"We are not attractive to the ethically challenged"

British Virgin Islands executive director protests against tax haven image.

"We are not attractive to the ethically challenged," protests Elise Donovan, executive director of the British Virgin Islands’ financial centre. Donovan is saying that everything you think you know about the BVI – banking secrecy, half a million companies for under 25,000 residents – is wrong, or at least good.

"People who have strong business acumen know about the BVI. We have to educate the people don’t know the facts. People who know business know that the BVI is a reputable, above-board jurisdiction… There’s a misconception that we are in some sort of illicit activity, when we are part of the wheels of commerce in the global financial world."

Speaking at BVI House in Mayfair, alongside Dr Orlando Smith OBE, premier of the British Virgin Islands, and financial secretary Neil Smith, Donovan seems to chafe at the BVI’s reputation, not enhanced recently by the revelation in The Guardian of high-profile figures who had offshore accounts there.

Mongolia’s former finance minister and François Hollande’s 2012 election campaign co-treasurer were both fingered (not for illegal activity), as were Scot Young (went to jail rather than reveal assets) and Baroness Carmen Thyssen-Bornemisza (owns her art there).

Perhaps Donovan has a point. As I wrote in April, when the story broke, no-one made the point that there is nothing nefarious about legitimate offshore banking. I also argued that the investigation constitutes invasion of financial confidentiality on an enormous scale – also a point overlooked by many in their fervent tax-haven bashing. (Tax justice campaigner Richard Murphy was one who celebrated the leak.)

How was this information obtained, I ask Premier Smith (pictured left). Given that the BVI pride themselves on their banking confidentiality, the report must have been extremely embarrassing for the island’s IFC as well as off-putting for potential customers.

"[The information] was acquired illegally," Smith says firmly, "but we’re not exactly sure how. We were shocked, but we were comforted by the fact that it did not originate from our regulatory system, from the IFC or from any structures in the BVI."

Just how the data was obtained remains to be discovered, but I wonder if the premier is worried that the BVI will have sustained a reputational hit as a result of its release. He says that customers – both current and potential - needn’t be worried about the IFC’s commitment to confidentiality, despite the report.

People aren’t going to see it like that though. The BVI is not alone here in feeling that it is misunderstood as a "tax haven", in which billions of illegitimately acquired offshore dollars are stored in obscure bank accounts: all IFCs, it seems – and not just those in idyllic, sun-dosed islands – are being tarred with the same brush. As Smith says, "Any jurisdiction that deals with financial services is called a tax haven. That is just a name people use but it’s not what it’s about."

There is a difference, often overlooked, between confidentiality – in which the BVI IFC maintains "very high standards" – and secrecy, which it does not tolerate, says the premier: ‘Secrecy suggests that someone wants to hide something, confidentiality suggests you simply don’t want to have your information public. You wouldn’t want your bank information public, for example.’

I certainly wouldn’t – although I suspect it would be dull enough to avoid serious scrutiny – but some point to other aspects of the BVI to justify their suspicions that a lot of people there are up to no good. They point to the 500,000 active registered companies on the BVI, for example, so I ask financial secretary Neil Smith what they’re actually used for.

His response, at a slight angle to the question, is clearly motivated by frustration with the IFC’s public image: "The biggest misconception for me is that it is not possible to find out who owns a particular company [in the BVI]. Yes, the public won’t know, but if the UK government want to know who owns a particular BVI company then they need only ask, and that information will be provided." The BVI has 24 Tax Information Exchange Agreements in place with other countries, and signed its most recent with Canada on 21 May.

Smith is also annoyed at the idea that billions of dollars are actually stored in the BVI: "We don’t keep money here. It’s true that the BVI owns a lot of assets, but they’re not in the BVI. They may be in London or Hong Kong, but they’re not actually held here."

Even if they were though – assuming they had not been criminally acquired – that would not automatically make the account holders morally suspect. Of course, that’s never going to be the headline.

Neil Smith pleads for a fair go: "It’d be nice if the BVI is recognised for the quality of its IFC. Just put us on a level playing field, and treat us in an objective manner." Whether, in a world where large governments are bullying smaller governments to name names so they can cream off tax (the decimation of banking secrecy is incidental), the BVI will get fairness remains to be seen.

This article first appeared on Spears

Photograph: Getty Images

Mark Nayler is a senior researcher at Spear's magazine.

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In the 1980s, I went to a rally where Labour Party speakers shared the stage with men in balaclavas

The links between the Labour left and Irish republicanism are worth investigating.

A spat between Jeremy Corbyn’s henchfolk and Conor McGinn, the MP for St Helens North, caught my ear the other evening. McGinn was a guest on BBC Radio 4’s Westminster Hour, and he obligingly revisited the brouhaha for the listeners at home. Apparently, following an interview in May, in which McGinn called for Corbyn to “reach out beyond his comfort zone”, he was first threatened obliquely with the sack, then asked for a retraction (which he refused to give) and finally learned – from someone in the whips’ office – that his party leader was considering phoning up McGinn’s father to whip the errant whipper-in into line. On the programme, McGinn said: “The modus operandi that he [Corbyn] and the people around him were trying to do [sic], involving my family, was to isolate and ostracise me from them and from the community I am very proud to come from – which is an Irish nationalist community in south Armagh.”

Needless to say, the Labour leader’s office has continued to deny any such thing, but while we may nurture some suspicions about his behaviour, McGinn was also indulging in a little airbrushing when he described south Armagh as an “Irish ­nationalist community”. In the most recent elections, Newry and Armagh returned three Sinn Fein members to the Northern Ireland Assembly (as against one Social Democratic and Labour Party member) and one Sinn Fein MP to Westminster. When I last looked, Sinn Fein was still a republican, rather than a nationalist, party – something that McGinn should only be too well aware of, as the paternal hand that was putatively to have been lain on him belongs to Pat McGinn, the former Sinn Fein mayor of Newry and Armagh.

According to the Irish News, a “close friend” of the McGinns poured this cold water on the mini-conflagration: “Anybody who knows the McGinn family knows that Pat is very proud of Conor and that they remain very close.” The friend went on to opine: “He [Pat McGinn] found the whole notion of Corbyn phoning him totally ridiculous – as if Pat is going to criticise his son to save Jeremy Corbyn’s face. They would laugh about it were it not so sinister.”

“Sinister” does seem the mot juste. McGinn, Jr grew up in Bessbrook during the Troubles. I visited the village in the early 1990s on assignment. The skies were full of the chattering of British army Chinooks, and there were fake road signs in the hedgerows bearing pictograms of rifles and captioned: “Sniper at work”. South Armagh had been known for years as “bandit country”. There were army watchtowers standing sentinel in the dinky, green fields and checkpoints everywhere, manned by some of the thousands of the troops who had been deployed to fight what was, in effect, a low-level counter-insurgency war. Nationalist community, my foot.

What lies beneath the Corbyn-McGinn spat is the queered problematics of the ­relationship between the far left wing of the Labour Party and physical-force Irish republicanism. I also recall, during the hunger strikes of the early 1980s, going to a “Smash the H-Blocks” rally in Kilburn, north London, at which Labour Party speakers shared the stage with representatives from Sinn Fein, some of whom wore balaclavas and dark glasses to evade the telephoto lenses of the Met’s anti-terrorist squad.

The shape-shifting relationship between the “political wing” of the IRA and the men with sniper rifles in the south Armagh bocage was always of the essence of the conflict, allowing both sides a convenient fiction around which to posture publicly and privately negotiate. In choosing to appear on platforms with people who might or might not be terrorists, Labour leftists also sprinkled a little of their stardust on themselves: the “stardust” being the implication that they, too, under the right circumstances, might be capable of violence in pursuit of their political ends.

On the far right of British politics, Her Majesty’s Government and its apparatus are referred to derisively as “state”. There were various attempts in the 1970s and 1980s by far-right groupuscules to link up with the Ulster Freedom Fighters and other loyalist paramilitary organisations in their battle against “state”. All foundered on the obvious incompetence of the fascists. The situation on the far left was different. The socialist credentials of Sinn Fein/IRA were too threadbare for genuine expressions of solidarity, but there was a sort of tacit confidence-and-supply arrangement between these factions. The Labour far left provided the republicans with the confidence that, should an appropriately radical government be elected to Westminster, “state” would withdraw from Northern Ireland. What the republicans did for the mainland militants was to cloak them in their penumbra of darkness: without needing to call down on themselves the armed might of “state”, they could imply that they were willing to take it on, should the opportunity arise.

I don’t for a second believe that Corbyn was summoning up these ghosts of the insurrectionary dead when he either did or did not threaten to phone McGinn, Sr. But his supporters need to ask themselves what they’re getting into. Their leader, if he was to have remained true to the positions that he has espoused over many years, should have refused to sit as privy counsellor upon assuming his party office, and refused all the other mummery associated with the monarchical “state”. That he didn’t do so was surely a strategic decision. Such a position would make him utterly unelectable.

The snipers may not be at work in south Armagh just now – but there are rifles out there that could yet be dug up. I wouldn’t be surprised if some in Sinn Fein knew where they are, but one thing’s for certain: Corbyn hasn’t got a clue, bloody or otherwise. 

Will Self is an author and journalist. His books include Umbrella, Shark, The Book of Dave and The Butt. He writes the Madness of Crowds and Real Meals columns for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser