AML for NFTs: How Digital Artwork Is Used to Clean Dirty Money, and How to Stop It

The art world has gone digital, thanks in large part to the advent of so-called non-fungible tokens (NFTs). NFTs, like cryptocurrencies, use blockchain technology (a disaggregated database made up of immutable blocks of data), which makes it possible to attach a unique authenticating token—sort of like a digital signature—to a digital item, most commonly a piece of digital artwork. The primary difference between an NFT and a unit of cryptocurrency is that one NFT cannot be exchanged for another—they are, as the name implies, non-fungible. That non-fungibility enables creators of digital art to sell NFTs of their work for profit. That’s important, because unlike traditional artwork, it’s extremely easy to create perfect copies of digital artwork. But one cannot simply copy an NFT. Of course, one can copy the image itself, but the copy, though identical to the naked eye, will lack the authenticating token. Why, you might reasonably ask, would anyone pay for an NFT when they can get the original image for free? Critics have raised these and other questions, but it seems that a sufficient number of people derive pleasure from collecting the original artwork, or from supporting the artists, or from the belief that the price of NFTs will continue to rise, that trade in NFTs has become big business. An artist known as Beeple sold one NFT for $69 million. Platforms from cryptocurrency exchanges to the hundreds-years-old art auction house Sotheby’s (and potentially the movie theater chain AMC) have entered into the growing NFT market; in the third quarter of 2021, the trading volume of NFTs exceeded $10 billion.

As in other emerging high-value markets, however, NFTs present a money laundering risk. Indeed, NFTs sit at the intersection of two sectors that are already characterized by high money laundering risk: fine art and cryptocurrencies. Because of the uniquely-high money laundering risk posed by these digital assets, FinCEN should issue NFT-specific anti-money laundering (AML) compliance guidance, and Congress should extend the Bank Secrecy Act (BSA) to apply to NFT marketplaces.

Before proceeding to regulatory solutions, it’s worth elaborating on why NFTs pose a significant money laundering risk. As just noted, NFTs are particularly high risk because they combine two sectors that are already characterized by high money laundering risk, albeit for different reasons:

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The End of Institutional Multiplicity: A Drawback in the New Administrative Improbity Law

Brazil’s Administrative Improbity Law is one of the cornerstones of the country’s anticorruption framework. The law imposes administrative and civil liability on public officials and political agents for illicit enrichment, damage to the treasury, and acts against the principles of public administration. Before its enactment in 1992, these forms of misconduct were only punishable under criminal law, which imposes a much more demanding evidentiary standard. The enactment of the Administrative Improbity Law thus played a valuable role in enabling the government to hold corrupt actors liable in those situations where the evidence of corruption, though strong, was not enough to establish proof beyond a reasonable doubt.

This past October, the Brazilian government enacted significant amendments to the Administrative Improbity Law. Some of these changes were welcome, particularly those that clarified vague provisions and attempted to speed up the process. (Brazilian courts have taken on average six years to adjudicate administrative improbity claims.) But another change is much less welcome: The amendments to the law reduced the number of institutions that can file a suit for violations of the law. Under the original version of the law, a suit could be initiated either by the Public Prosecution Office (an autonomous body) or by the government entity that was harmed by the corrupt act (the federal Attorney General’s Office in the case of acts that harm the national government, and the state or municipal authorities in the case of acts that harmed subnational government entities). This arrangement is a form of what Brazilian scholars typically refer to as institutional multiplicity—an arrangement where multiple institutions have overlapping authority to enforce legal provisions. Institutional multiplicity is a key feature of Brazil’s anticorruption framework. The new version of the Administrative Improbity Law scraps this multiplicity, at least in this context, by giving the Public Prosecution Office the exclusive right to file administrative improbity suits.

This is a mistake.

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Eliminating Barriers to Compensating Corruption Victims  

StAR yesterday held six panels on asset recovery issues as part of the meeting of the Conference of State Parties to UNCAC. I participated in the one on compensating corruption victims along with Costa Rican prosecutor Greysa Barrientos, Kate McMahon, Chair the International Bar Association’s Anticorruption Asset Recovery Subcommittee Kate McMahon, and Juanita Olaya Garcia of the UNCAC Coalition.

Panel moderators Yara Esquivel of StAR and Felipe Falconi from UNODC asked that I discuss what avenues of relief were available to corruption victims, the main challenges they face in recovering damages, and what reforms are needed to overcome those challenges. My remarks follow.   

Avenues of relief. Corruption victims generally have two options for obtaining compensation – as an adjunct to a criminal prosecution of the perpetrators by the state or by bringing a private civil suit against them.

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Lessons from the U.S. College Admissions Scandal: Why Universities Need to Embrace Anticorruption Measures

In 2019, a college admissions corruption scandal made headlines in the United States and around the world. Richard Singer, who masterminded the scheme, promised wealthy parents that he could get their children coveted places at Stanford, Yale, USC, and other selective colleges through what he called the “side door.” Rather than donate $45 or $50 million to gain an edge in admissions, parents would pay Singer and his foundation to bribe college coaches to recruit the students as college athletes—even though many of the students had never competed in the sport for which they were allegedly being recruited. U.S. federal prosecutors, in the so-called “Varsity Blues” investigation, uncovered this scheme and indicted more than fifty people (parents, coaches, and others). Many of the defendants pled guilty. This past October, in the first Varsity Blues case to go to trial, a jury found hedge fund magnate John Wilson and former casino executive Gamal Abdelaziz guilty of conspiracy, wire fraud, and mail fraud. More trials are likely coming, and more convictions are likely.

Beyond the sensational headlines—which often focused on the wealthy parents, several of whom are celebrities—what broader lessons can we draw from the scandal? When it first broke, many commentators attacked the broader culture of entitlement and privilege in which wealthy parents secure unfair—but in most cases entirely legal—advantages for their children through legacy preferences and favoritism toward big donors. Other commentators drew attention to the hypercompetitive, win-at-all-cost culture fostered by the U.S. college admissions system. Critics pointed to a culture that leads not only to criminal bribery of the sort revealed in the Varsity Blues investigation, but also to less visible forms of dishonesty like college admissions “consultants” who draft essays for pay and students who cheat on college admissions tests, sometimes with the support or complicity of adults.

Those critiques of the U.S. college admissions culture are apt, but there’s another important lesson that emerges from the scandal, one that has received less attention: The scandal highlighted the extent to which universities have failed to address seemingly obvious corruption risks, and failed to implement effective controls for identifying applicants who were bribing their way onto campus. Compared to other large institutions, universities are behind when it comes to establishing effective anticorruption controls.

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Civil Society to the CoSP: Corruption Victims Are Entitled to Compensation

The Council of State Parties to the United Nations Convention Against Corruption, the governments of the now 188 nations that have ratified the Convention, meets this week to review its implementation.  

When it comes to prosecuting bribery, embezzlement, and other corruption crimes, progress has been made. The UN Office of Drugs and Crime reports that “[i]n a considerable number of countries, legislative amendments and structural reforms have produced coherent and largely harmonized criminalization regimes, tangible results in terms of enforcement capabilities and action.”

But the Convention’s “enforcement capabilities and action” extend beyond criminal prosecution.  Article 35 requires state parties to ensure those injured “as a result of an act of corruption” can enforce a claim for damages against the perpetrators.

Here little progress has been made.  The UNODC, Transparency International, academics (here and here), and this writer have all found that few corruption victims have recovered damages. 

The UNCAC Coalition, a global network of over 350 civil society organizations in 100 plus countries, urges the CoSP to address this gap in implementation.  In a formal submission, the coalition offers a series of recommendations to see that victims, either individually or through a class or representative action, can recover full compensation for the harm caused by corruption. It’s timely and important submission is here.

Italy: Safe Haven for Bribe Payers?

That a nation with the third-largest economy in the European Union and the eighth-largest in the world would be countenancing bribery in today’s world seems beyond the pale. Yet an analysis of recent case law and record of convictions shows just that.  Done by the Italian NGO ReCommon and submitted on a confidential basis to the OECD’s Working Group on Bribery, it concludes that it is “nigh on impossible to obtain a conviction in Italy for international corruption.”  

The group’s conclusion rests not only on Italy’s dismal record of convictions of Italian companies and nationals for bribing foreign public officials, but decisions in three recent cases. All raise a virtually insurmountable hurdle to a conviction for bribery. In any case. No matter whether the bribe-taker is an official of a foreign government or of the Italian government. In all three, courts have ruled that to prove bribery, the prosecution must show there was an express agreement to bribe.

In today’s world, just how many businesses send a letter to an official saying “I will pay you X in return for your providing the company Y”? As an American Supreme Court justice observed some 40 years ago, were the law to impose such a requirement, it could be easily frustrated “by knowing winks and nods.” Yet an express agreement to bribe is exactly what Italian judges now demand to convict bribe-takers and payors. Why has the Italian judiciary, historically one of the most renowned in the civil law world, decided to frustrate the prosecution of bribery cases?

Italy’s compliance with the OECD Antibribery Convention will shortly be reviewed by peer nations. It simply cannot be found in compliance so long as its courts require an express agreement to bribe to find defendants guilty. The OECD reviewers should follow ReCommon’s analysis, which in the public interest is revealed here, and condemn the recent turn in Italian law making the nation a safe haven for bribery.

Anticorruption in Qatar: Policy or Politics?

Earlier this year, Qatar’s Minister of Finance, Ali Shareef Al Emadi, was arrested on corruption charges. This news came as a veritable bombshell to those who follow the Arab Gulf region. For one thing, Al Emadi is a prominent figure, who was not only the sitting finance minister, but who had previously occupied an impressive list of leadership positions in well-known Qatari institutions, including a board position on the country’s $300 billion sovereign wealth fund, chairman of the board of Qatar Airways, and chairman of the board of Qatar National Bank, the largest lender in the Middle East. Another surprising thing about Al Emadi’s arrest is just how public—and unusually publicized—the arrest was. This contrasts strikingly with how Qatar and other countries in the region typically deal with suspected corruption of high-level officials. In such cases, the investigation is usually kept private and, if the allegations appear to have substance, they are usually resolved through a resignation. In Al Emadi’s case, by contrast, a state-run news agency made a public announcement of the arrest and investigation, and he was removed from his post. 

It has been over six months since Al Emadi’s arrest, and the situation remains shrouded in mystery. Al Emadi has said nothing, and the only statement from the Qatari government came two days after the arrest. (That statement, by the Minister of Foreign Affairs, consisted mainly of the assertions that “no one is above the law” and the “investigation is ongoing.”) This has left news organizations and researchers to speculate about the unusual circumstances of Al Emadi’s arrest (see hereherehere, and here). One possible interpretation, advanced in a Brookings Institution piece published shortly after the arrest, is that Qatar’s unusual action in the Al Emadi case—publicly announcing the arrest of a high-profile figure in a country (and region) where such officials are virtually never prosecuted for corruption—may signal a real shift in Qatar’s policy, one that may be part of a genuine push for better, more honest governance. A former economist at Qatar’s central bank expressed a similarly optimistic interpretation, asserting that the arrest “sends a powerful message to all Qataris about the government’s newfound eagerness to fight corruption.” 

This is of course possible, but we shouldn’t get our hopes up. Al Emadi’s arrest, and the unusual publicity it received, may have less to do with a real shift in the Qatari government’s approach to fighting corruption, and more to do with political calculations.

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The Weaponization of Anticorruption Law: Why Italy’s Legge Severino Must Be Reformed

Back in 2012, the Italian legislature passed an anticorruption statute known as the Legge Severino. This law institutes a six year prohibition on holding elected office for politicians with felony convictions carrying sentences over two years. If convicted on an “abuse of power” charge, the prohibition on officeholding is extended to eight years. The law, which was enacted in part to effectuate Article Six of the United Nation’s Convention Against Corruption, was hailed at the time as a positive step on the road to a less corrupt Italy. (Famously, this provision initially barred Silvio Berlusconi from office after he was sentenced to four years in prison for tax evasion.) The logic behind passing laws of this sort (which also exist elsewhere) is fairly clear, especially in a country like Italy which has struggled with endemic political corruption: intuitively, those who have abused the public trust by committing serious criminal offenses should not be allowed to hold elected office.

But a recent case in Calabria, involving Domenico “Mimmo” Lucano, the former mayor of the town of Riace, highlights problems with the law—in particular, how the law can be weaponized to take down politicians who are fighting corruption and organized crime. Continue reading

Defining Corruption: How Readers’ Views Align with Courts and Other Authorities

There has been a vigorous debate on the blog about the definition of corruption with distinguished academics and practitioners weighing in on what they argue constitutes corrupt behavior by a public official.

Readers will recall that in early November I asked what they thought. I described six cases where a court, ethics agency, or public opinion had decided whether certain conduct was corrupt, and without revealing how the authority ruled, readers were invited to say what they thought. A number did, often with thoughtful explanations supporting their view.

Below is how their answers compare with the authority who made the decision. As the tabulated replies show, readers are far tougher when it comes to ruling conduct corrupt than courts or even the most important court of all, the court of public opinion. The rationale behind the authority’s decision follows. Comments invited.

CaseCN.C.
1. Vanuatu majority government provides MPs positions in return for vote against no confidence measure. Court ruling: NOT CORRUPT34
2. U.S. Senate seat in return for appointment to cabinet. Court ruling: NOT CORRUPT52
3. Oakland Mayor oversees redevelopment funds to neighborhoods that could include his own. Court ruling: NOT CORRUPT (technicality)13
4. Independent New South Wales MP resigns seat in return for job in public service. Public Opinion: CORRUPT51
5. Appointee in newly elected Kentucky government asks for share of fixed commission government pays for insurance. Court ruling: NOT CORRUPT50
6. Canadian PM lobbies national development bank to loan to hotel abutting golf course he has part interest in. Ethics counsellor: NOT CORRUPT40

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Learning from the Collapse of CICIG, MACCIH, and CICIES: What Lessons for the Future?

Six years ago, the world was celebrating one of the most innovative and promising investigative commissions to curb grand corruption: Guatemala’s International Commission Against Impunity in Guatemala (Comisión Internacional Contra la Impunidad en Guatemala, or CICIG). CICIG was a domestic-international hybrid organization that exposed sixty criminal networks, charged nearly 700 people, and took down high-level officials, including Guatemala’s sitting president, vice president, and head of the public prosecutor’s office  (see here, here, here, and here). CICIG was so successful that it inspired two of Guatemala’s neighbors, El Salvador and Honduras, to create commissions on a similar model: MACCIH in Honduras (created in 2016) and CICIES in El Salvador (created in 2019). The key element setting these commissions apart from traditional anticorruption agencies was their hybrid domestic-international setup. In all three cases, the commissioners were supported by an international body (the UN for CICIG and Office of American States (OAS) for MACCIH and CICIES), and the commissions were led by foreigners. The commissions had ambitious mandates, but also limited powers: They could not prosecute on their own, but rather had to work with the national prosecutor’s office. Initially, MACCIH and CICIES scored a few remarkable victories, taking down a handful of government officials. This fueled optimism that these institutions, together with CICIG, would prove to be a powerful and sustainable anticorruption innovation.

Now, several years later, the bloom is off the rose. None of these commissions are still operating. And the story of their demise is remarkably similar: In each country, the commission’s investigations got too close to the incumbent administration, ultimately leading the president to either terminate the commission’s mandate or let it expire (see here, here, and here). This all-too-familiar story highlights a difficult challenge in fighting corruption effectively, one that is not limited to these special hybrid commissions: The main point of creating independent anticorruption bodies is to make possible the investigation and prosecution of the politically powerful—those who might benefit from de facto impunity if investigations were left to the ordinary institutions of justice—but at the same time, these independent commissions are sustainable only as long as the politically powerful would not find it more expedient to shut them down.

It’s difficult to thread this needle, and I’m reluctant to second-guess the leaders of CICIG, MACCIH, and CICIES regarding their strategic choices. Still, the fates of these commissions suggest a few valuable lessons that might be applicable to other anticorruption agencies that find themselves facing a comparable dilemma:

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