trinidadian Marxist C. L. R. James before returning to the Caribbean in 1969. He began building Soviet-style workers councils in Grenada, founded a socialist party, the New Jewel Movement (NJM), Jewel standing for Joint Endeavor for Welfare, Education and Liberation), and formed labor unions. He enjoyed the approval of the people, who were unhappy with the corrupt rule of Sir Eric Gairy and his Mongoose Gang, a „thug squad.“

Although Gairy had obviously rigged the elections in his favor, Maurice Bishop gained power on March 13, 1979, in an almost bloodless coup that was supported by the population, and became prime minister of Grenada. The human rights situation improved under Bishop. He focused on social reforms, such as the introduction of a free health care system, the construction of new schools and maintained good relations with the Soviet Union and Cuba, which supported Grenada with development aid and the construction of the airport. This did not sit well with the United States. On October 25, 1983, under the code name Operation Urgent Fury, the United States launched an invasion that deposed the leftist government.

That was probably one of the few U.S. operations that went smoothly for the civilian population in the first place and ultimately led to stabilization. The U.S. invasion of Panama did not turn out too disastrously either, but all other interventions, invasions and infiltrations on the part of the U.S. from the Vietnam War to the Afghanistan mission, the failed Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba, the hopeless and devastating Iraq War that led to IS or even the overthrow of long-term despot M. Gaddhafi in Libya and the miserable failure in the Syria war, for the most part the USA failed miserably after WW2, whether as aggressor or world policeman. A „failed state“ in fact, with incalculable consequences for the whole world: the radicalization in the Muslim world, which gave impetus to the terrorist organizations Al Qaeda and the IS, or even the „War on Drugs“ proclaimed by the USA was a disaster and hypocrisy for 50 years.

Grenada is also known as the Spice Island and is located about 200 kilometers northeast of the coast of Venezuela and south of Saint Vincent and the Grenadines. The Grenadines are a sub-archipelago of the Lesser Antilles, of which the island of Grenada itself is the largest; smaller islands include Carriacou, Petite Martinique, Ronde Island, Caille Island, Diamond Island, Large Island, and Frigate Island. The part of the Grenadines bordering to the north belongs to the neighboring state of St. Vincent. Most of the population lives on the main island in the capital St. George’s and in the towns of Grenville and Gouyave. The largest settlement on the smaller islands is Hillsborough on Carriacou. And right there, at an absolutely awesome party, I met a sailor I had encountered 10 years earlier on the island of Lanzarote and lived with him and others on a boat in Playa Blanca. And the story that connected us is as unique as our reunion here under the starry Caribbean sky on a small sandy island and a very special club with access only via a narrow jetty with shark pools on both sides, which can become a dangerous walk back at 2-4 promillies.

Let me at this point briefly recount the Lanzarote adventure with a Guardi Civil anti-terrorist task force operation on our boat. We, a handful of people, were living in Playa Blanca on the Canary Island of Lanzarote in the late 70’s aboard a sailing vessel owned by a Swiss living in the USA who had arrived here only a few days before. A French skipper, a Moroccan boat boy the Brit I now saw again here in the Caribbean and the American friend of the Swiss boat owner had brought the boat here from France. Apparently there was a dispute between the boat owner and the skipper the night before about the fee for bringing the yacht from the south of France to here and the longer waiting time in Playa Blanca. The dispute between the two escalated. First the Frenchman wanted to sink the boat, which the crew was fortunately able to prevent. Then the Frenchman hissed in a rage and we thought „that’s it“. But the „nasty guy“ took revenge on us, in which he gave the Guardia Civil an anonymous call from Arecife airport before his departure and told them that we had weapons and drugs on board.

Then, the morning after the skipper left at 5:30 a.m., we were jolted out of a deep sleep because suddenly a herd of elephants stampeded on the boat, then military orders were heard, and when I was the first to stick my head out of the hatch, I looked into four submachine guns not half a meter from the tip of my nose. There any movement and excitement froze immediately. I froze and was then allowed to get out, then all my boat friends too. Half a dozen heavily armed elite soldiers of the Guardia Civil stood around us. After six hours, the search of the sailboat was completed without result and our ordeal was over. The special unit left again, after smoking another joint with us to relax after the hard operation with the few crumbs of hashish they had found on the boat during the search. There were no buses and no arrest. We were all very relieved. But the day was not over yet and still had a surprise in store for us.

Because the anti-terrorist mission had gone so smoothly for us in the end and it was also New Year’s Eve, we had already been quite boozing and drunk while gambling in the afternoon. The so-called „Si, Si, Si-Drink“, with a third of vodka, a third of Cointreau and a shot of champagne, was devilishly good and we got hellishly horny, until my Yank boat friend, who sat next to me at the very back in the very narrow and totally crowded hose-like bar, brought out the sea rescue pistol and wanted to organize a small fireworks for New Year’s Eve. When he fired the projectile from the very back of the bar across the bar and it whizzed past numerous nose tips of the men sitting at the bar and slammed through the double doors, the party mood among the Kanaks present came to an abrupt end.