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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Corruption’s War on the Law

“Corruption’s War on the Law” is the headline on an article Project Syndicate just published. There former French magistrate and corruption fighter Eva Joly recounts the fate of those who have dared to confront powerful networks of corrupt officials and those who corrupt them.  Maltese investigative journalist Daphne Caruana Galizia was murdered by accomplices of those she was investigating. So was Rwandan anti-corruption lawyer Gustave Makonene. So too was Brazilian anticorruption activist Marcelo Miguel D’Elia.

After a second attempt on his life, Nuhu Ribadu, first chair of Nigeria’s Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, the country’s premier anticorruption agency, famously remarked:

“When you fight corruption, it fights back.”

In her article, Mme. Joly, who received numerous threats for investigating and ultimately convicting senior French officials for corruption, explains that violence is just one way corruption “fights back.”  The most recent head of Nigeria’s EFCC was arrested and detained on trumped up charges of corruption. Ibrahim Magu has been suspended from office pending further proceedings, proceedings unlikely to be held this century.

At the same, Nigerian anticorruption activist Lanre Suraju is, as this blog reported last week, being charged with “cyberstalking” for circulating documents from a court case that implicate associates of the current Attorney General in a the massive OPL-245 corruption scandal. This form of intimidation, which Nigerians have dubbed “lawfare,” has now been exported to Europe. Italian prosecutors are being subjected to both criminal charges and administrative action for having the nerve to prosecute one of Italy’s largest companies for foreign bribery (here).

President Biden has declared the global fight against corruption to be a national priority, and he will shortly host a democracy summit where Brazil, Italy, Malta, Nigeria, and Rwanda will be represented at the highest level. Might he remind them which side of the fight they should be on?

Why Italy Should Not Prioritize Anticorruption in Spending Covid Recovery Funds

The Covid-19 pandemic has been an economic disaster as well as a public health disaster, and massive public spending will be needed to promote recovery. In Europe, the EU is projected to spend up to €1.8 trillion on pandemic recovery. One of the biggest recipients of these EU funds will be Italy, the EU’s hardest-hit member state. Currently, Italy is poised to receive €123 billion in loans and €69 billion in grants between now and 2026. Provision of these funds has already started; the first tranche of €25 billion arrived this past June. This funding will support Italy’s Covid recovery plan, known as the Piano Nazionale di Ripresa e Resilienza (PNRR), which—in the name of territorial cohesion—will allocate 40% of the funds to the Italian south.

If history is any guide, a massive amount of that money will be misallocated, misspent, or outright stolen by corrupt public officials colluding with organized crime groups. The mafias have a long history of bribing Italian officials for lucrative public contracts. Between 2014 and 2020, Italy received €77 billion from the EU for use in structural and investment funds; 60% of those funds were “fraudulently requested or obtained,” often by organized crime, with the 85% of that fraud occurring in the South. Much of the fraud occurs when illegitimate companies request funds in the form of loans and grants; the companies either don’t exist or are liquidated upon receipt of the funds.  

But we needn’t look only to history: Italy’s three most powerful crime syndicates—Cosa Nostra in Sicily, the Camorra in Campania, and the ‘Ndrangheta in Calabria—are already bribing Covid response officials, winning fraudulent contracts, and plundering businesses in receipt of PNRR funds. As the EU money pours in, we can expect that these mafia groups will use their corrupt networks to siphon off a staggering percentage of the EU Covid relief funding.

What should European policymakers do in response? It’s tempting to insist—as anticorruption activists have in this and other contexts—that the EU and Prime Minister Mario Draghi’s government adopt enhanced oversight and transparency measures, to better ensure that funds are spent appropriately. But that would be a mistake. Right now, the priority must be on promoting a swift economic recovery. Attaching burdensome anticorruption requirements to the public spending needed to support that recovery will slow the process down too much. This is, I realize, a bitter pill to swallow. Many readers will instinctively resist the idea that the EU and the Italian government might bankroll Italy’s most powerful mafias (to the tune of up to €200 billion). But if Italy is to recover from the economic effects of the Covid-19 pandemic, the priority must be the swift delivery of recovery funds, even if this means that much of the money will be intercepted by the mafia.

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Letter to Nigerian Attorney General Malami from Civil Society: Stop Harassing Anticorruption Activist

Civil society organizations are poised to write Nigerian Attorney General Abubakar Malami asking he dismiss criminal charges against long-time Nigerian anticorruption activist Olanrewaju Suraju. His crime? Circulating documents implicating an associate of the Attorney General in the alleged payment of $1 billion by oil giants Royal Dutch Shell and ENI in return for rights OPL-245, Nigeria’s most lucrative offshore oil block.  

Not only is a criminal indictment for Suraju’s conduct absurd on its face, the Community Court of Justice for the Economic Community of West African States, whose decisions are binding on Nigeria, has declared the cyberstalking law under which he is being charged in violation of the African Peoples and Human Rights Charter.  

The text of the letter is below. Concerned NGOs and individuals are invited to add their names. Use the “Contact” function at the top of the page. Alternatively, letters supporting Nigerian activists’ freedom to urge that those responsible for corruption be brought to justice can be sent to Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari through info@statehouse.gov.ng

Dear Attorney-General Abubakar Malami:

Our attention has been drawn to press reports of an indictment, approved by your office, against Olanrewaju Suraju, chair of the anti-corruption and human right group HEDA, for alleged cyberstalking.[1]

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Brazil Should Rethink the Corporate Death Penalty for Corrupt Acts

Brazil’s Clean Company Act (CCA), enacted during a time of mass protests against corruption and impunity, was a major step forward in the fight against corporate crime. While the CCA is best known for its imposition of strict civil and administrative liability on legal entities that commit corrupt acts against public administration, the CCA is also notable for its authorization, in extreme cases, of a “corporate death penalty.” More specifically, the CCA requires the dissolution of a corporation or other legal entity when (1) the legal entity is in fact a “shell company” used to conceal illegal acts (such as money laundering, tax evasion, or procurement fraud), or (2) the legal entity was used on a regular basis to facilitate or promote the performance of wrongful acts. Applying the corporate death penalty to shell companies created for the purpose of facilitating or concealing criminal acts is straightforward and not terribly controversial, especially since these shell companies do not engage in any genuine productive activity. The controversy arises with respect to the second category, which can include productive companies.

Applying the extreme sanction of corporate dissolution might seem like appropriately strong medicine for companies, even productive companies, that have been involved in serious and ongoing illegality. In practice, however, this sanction is not working as intended. A much more effective and realistic sanction, at least in the Brazilian context, would be to compel a persistently corrupt (but productive) company’s shareholders to sell their controlling stake in the company—thus preserving the company as a going concern, but placing it under new ownership and management.

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ENABLERS in the Legal Profession: Balancing Client Confidentiality Against Preventing Money Laundering

The anticorruption world is abuzz with discussion of the Pandora Papers, a major leak of financial documents that exposed how wealthy elites, including various political leaders and shady businesspeople, conceal their assets. But alongside revelations about the illicit expenditures of the rich and powerful, reporting based on the Pandora Papers also highlighted the role that lawyers and law firms have played in facilitating these arrangements—many of which are technically legal, but at least some of which suggest possible money laundering or other illicit activities.

This is hardly the first time that concerns have been raised about attorneys’ involvement in money laundering. Indeed, such concerns have existed for years, and have been repeatedly emphasized by groups like the Financial Action Task Force, and a 2010 study found that lawyers played a facilitating role in 25% of surveyed money laundering cases in an American appeals court. But perhaps because of the Pandora Papers revelations, U.S. legislators finally appear to be taking the problem seriously. Within days of the Pandora Papers leak, Members of Congress introduced a bill called the ENABLERS Act, which would expand the scope of the Bank Secrecy Act (BSA) so that many of the BSA’s requirements, including the duty to file suspicious activity reports (SARs) with the Treasury Department and to implement anti-money laundering (AML) controls, would apply to a broader set of actors—including attorneys and law firms.

The American Bar Association (ABA), which has consistently resisted pretty much every effort to impose even modest AML requirements on the legal profession, has strenuously opposed this aspect of the ENABLERS Act. The ABA’s principal objection is that many BSA requirements—especially the requirement that covered entities file SARs with the government—conflict with the lawyer’s ethical duty of client confidentiality—the attorney’s obligation not to reveal information gained in the course of representing a client to outside parties, including the government, save in a very narrow set of circumstances. (The duty of confidentiality is related to, but distinct from, the attorney-client privilege, which prevents a lawyer from testifying against her client in court regarding private communications that the attorney had with the client in the course of the legal representation, or providing such communications in response to a discovery request. Some critics have also raised attorney-client privilege concerns about SAR filings.) The ABA and other commentators have argued that extending the BSA’s mandatory reporting requirement to attorneys, as the ENABLERS Act would do, compromises attorneys’ ability to guarantee confidentiality, and thereby discourages the full, frank communications between attorney and client that are essential for effective legal representation.

The ABA has a valid concern, but only to a point. A broad and unqualified extension of BSA reporting requirements to attorneys could indeed impinge on traditional and important principles of lawyer-client confidentiality. But this is not a reason to leave things as they are. Rather, the ENABLERS Act and its implementing regulations can and should draw more nuanced distinctions, imposing SAR and other AML requirements on lawyers when those lawyers are acting principally as financial advisors, but enabling lawyers to preserve client confidentiality—including with respect to suspicious transactions—when lawyers are providing more traditional legal representation, for instance in the context of litigation.

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Little Trust on the Prairie

Offshore finance has always been glamorous. The world’s tax dodgers and kleptocrats seem to favor the same jurisdictions as James Bond, places with soring vistas, crystalline waters, and plenty of five-star resorts. Yet as the recent release of the Pandora Papers makes clear, the geography of offshore finance has shifted in recent years. For those seeking to obscure the origins of their wealth, South Dakota now eclipses Grand Cayman. Customer assets in South Dakota trusts have more than quadrupled over the past decade to $360 billion. And while there are of course legitimate reasons to set up a trust, trusts offer an ideal mechanism—even better than shell companies—for concealing ownership and preserving anonymity.

South Dakota is an especially attractive jurisdiction for setting up such trusts because it offers not only low costs and flexibility, but also a combination of privacy and control that those seeking to hide their wealth find attractive. Notably, South Dakota automatically seals trust records, preventing outsiders from identifying settlors and beneficiaries, and does not require publicly filing trust documents. (Although South Dakota’s privacy laws do not shield settlors and beneficiaries from federal law enforcement, they do conceal the trust from journalists and the private parties, making it less likely that those involved in the trust come to the attention of government authorities.) South Dakota also allows the creation of “dynasty trusts,” which exist in perpetuity, as well as “directed trusts,” which give families and their advisors maximum control in managing the trust’s affairs. Unusually, South Dakota also allows trusts whose settlor and beneficiary are the same person.

These rules make South Dakota trusts particularly appealing to business and political elites whose assets may be the target of civil as well as criminal litigation. Indeed, the Pandora Papers identified, among those who used South Dakota trusts to conceal their assets, a Colombian textile baron who had sought to launder international drug proceeds, a Brazilian orange juice mogul who allegedly underpaid local farmers, and the former president of a Dominican sugar producer who was accused of exploiting workers. With banks and even real estate agents wary of taking large sums from officials in corrupt regions, a U.S. domiciled trust offers a veneer of legitimacy.

Allowing states like South Dakota to join the archipelago of secrecy jurisdictions where bankers and trustees ask few questions undermines the United States’ fight against global corruption. Indeed, attacking those who abet foreign corruption while welcoming dirty money as an investment strategy is not just hypocritical but self-defeating. The rise of anonymous domestic trusts in the United States demands and an aggressive response from federal regulators. That response can and should include the following measures:

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