DFID squeezes £70m from the private sector

Actis Capital complains of "strong arm" tactics

The Department for International Development has sold its 40 per cent stake in the emerging markets investment company it set up in 2004, Actis Capital. In return, DFID is receiving $10m in cash and a large share of future profits, expected to be worth over $100m over the next ten years.

The company was spun out of the Commonwealth Development Corporation when its managers paid £373,000 for 60 per cent of the business. It has gone on to become one of the world's leading private-equity firms specialising in emerging markets, but in that time the revenue to the taxpayer for its minority share has been zero.

Despite the fact that DFID was supposed to receive 80 per cent of the company's profits, no payments were made, because the company had set up a charitable arm which reduced reported profits to zero. In 2011, Andrew Mitchell, the secretary of state for international development, told the Commons that he was "amazed and surprised at the way the management of Actis have so enthusiastically exploited the taxpayer's position."

What is fascinating about this sell-off is that Mitchell apparently decided that, since Actis' managers weren't playing fair, he wasn't going to either. The government's financial adviser suggested that its share in Actis was worth between $3m and nothing, yet they managed to get almost forty times that. The BBC's Robert Peston reports how:

It is understood that Mr Mitchell - a former banker at Lazard - threatened to use the government's residual shareholding to frustrate the smooth operation of the business. For example he has the right to veto the appointment of Actis's chair and one non-executive.

The government will have been emboldened by the political background of the Actis spin-off, since the Conservatives have always maintained that Gordon Brown privatised it for far below its fair value; yet from a party which is so often accused of using privatisation to give "hand-outs" to private-sector allies, it is rather refreshing to see genuine antagonism.

DFID secretary, Andrew Mitchell. Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Inside a shaken city: "I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester”

The morning after the bombing of the Manchester Arena has left the city's residents jumpy.

On Tuesday morning, the streets in Manchester city centre were eerily silent.

The commuter hub of Victoria Station - which backs onto the arena - was closed as police combed the area for clues, and despite Mayor Andy Burnham’s line of "business as usual", it looked like people were staying away.

Manchester Arena is the second largest indoor concert venue in Europe. With a capacity crowd of 18,000, on Monday night the venue was packed with young people from around the country - at least 22 of whom will never come home. At around 10.33pm, a suicide bomber detonated his device near the exit. Among the dead was an eight-year-old girl. Many more victims remain in hospital. 

Those Mancunians who were not alerted by the sirens woke to the news of their city's worst terrorist attack. Still, as the day went on, the city’s hubbub soon returned and, by lunchtime, there were shoppers and workers milling around Exchange Square and the town hall.

Tourists snapped images of the Albert Square building in the sunshine, and some even asked police for photographs like any other day.

But throughout the morning there were rumours and speculation about further incidents - the Arndale Centre was closed for a period after 11.40am while swathes of police descended, shutting off the main city centre thoroughfare of Market Street.

Corporation Street - closed off at Exchange Square - was at the centre of the city’s IRA blast. A postbox which survived the 1996 bombing stood in the foreground while officers stood guard, police tape fluttering around cordoned-off spaces.

It’s true that the streets of Manchester have known horror before, but not like this.

I spoke to students Beth and Melissa who were in the bustling centre when they saw people running from two different directions.

They vanished and ducked into River Island, when an alert came over the tannoy, and a staff member herded them through the back door onto the street.

“There were so many police stood outside the Arndale, it was so frightening,” Melissa told me.

“We thought it will be fine, it’ll be safe after last night. There were police everywhere walking in, and we felt like it would be fine.”

Beth said that they had planned a day of shopping, and weren’t put off by the attack.

“We heard about the arena this morning but we decided to come into the city, we were watching it all these morning, but you can’t let this stop you.”

They remembered the 1996 Arndale bombing, but added: “we were too young to really understand”.

And even now they’re older, they still did not really understand what had happened to the city.

“Theres nowhere to go, where’s safe? I just want to go home,” Melissa said. “I just want to be anywhere that’s not Manchester.”

Manchester has seen this sort of thing before - but so long ago that the stunned city dwellers are at a loss. In a city which feels under siege, no one is quite sure how anyone can keep us safe from an unknown threat

“We saw armed police on the streets - there were loads just then," Melissa said. "I trust them to keep us safe.”

But other observers were less comforted by the sign of firearms.

Ben, who I encountered standing outside an office block on Corporation Street watching the police, was not too forthcoming, except to say “They don’t know what they’re looking for, do they?” as I passed.

The spirit of the city is often invoked, and ahead of a vigil tonight in Albert Square, there will be solidarity and strength from the capital of the North.

But the community values which Mancunians hold dear are shaken to the core by what has happened here.

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