Abacha's Thieving Spree Honoured by The Economists of London
Senin, 20 Mei 2013
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IN THE months after the “Arab spring”,  rumours swirled in Egypt, Libya and Tunisia that every household would  gain a slice of looted public funds prised from the grasp of their  former leaders and the cronies who surrounded them. Hossam Issa, a  prominent academic and at the time deputy head of the Nasserist Party,  said the deposed President Hosni Mubarak’s ill-gotten gains had been “a  daily insult for 30 years…now I have hope.” International  anti-corruption campaigners looked forward to a promising new front  opening in the global war on graft.
Estimates of the loot range widely,  reflecting the murkiness of offshore finance, but the talk is of tens of  billions of dollars. Sani Abacha of Nigeria, often taken to epitomise  venality, pilfered between $5 billion and $8 billion. But sometimes  optimism overtakes reality: the upper, $70 billion, estimate of the  amount siphoned off by Egypt’s Mubarak clan may just be on the high  side.
What is clear is that the value of  assets identified and frozen by foreign governments is disappointingly  small: two years after the Arab spring, they are worth a little over $1  billion, more than three-quarters of it in Switzerland. Assets actually  repatriated are even paltrier: to Egypt, nothing; to Libya, a London  house linked to Muammar Qaddafi’s son, Saadi; to Tunisia, some planes  and, earlier this month, $29m from a Lebanese bank account belonging to  the wife of Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali, the ousted dictator (his family and  cronies are thought to have plundered $3 billion).  
Even modest recoveries are welcome for  cash-strapped governments. But amid legal blockages, investigative  dead-ends and recriminations, early hopes gave way to despair. Now some  signs suggest the tide is turning.
Easy to steal, easier to keep
Asset recovery is a slog. It requires  hacking through thickets of international law. It cuts across criminal,  civil and administrative justice. It relies on co-operation between  countries (and between agencies within countries) that are often unable  or unwilling to share information. The asset-recovery provisions in the  UN’s Convention against Corruption form a basic framework, but the  process is still littered with obstacles: in a report in 2011, the World  Bank and UN counted 29 hurdles.
Persuading courts to freeze and return  assets is especially tricky when they have been hidden inside complex  corporate structures in jurisdictions that offer secrecy to investors,  and when their owners can afford the best lawyers. Forfeiture cases are  almost always “complex legally, complex forensically and expensive,”  says Bruce Zagaris of Berliner Corcoran, a law firm. They are also  protracted. Funds pilfered by Ferdinand Marcos that were frozen in 1986  were not released to the Philippines government until 2002. Legal action  over the $200m that the UN estimates Pavlo Lazarenko, a former prime  minister, pinched from Ukraine in the 1990s still rumbles on, with a  dozen parties chasing assets in eastern Europe, America and Antigua.
Hordes of Western lawyers, accountants  and gumshoes have rushed to offer new Arab governments their help but  with a mostly poor harvest. Egypt’s main legal counsel, Stephenson  Harwood, has drawn fire for reportedly taking a large upfront fee but  producing few tangible results. The firm, based in London, says it does  not comment on specific assignments. Mohamed Shaban of MS Legal, who  helped recover Libya’s London mansion, says he works on a no-win, no-fee  basis: “it’s what my people [Libyans] understand.” Libya has been  plagued by investigative bounty-hunters hawking “evidence” for cash—and  for its part the post-Qaddafi government failed to co-ordinate its  response, allowing its agencies to sign a bevy of overlapping contracts.
Foreign officials say Arab prosecutors  lack knowledge of international law and the intricacies of offshore  structures. In the early post-revolutionary days (things have improved a  bit since) they would fire off mutual legal assistance (MLA) requests  without first doing the necessary investigative work to support them.  (MLA requests are made when a country needs help in another jurisdiction  to support an investigation.) The countries grew irritated when they  did not receive a quick, positive response. Some requests were botched:  in one case, Egyptian prosecutors misunderstood the principle of “double  criminality”, which means a suspect can usually be extradited for  breaking the requesting country’s laws only if a similar law exists in  the extraditing country. “It’s hard for me to berate the West when my  client isn’t doing all it should,” says Mr Shaban.
Western governments have indeed been  criticised for their handling of MLA applications. Arab prosecutors  complain that their requests are often held up or rejected on  technicalities, fuelling suspicion that countries with large financial  centres are shielding those who trade in dirty money. Mr Shaban says it  is “disingenuous” for countries to respond to requests by saying,  “Here’s our procedure. Follow it.” Poor record keeping, weak  administration and inexperience mean countries such as Libya “need  hand-holding”.
But, for all these disappointments, the  mood is brightening a little. Switzerland, long a byword for obstruction  on tax secrecy, has been markedly more helpful in tracking down and  returning stolen public funds. It was the first country to freeze  Egyptian assets, less than an hour after Mr Mubarak resigned. New Swiss  laws facilitate asset recovery, most notably the “Lex Duvalier” of 2011,  named after Haiti’s former strongman. This allows the federal  authorities to return funds unilaterally to failed states that lack the  resources to build watertight cases. (Arab spring countries do  not—yet—qualify for such treatment.)
Under Swiss law, corrupt former regimes  can sometimes be classified as organised criminal groups, allowing the  burden of proof to be reversed. A law expected to be passed in 2015  would streamline the repatriation process further. Valentin Zellweger, a  Swiss foreign-ministry official who oversees asset recovery, has won  plaudits for his efforts to build trust with Arab counterparts. “If  there’s a problem, we talk. We have each other’s cell-phone numbers,” he  says.
A cynic might say that the Swiss have  been busy only because they accepted so much dirty money in the first  place. Swiss bankers have long viewed politically exposed persons (PEPs  in the jargon of anti-money-laundering efforts) as “strategic clients”.  Bank accounts may not be the most important target: the dodgiest clients  favour harder-to-trace gold or bearer securities. And Swiss  co-operation only goes so far. In January a federal court in effect put  asset repatriation on hold when it blocked Egyptian officials’ access to  Swiss case files, citing political turmoil and the potential misuse of  confidential data.
urning the tables
Egypt has been the most forceful at  pushing back against unhelpful foreign governments. Last year it sued  the British government in an English court, seeking a judicial review of  its efforts. Britain, a popular haunt for Arab elites, has frozen  Egyptian property and bank accounts worth just £85m ($130m). It waited  more than a month after the revolution before moving against assets  linked to Mr Mubarak and 18 associates: ample time to move money  elsewhere. British officials argue they had to wait for a European Union  sanctions order to take effect. Egypt says that as of February, Britain  had refused 15 of 25 requests for assistance. British officials say  they merely asked for more information.
A BBC investigation last year found that  two companies and a £10m property in Knightsbridge, a prime bit of  central London, appeared not to have been frozen despite compelling  links to the Mubarak clan, some of it easily garnered through  public-records searches. One firm had been set up by a former minister’s  wife seven months after she was put on the sanctions list.
But Britain has now formed a  “task-force” to speed up its work with Egypt and has put a prosecutor in  the region to provide technical assistance. “We recognise the moral  imperative to return assets as quickly as possible,” says Jeremy Browne,  the minister in charge.
America and Switzerland, too, have  experts in the field to help with evidence-gathering and the drafting of  MLA requests. America’s Department of Justice even has a “kleptocracy”  unit. Public and private international bodies run training workshops for  Arab lawyers and sleuths. Experienced former prosecutors from the  Basel-based International Centre for Asset Recovery run courses that  draw on real cases and groom the best students to train others when they  return home.
The Stolen Asset Recovery Initiative  (StAR), a UN-World Bank project, also provides training and technical  assistance. But its most important role is to foster ties between the  countries seeking looted money and those sitting on it. That may simply  be fixing meetings between their police, prosecutors and  financial-intelligence experts. Informal communication means that “by  the time you formally request assistance you know it will be accepted,”  says Jean Pesme, StAR’s coordinator.
The Gulf state of Qatar is acting as a  different sort of intermediary. Its attorney-general, Ali bin Fetais  al-Marri, helped the return of $29m from Lebanon to Tunisia and is  trying to broker similar deals for Egypt. But this has fostered  suspicion: that the Qataris are helping mainly in order to learn more  about stolen assets and be better positioned to buy them on the cheap.
Such insinuations may be cynical, but  bargains are likely. Some of the construction and industrial projects  used by the Mubarak regime to siphon off public funds are likely to  collapse. The banks that backed them are now distressed sellers. An  early look at the books could help a prospective buyer. Qatari officials  deny all such notions. But the country makes no secret of its interest  in the Egyptian economy. It has invested in several large firms, though  it recently failed in its bid to buy the largest investment bank, EFG  Hermes.
Whatever the Qataris’ motives, they  could prove useful in efforts to recover looted funds concealed in the  Arab world. Large sums are thought to be in Saudi Arabia and Dubai,  probably in property and other assets with murky ownership. French  police hint that more than €70m ($93m) in gold was moved to Dubai and  Istanbul via French airports by Mr Ben Ali’s staff during Tunisia’s  revolution. (French customs officials apparently reported the transfers  to superiors but no action was taken.) Arab financial centres have a  poor record in money-laundering cases.
But impatient governments are now  cutting deals. Under Egypt’s new reconciliation law, sentences may be  overturned or prosecutions dropped if former regime cronies hand back a  wad of money.
In March Rachid Mohamed Rachid, a former  trade and industry minister convicted in absentia of squandering public  funds, was taken off the to-be-arrested list after he paid back 15m  Egyptian pounds (about $2.2m). Prosecutors are negotiating through  intermediaries with Hussein Salem, a longtime Mubarak confidant who grew  rich buying industrial assets at derisory prices. Mr Salem is in Spain,  which has so far refused to extradite him. He is believed to have  offered to give up half of his wealth. Next in line to cut a deal could  be the former ruling family: for instance, Suzanne Mubarak, the  ex-president’s wife, is believed to be open to negotiations over the  return of an unknown sum parked in a Swiss foundation that she controls.
What to tell the voters
The new government of Muhammad Morsi is  trying to find a way to make such deals acceptable to the Egyptian  public. They could be seen as cop-outs if they allow the ex-cronies to  avoid prison in exchange for handing over a small portion of their loot.  Their disclosed or discovered wealth is likely to fall far short of  their total holdings. Osama Diab of the Egyptian Initiative for Personal  Rights, an NGO, worries that the settlements could undermine efforts in  Switzerland and Britain to link frozen assets to crimes so that courts  can sanction their return.
However, economic necessity means that  securing something now may look better than waiting years in the hope of  recovering more. Cherif Bassiouni, a world-renowned expert in  international criminal law (and an Egyptian), thinks the government may  try to make the settlements more palatable to the public by presenting  them as a revenue-generating requirement of any loan deal struck with  the IMF.
In the meantime, prosecutors will  continue to pursue illicit gains through the courts. Criminal cases will  continue to be hard to build, but other options include civil cases  known as non-conviction forfeitures. American prosecutors have used them  over the years to chase the assets of various bigwigs, including most  recently Teodorin Obiang, the Lamborghini-loving son of Equatorial  Guinea’s president. In some jurisdictions, the burden is on the asset’s  owner to show he had sufficient legitimate funds to acquire it. This can  be tricky for someone who has spent his entire career ostensibly in the  public sector.
With such tools available, and with  co-operation now improving slightly, asset-recovery specialists are  hopeful that something meaningful can be achieved before October, when  officials from Arab countries, the G8 and Switzerland will gather to  review progress. NGOs are doing their bit to identify suspicious assets.  In March, for instance, the Corner House, a British anti-corruption  organisation, dug up evidence of the involvement of the former Egyptian  leader’s son, Gamal Mubarak, in a private-equity affiliate of  EFG-Hermes. The bank later said that to the best of its knowledge he  still owns an 18% stake in the firm.
Law lessons
To have a fighting chance, asset  recovery needs strong political support. This is in short supply,  woefully so in Egypt. To be fair, ministers there have other worries  too. But they could have done more. Responsibility for asset recovery is  splintered between justice ministries, prosecutors-general and special  committees. Mutual suspicion abounds. Staff turnover is high, mirroring  the coming and going of ministers in the post-revolution tumult.  Asset-recovery officials are sometimes oddly reluctant to move cases  forward. One reason may be fear of retribution from people linked to the  former regimes who retain influence even when out of power.
Egypt has also been slow to appreciate  the time due process takes in advanced legal systems. Cases must take  human-rights laws into account. Linking assets to specific crimes is not  easy. Gamal Mubarak worked for years as a financier in London. How to  prove that his property there was bought with the proceeds of corruption  rather than legitimate earnings? Many of his investments are owned  jointly with third parties, complicating asset seizure further.
The absence of convictions at home slows  things, too. Thanks to a pliant legislature, the Mubarak regime was  able to make dodgy transactions look legal. Mr Mubarak and his sons were  acquitted of corruption last year, though they are being retried. Not  all convictions will count abroad. Mr Bassiouni doubts that the numerous  Egyptian judgments rendered in absentia against fugitive Mubarakites  would pass muster if challenged in the European Court of Human Rights.
Late last year he was asked by Mr Morsi  to draft a national asset-recovery strategy. the president followed his  recommendation to set up an inter-agency committee to co-ordinate  government efforts. But the president could not resist establishing a  separate committee, headed by the vice-president; other suggestions were  rejected for unclear reasons. Helping Egypt in this area can feel like  “an almost impossible mission,” says Mr Bassiouni.
Mr Shaban expects to bring more claims  this year. He says cases are being bolstered by information supplied by  former regime figures under interrogation. Meanwhile, the Qaddafi  mansion in London that he helped recover for Libya remains a fitting  symbol of the ups and downs of asset-recovery efforts. Nestled in a  quiet cul-de-sac in the lush suburb of Hampstead, the property is “a bit  dilapidated” and hasn’t been put up for sale because “no one can make a  decision about what to do with it,” says Mr Shaban. “But at least the  Libyan people have it back. It’s going nowhere.”
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Judul: Abacha's Thieving Spree Honoured by The Economists of London
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