Tuesday, 6 September 2016

An Interesting "Malaysia Boleh" Story

1MDB: The inside story of the world’s biggest financial scandal
By Randeep Ramesh / The Guardian | July 29, 2016, 5:59 PM MYT

On 22 June 2015, Xavier Justo, a 48-year-old retired Swiss banker, walked towards the front door of his brand new boutique hotel on Koh Samui, a tropical Thai island. He had spent the past three years building the luxurious white-stone complex of chalets and apartments overlooking the shimmering sea and was almost ready to open for business. All he needed was a licence.

Justo had arrived in Thailand four years earlier, having fled the drab world of finance in London. In 2011, he and his girlfriend Laura toured the country on a motorbike and, two years later, they got married on a secluded beach. The couple eventually settled down in Koh Samui, a tourist hotspot, just an hour’s flight south of Bangkok. After trying out a couple of entrepreneurial ventures, Justo eventually decided that he would go into the hotel business. He bought a plot with an imposing house and began building: adding a gym, villas and a tennis court.

That June afternoon, he was expecting a visit from the tourism authorities to sign off on the paperwork. Instead, a squad of armed Thai police burst through the unlocked door, bundling Justo to the ground. The officers tied their plastic cuffs so tightly around Justo’s wrists that he bled on the dark tiled floor. The police quickly moved into his office, ripping out the computers and emptying the filing cabinets.

After two days in a ramshackle local jail, Justo was flown to Bangkok and paraded before the media, in a press conference befitting a mafia kingpin. Still wearing shorts and flip-flops, he was flanked by four commandos holding machine guns, while a quartet of senior Royal Thai Police officers briefed the assembled reporters on the charges against him.

Justo was charged with an attempt to blackmail his former employer, a little-known London-based oil-services company named PetroSaudi. But behind this seemingly mundane charge lay a much bigger story.

Six months earlier, Justo had handed a British journalist named Clare Rewcastle Brown thousands of documents, including 227,000 emails, from the servers of his former employer, PetroSaudi, which appeared to shed light on the alleged theft of hundreds of millions of dollars from a state-owned Malaysian investment fund known as 1MDB.

The documents that Justo leaked have set off a chain reaction of investigations in at least half a dozen countries, and led to what Loretta Lynch, the US attorney general, described last week as “the largest kleptocracy case” in US history.

According to lawsuits filed last week by the United States Department of Justice (DoJ), at least US$3.5bn has been stolen from 1MDB. The purpose of the fund, which was set up by Malaysia’s prime minister, Najib Razak, in 2009, was to promote economic development in a country where the median income stands at approximately £300 per month. Instead, the DoJ alleged that stolen money from 1MDB found its way to numerous associates of Prime Minister Najib, who subsequently went on a lavish spending spree across the world. It also accused Najib of receiving US$681m of cash from 1MDB – a claim he denied. Money from 1MDB, the US also claimed, helped to purchase luxury apartments in Manhattan, mansions in Los Angeles, paintings by Monet, a corporate jet, and even financed a major Hollywood movie.

The US justice department breaks the alleged theft down into three distinct phases: the first US$1bn defrauded under the “pretence of investing in a joint venture between 1MDB and PetroSaudi”; another US$1.4bn, raised by Goldman Sachs in a bond issue, misappropriated and fraudulently diverted to a Swiss offshore company; and US$1.3bn, also from money Goldman Sachs raised on the market, which was diverted to a Singapore account.

United States Department of Justice alleges that money from 1MDB was used to buy Claude Monet’s Nymphéas Avec Reflets de Hautes Herbes, valued at $57.5m. Photograph: David Levene for the Guardian
“A number of corrupt 1MDB officials treated this public trust as a personal bank account,” Lynch told the press last week. “The co-conspirators laundered their stolen funds through a complex web of opaque transactions and fraudulent shell companies, with bank accounts in countries around the world, including Switzerland, Singapore and the United States.” PetroSaudi, which is not a party to the lawsuit, denied the US allegations and said that the DoJ’s asset-forfeiture claims are “no more than untested allegations”.

Najib, who has used every ounce of his power to obstruct investigations into the scandal – a charge he denies – is not mentioned by name in the US lawsuits, which refer to him as “Malaysian Official 1”. But the man at the centre of the intricate swindle depicted in the US lawsuits is an adviser to Najib: Jho Low, a Harrow-educated 29-year-old friend of the prime minister’s stepson. Low, a babyfaced young man who likes to party with Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton – and calls his Goldman Sachs banker “bro”, according to the DoJ – is accused by the US of masterminding the theft of US$2bn from 1MDB, which was sent to bank accounts in Switzerland, Singapore and the Virgin Islands. Low has said that he has not broken any laws and was not being investigated.

Low’s sidekick is Riza Aziz, Najib’s stepson. Riza produced The Wolf of Wall Street – Martin Scorsese’s tale of corruption, decadence and greed – and both he and Low were thanked by name in Leonardo DiCaprio’s Golden Globes acceptance speech for best actor. In 2011, Low took a 20% stake in EMI, the world’s largest music-publishing company, for US$106m – in the same year, he bought a US$30m penthouse for his father at the Time Warner Center in Manhattan, overlooking Central Park. Riza’s Hollywood production company has said: “There has never been anything inappropriate about any of Red Granite Pictures or Riza Aziz’s business activities.”

All this and more is laid out in the US filing, which details claims of an amazing heist, carried out by conspirators who rinsed billions from the people of Malaysia through offshore accounts and shell companies in tax havens such as the Seychelles and British Virgin Islands. The scale of the enterprise echoes Balzac’s maxim that behind every great fortune lies a great crime.

Jho Low with Paris Hilton at an event in Paris. Photograph: GoffPhotos.com
The global effort to uncover Malaysia’s missing billions began with Xavier Justo. He leaked 90GB of data, including 227,000 emails, from his former employer PetroSaudi, an oil services company that had signed the first major deal with 1MDB. (PetroSaudi denies any wrongdoing.) Without these files, there would have been no reckoning.

Justo’s connection to PetroSaudi was his long friendship with one of the company’s two founders, a Saudi national named Tarek Obaid. The two men had met back in the late 1990s, when they both partied regularly in the nightclubs of Geneva. By 2006, the two men were inseparable: Justo had become an established businessman, running a large financial services firm, Fininfor, and the owner of a Geneva nightspot named the Platinum Club. Justo regarded Obaid as a “younger brother”, and in 2008, lent him US$30,000 and a desk in the Fininfor offices to help start up PetroSaudi.

Obaid and Justo were an unlikely pair, brought together by a love of the high life. Justo, the son of Spanish immigrants to Switzerland, did not go to university. Obaid is a graduate of Georgetown University’s prestigious School of Foreign Service. His brother, Nawaf, served as a special adviser to the Saudi ambassador to the UK. Obaid’s PetroSaudi co-founder, Prince Turki bin Abdullah, is the seventh son of the late King Abdullah bin Abdulaziz, who ruled Saudi Arabia from 2005 until his death in 2015.

When Justo left Geneva in 2009, PetroSaudi was little more than a name on a calling card, formally incorporated in London with an address at an anonymous business unit near Victoria. Two years later, it had taken in US$1.83bn.

PetroSaudi’s business was access capitalism: opening doors with the help of friends in high places. The basic idea was to capture a piece of the huge oil revenues being generated by state-owned firms in developing countries – treasure chests waiting to be unlocked by a firm that was a “vehicle of the Saudi royal family”, which could count on the “full support from the kingdom’s diplomatic corps”. PetroSaudi told potential partners that it controlled oil fields in central Asia, which it would put up as collateral to secure cash from state investors.

This was the pitch that landed PetroSaudi’s founders a meeting with the Malaysian prime minister in August 2009. Aboard a 92m megayacht off the coast of Monaco, Obaid and Prince Turki spent the day with Najib, his adviser Jho Low, and other members of the prime minister’s family. Snapshots taken at the meeting have the look of a holiday cruise – baseball caps and shorts – but their discussion was serious business. What resulted was a decision for Low and Obaid to work together on a deal that would allow them both to control mind-boggling sums of money.

Although Low held no formal position in the Malaysian government, he had become a trusted confidant to the prime minister. Despite his youth, Low had been instrumental in working with Goldman Sachs to set up a sovereign wealth fund to invest the revenues of an oil-rich Malaysian state.

Around the time that Low and Najib went boating with the PetroSaudi founders, the Malaysian central government took control of the wealth fund – which was soon renamed as 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB) and given a mandate to promote economic development in Malaysia. The fund had more than US$1bn to spend, and Prime Minister Najib had the sole power to approve investments and to hire and fire board members and managers. Low appeared to facilitate transactions – according to the DoJ, he even attended board meetings of 1MDB and acted as a link with the PM.

The new fund’s first major deal was signed a few weeks after the meeting with PetroSaudi – a US$2.5bn joint venture agreement between PetroSaudi and 1MDB, inked during a visit by Najib to Saudi Arabia in September 2009. The press release said that the joint venture would “make strategic investments in high-impact projects” and “underscored the confidence Saudi Arabia has in Malaysia”.

But, according to the US justice department, the deal was merely a “pretence” for “the fraudulent transfer of more than US$1bn from 1MDB to a Swiss bank account” controlled by Low – “a 29-year-old with no official position with 1MDB or PetroSaudi”. PetroSaudi has always maintained that all 1MDB funds were paid to entities owned by its shareholders.

The multibillion-dollar joint venture deal was completed with extraordinary speed – in less than a month. Shortly after the yacht meeting, on 28 August 2009, Obaid had introduced Low to Patrick Mahony – the company director who handled PetroSaudi’s business affairs. According to documents seen by the Guardian, Low and Mahony met for lunch in New York on 9 September to discuss the joint venture.

After dining at Masa – a sushi restaurant where the set menu costs US$540 a head – Mahony emailed Low the next day with an offer: “We know there are deals you are looking at where you may want to use PSI [PetroSaudi] … we would be happy to do that. You need to let us know where.” PetroSaudi said the documents seen by the Guardian are unreliable, stolen, fake and that they have been selectively quoted.

Less than three weeks later, the deal was done. PetroSaudi would contribute US$1.5bn in oil and gas assets to the joint venture, while 1MDB would inject US$1bn in cash.

According to the US court filing, 1MDB transferred US$300m into an account belonging to the PetroSaudi joint venture, but the remaining US$700m was sent to a Swiss account at RBS Coutts, controlled by a Seychelles-registered shell company named Good Star. The US justice department complaint alleges that Jho Low, and not PetroSaudi, was the beneficial owner and sole authorised signatory of Good Star. US authorities claim that officials at 1MDB provided false information to banks about the ownership of the Good Star account in order to divert the US$700m.


In documents seen by the Guardian, on 30 September 2009 PetroSaudi appears to direct that the US$700m be paid into an account controlled by the company – but three days later, when the compliance department at RBS Coutts requested further details about the name of the beneficiary account, the address given by 1MDB was the Good Star account. On the same day, 2 October, Low emailed Mahony to say “Shld be cleared soon”. PetroSaudi told the Guardian: “No money put into the joint venture by 1MDB was misappropriated or is missing. Its investment was repaid with profit … All transfers from 1MDB were paid with the full approval of the 1MDB board.”
According to documents seen by the Guardian, the Good Star transaction made Obaid, then 32, and Mahony, then 33, very rich men. Records indicate that on 30 September 2009, Good Star agreed to pay $85m to Obaid, which the Seychelles company described as a fee for “brokering services”. The money was deposited into Obaid’s Swiss JP Morgan account. At the same time, emails and legal documents indicate that Mahony was given a contract as “investment manager” for Good Star. On 20 October, Obaid emailed his contact at JP Morgan to request that US$33m be transferred into an account belonging to Mahony.

Four days later, Mahony began discussions to set up an offshore company to buy a £6.7m townhouse in Notting Hill – and by 12 November, contracts for the house had been exchanged. The former banker created a numbered bank account in Switzerland, and all payments for the purchase were made from this account, via a British Virgin Islands company that Mahony had set up.

In response to questions from the Guardian, PetroSaudi said the payment to Obaid was not a brokerage fee and that the transfer of US$33m to Mahony had nothing to do with the PetroSaudi-1MDB joint venture.

Laura and Xavier Justo were blissfully unaware of their friend Obaid’s changing fortunes. The couple were sunning themselves on Thailand’s Andaman coast in December 2009 when Obaid rang Justo offering him a director’s position in London with PetroSaudi. He told Justo the company had become an overnight success, but it needed someone who could help it grow.

Justo rejected Obaid’s initial offer, but he was eventually persuaded by the temptation of a well-paid “adventure”. According to Justo, Obaid promised him a salary of £400,000, “millions in bonuses” and the perk of a £10,000-a-week flat in Mayfair, central London. Justo pitched up in London in spring 2010, and by June was a PetroSaudi director. But he was kept out of the lucrative Asian business. Instead, Justo, a native Spanish speaker, was tasked with launching a new operation in Venezuela, and spent much of 2011 flying between London and Caracas.

Between September 2010 and May 2011, 1MDB agreed to lend an additional US$830m to the joint venture with PetroSaudi – bringing 1MDB’s total investment to US$1.83bn. Of these new payments, US officials allege, US$330m was paid into the Swiss account they say was controlled by Low, on the basis of a request by Obaid – who is identified in the US legal complaint as “PetroSaudi CEO”.

Emails and bank records seen by the Guardian suggest that in the nine months from September 2010, Obaid transferred US$77m from his Swiss JP Morgan account to his PetroSaudi co-founder, Prince Turki bin Abdullah. According to the US authorities, banking records show that in the spring of 2011, Prince Turki also received US$24m from the Good Star account controlled by Low – and that “within days”, US$20m from these funds was transferred to an account belonging to the Malaysian prime minister, Najib.

Meanwhile, Low was becoming known on the New York club scene as a fixer for the global super-rich – snapped by paparazzi swigging magnums of Cristal with R&B singers and Hollywood stars. According to US authorities, Low spent US$100m from the joint venture transactions on properties in Hollywood and US$40m on New York apartments. The funding for The Wolf of Wall Street, the US complaint alleges, can be directly traced to the billion dollars diverted from the PetroSaudi joint venture.

Xavier and Laura Justo. Photograph: Javier Justo for the Guardian
In the meantime, Justo was growing disaffected with working conditions at PetroSaudi. According to his wife, Laura, the first sign of discontent was his discovery that his salary payments were only about half of what Justo said Obaid had offered him – a slight that was compounded when he learned that the promised multimillion-pound bonus would be considerably less than that – more like six figures than seven.

There were other niggles, too. He complained to Laura that he was often paid late, and sometimes not at all. He claimed that he ended up paying rent on the flat in Mayfair that was supposed to be covered by his employers.

At first, Justo told Laura, he thought these were just mishaps – nothing malicious, just poor corporate bookkeeping. But he became increasingly dismayed by Obaid’s behaviour. Justo told friends that Obaid had become “arrogant” after striking it rich. Justo was especially disturbed by what he described as changes in his younger Saudi friend – telling other people that Obaid had become irrational, and displayed “uncontrollable” rage.

Justo and Obaid’s long friendship, stretched to breaking point over 12 months of highly charged corporate life, finally snapped. At the end of 2010, Justo missed a flight for an important meeting. He apologised to Obaid, but according to Justo, his friend “went mad”, sending him a stream of abuse, via text messages and emails.

Sick with worry, Justo decided to resign in March 2011. In the angry email exchanges that followed, Obaid called Justo “arrogant” and a “smart ass”. In April, things came to a head in Mayfair. Amid the marble, dark leather and metal art deco detailing of the exclusive Connaught hotel bar, Mahony and Justo hammered out the terms of his departure. According to Justo, Mahony had agreed to pay him about 6.5m Swiss francs (£5m) in severance. However, in the midst of a heated conversation, Mahony’s phone rang. It was Obaid, who apparently told Mahony to settle on 5m Swiss francs (£3.85m). Justo, who had poured his heart out to Mahony, telling him he was at his “lowest point emotionally”, shed tears. A day later, Justo claims that he was told his severance package would, in fact, be 4m Swiss francs (£3m).

As the rancour set in, Justo took a copy of the data on the PetroSaudi servers. In September 2013, a little more than two years after he had left PetroSaudi, Justo sent a fateful email to Mahony. Justo was insistent that he be paid what was owed to him, warning that he had a file of information on PetroSaudi. “The official side paints a nice picture but the reality is commissions, commissions, commissions,” he wrote.

In the furious exchanges that followed, Mahony accused Justo of blackmail. Mahony presciently told his former colleague: “What troubles me so much is the way in which I see this situation ending – with the destruction of you.”

A few months earlier, over a Chinese meal in London, the journalist who would break open the 1MDB scandal first heard rumours about an extraordinary heist in Malaysia. Clare Rewcastle Brown met a contact at a restaurant in Bayswater who showed her screen grabs of internal documents from PetroSaudi: on a single printed page, there were highlights of PetroSaudi’s dealings with 1MDB, under the heading “Thousands of documents related to the deal (emails, faxes and transcripts)”. She recognised the names and the deal. Her heart skipped a beat. “A bomb went off in my head,” Brown recalled. She knew right away that this was a huge story.

Rewcastle Brown is a classic British rebel at the heart of the establishment. She was born on the island of Borneo – part of which now belongs to Malaysia – when it was still part of the British empire, where her father was a colonial policeman and head of the local intelligence service. Her brother-in-law is the former British prime minister Gordon Brown. After working as a reporter for the BBC, in 2010 Rewcastle Brown set up Sarawak Report, a website dedicated to uncovering corruption in the place of her birth.

Working out of her tiny kitchen in central London, she published story after story exposing corruption in the timber and oil industries that were despoiling the country’s rainforests for profit. Her email was hacked and she received death threats, but she carried on, regardless. Early in 2013, Malaysian politicians labelled her an “enemy of the state”. Rather than be cowed, she considered this a badge of honour. In person, Rewcastle Brown is a curious mix of the bawdy and the brave, almost to the point of recklessness. Her mantra: “I just want the story.”

After the meeting in Bayswater, Rewcastle Brown knew she needed to get the 1MDB documents. The first hurdle was that the source of the PetroSaudi papers apparently wanted millions for the information. It was money she did not have.

Another stumbling block was that no journalist in Malaysia wanted to touch the story. In Malaysia, Prime Minister Najib had just won a tightly contested election, and was flush with power. Rumours were swirling around the cache of PetroSaudi documents – some said the Russian mafia was behind the data dump, while others speculated that it might be an elaborate trap, set by the prime minister to ensnare his critics.

Undeterred, Rewcastle Brown arranged with her contact to meet the source in Thailand. In October 2013, she pitched up at the lobby of the Plaza Athénée hotel, in Bangkok. She had told her husband she was hoping to meet a “balding bespectacled short Swiss guy”. Instead, into the foyer stepped Xavier Justo – muscular and 6ft 6in tall. Rewcastle Brown was faced with a “physically imposing, extremely elegant” man. “Oh my God,” she thought. “This guy is going to duff me up.”

But Justo admitted that he was just as scared as she was. According to Rewcastle Brown, he seemed “very, very nervous” and repeatedly warned her that “the people we were dealing with were ruthless, had huge amounts of money and were very, very powerful – and they could do what they liked to us”.

Justo told Rewcastle Brown that he wanted US$2m in exchange for the PetroSaudi-1MDB documents. It was, he said, the money he should have been paid when he left PetroSaudi.

Although he shared a few documents at the meeting, Justo was adamant: no cash, no data. Rewcastle Brown needed to find a rich person prepared to pay for the papers.

At around this time, concerns about 1MDB had begun to spread in Malaysia. Financial analysts pointed out that the fund was not generating enough cash to cover interest payments on the billions of dollars of debt it had acquired. The hundreds of millions that had been spent on art work, jewellery, real estate, gambling and parties did not realise any return on the “investment”. By 2014, Prime Minister Najib’s political opponents had taken to taunting him with the accusation that the wealth fund should be renamed “1Malaysia’s Debt of Billions”.

In August 2014, Najib received another political blow. Mahathir Mohamad, the towering figure of modern Malaysian politics who served as prime minister from 1981 to 2003, announced that he was withdrawing support for Najib, his former protege. In the weeks that followed, Mahathir became more vocal in his criticism, warning that 1MDB was adding to Malaysia’s dangerously high debt levels.

This warning went unheeded. The fund’s debt swelled. By November 2014, 1MDB owed almost US$11bn. Najib, who chaired the fund’s advisory board, appeared unconcerned, telling the state news agency that the government was not liable for the debt if the fund went bankrupt.

The journalist Clare Rewcastle Brown helped uncover the Malaysian money trail. Photograph: Felix Clay for the Guardian
As the crisis deepened, Rewcastle Brown continued her quest for a person willing to pay Justo for the PetroSaudi-1MDB documents. She noticed that some of the most searching reporting on the scandal had appeared in Malaysia’s best-selling business weekly,The Edge. Sensing that she may have found a wealthy ally, Rewcastle Brown contacted the Edge’s owner, Tong Kooi Ong, a former banker turned media tycoon, who owned a number of business publications.

In January 2015, Tong, Rewcastle Brown and Justo met in a five-star Bangkok hotel, the Fullerton. Tong booked a conference room, and brought a number of IT experts, as well as the editor of The Edge, Kay Tat. At the meeting, Justo laid out the 1MDB joint venture, making the same claims that the US Department of Justice would set out 18 months later: namely that hundreds of millions of dollars that were intended for economic development in Malaysia had instead been diverted into a Seychelles-based company. The man at the centre of the transaction was alleged to be Najib’s adviser and family friend, Jho Low.

It was a potentially huge scoop. Tong agreed to pay Justo US$2m. Tong and Rewcastle Brown were immediately handed disk drives with the data. But the payment was never made. Justo did not want the money in cash, and he worried that a large transfer of funds into his account would look suspicious. Tong offered Justo one of his Monets as collateral – but Justo declined, and said “no, I trust you”. Rewcastle Brown finally had the documents she had been chasing for 18 months.

On 28 February 2015, Rewcastle Brown posted the first big story online – under a typically unrestrained headline: “HEIST OF THE CENTURY!” The article claimed to show how US$700m had disappeared from the 1MDB joint venture and found its way into various offshore companies and Swiss bank accounts.

The impact of the article was felt around the world. In the US, law enforcement officials who had been alerted to reports that Low was spending huge amounts on New York apartments now had a fix on the possible source of his wealth.

While researching the story, Rewcastle Brown had teamed up with the Sunday Times, which helped her decrypt the files Justo had given to her. The paper ran an interview with Mahathir, the former Malaysian prime minister, who called for an immediate investigation and a full audit. “Somebody must be doing something stupid to part with US$700m for no very good reason as far as I can see,” he said.

In Malaysia, the response was immediate. On 1 March 2015, 1MDB’s management claimed that it had exited the joint venture in 2012, and that it had received back its investment in full, with an additional profit of US$488m. PetroSaudi claimed that the US$700m had all gone to “PetroSaudi-owned entities” – denying, in other words, that companies controlled by Jho Low had received payments in the deal.

Not long before Rewcastle Brown’s story broke, 1MDB’s bonds had been effectively downgraded to junk. After another £200m of Malaysian government funds were required to plug a hole in 1MDB’s finances, Najib bowed to the inevitable and ordered investigations by the country’s auditor general and the parliamentary accounts committee. Soon, the country’s central bank and anti-corruption agency were also looking at 1MDB. Malaysia’s top policeman was reported as saying that the prime minister would also be investigated.

Najib tightened his grip on power. As prime minister and finance minister, he wielded enormous authority: in April, the government pushed through harsh penalties and restrictions on free speech, particularly on social media. Five executives of Tong’s The Edge Media Group – which had also published details of the PetroSaudi deal – were arrested for sedition. The government also introduced a new law, ostensibly aimed at terrorists, which allowed suspects to be detained indefinitely. In July 2015, The Edge weekly was banned from publishing.

Although the scandal only seemed to be getting bigger, it had not ensnared Prime Minister Najib personally. Then, on 2 July, Rewcastle Brown and the Wall Street Journal reported that Malaysian government investigators had discovered that US$681m from banks, agencies and companies with ties to 1MDB had been deposited in Najib’s private accounts in 2013. A few days later, investigators raided the offices of 1MDB.

Najib was now at the centre of a corruption probe relating to allegations that billions of dollars had disappeared from a Malaysian investment fund he controlled. Deputy Prime Minister Muhyiddin Yassin, once a supporter of Najib, publicly called on him to answer questions about the fund. It seemed that Najib was cornered.

On the morning of Monday 28 July, the attorney general, Abdul Gani Patail – a party loyalist who had previously gone after the prime minister’s opponents – arrived at his office expecting to finalise corruption charges against Najib. The indictment, which Rewcastle Brown later obtained and published, would have charged the prime minister with corruption resulting from the investigations into 1MDB.

The attorney general never got to press those charges. On reaching his office, he was summarily dismissed by a civil servant. In a public statement, Najib said the country’s top legal officer was too ill to continue in the role. Also relieved of their posts were the head of special branch and the deputy prime minister. Meanwhile, four members of the investigating parliamentary accounts committee were promoted, without any choice, to cabinet positions, which left them with no power to continue investigating, and the committee’s work was declared suspended. The next day, a mysterious fire swept through police headquarters, where records of white-collar crimes were kept.

It seemed that Najib was in control again.

Malaysia’s Prime Minister Najib Razak strengthened his grip on power as the 1MDB scandal gathered pace. Photograph: Reuters
The crackdown revealed a ruthless side to Najib. However, there was a loose end that could unravel everything: Xavier Justo. Not only had Justo leaked information about 1MDB’s dealings with PetroSaudi, he was also a potential star witness in any future court proceedings about the financial scandal.

After Justo was arrested for blackmail and flown to Bangkok in June 2015, he was placed in a cell with 70 other prisoners. The floor was covered with sweat and urine, and the room was so tightly packed that prisoners could not sleep on their backs. According to Justo’s wife Laura, her husband’s first foreign visitor was his former friend, colleague and PetroSaudi director, Patrick Mahony. Smooth and charming, Mahony flashed a smile and said he was there to help.

Laura says that Mahony offered Justo a deal: confess and plead guilty, and PetroSaudi will get you out of here by the end of the year. Justo reluctantly agreed. He signed a confession – without a lawyer present – which claimed that he had attempted to blackmail his former employers, and apologised to Mahony and Obaid “for the harm stress and anxiety I caused them”.
According to Laura, a man who claimed to be a Scotland Yard detective – and later told her he had been hired by PetroSaudi – took down Justo’s confession. (PetroSaudi told the Guardian that Justo had “illegally obtained commercially sensitive, confidential and private documentation” and was in prison for “blackmail and extortion”.)

Justo was sentenced on 17 August 2015 at Southern Bangkok criminal court. At the trial he was granted a translator, but his lawyer did not turn up, sending an assistant instead. The trial and sentencing took 15 minutes. Justo got three years in a Thai jail for attempting to blackmail a UK company out of US$2m.

Life behind bars in Klong Prem Central prison, where Justo is incarcerated, is not for the fainthearted. In a city where temperatures rarely drop below 26C, Justo shares a cramped “VIP” cell with 25 other prisoners. Breakfast is at 7am. Water is rationed. Prisoners have no food after 3pm. There is a small bathroom area at the rear of the cell, which consists of a tap and a hole in the floor for a lavatory.

As 2015 wore on and it became clear that her husband was not going to be out of jail by the end of the year, Laura grew increasingly suspicious of her contacts at PetroSaudi. A series of stories in the Swiss and Malaysian press purporting to tell Justo’s side of the story depicted him as an unwitting pawn in a political plot against the Malaysian prime minister. Things were not getting better for Justo – they were getting worse. In his prison cell, Justo was now sleeping on a thin blanket – his mattress was withdrawn a few months after he arrived, as was his exercise hour.

Laura came to believe that Justo was a victim of a deceit by his former friends, who tricked him into confessing and handing over copies of PetroSaudi’s servers, in an attempt to protect themselves and their Malaysian associates by burying the case. In May 2016, in a last-gasp effort to save her husband, Laura turned to the one person who she knew Justo trusted: Rewcastle Brown, who brought her to the Guardian.

When I met Laura in June 2016, she was at first calm and composed, but broke into tears when speaking about her husband, her voice cracking with emotion. Justo has not seen their son since he was eight months old. “I only want justice to be done,” Laura recently wrote in an email. “Xavier was no thief, he was only asking for what he had been promised. Even through this darkest and most difficult time of his life, which is right now, he writes to me that he is keeping strong for our son and I – that he will fight for us whatever it takes.”

Since reaching out to Rewcastle Brown and the Guardian, Laura has handed over notes smuggled out of prison in which Justo says he has been framed. Laura believes that Patrick Mahony of PetroSaudi has controlled Justo’s life behind bars, deciding how comfortable his living space would be and who could visit him. (Foreign prisoners have a list posted outside the prison of permitted visitors. Mahony is listed as number two. Laura is number five.)

Laura says she has emails and WhatsApp messages, as well as recordings of phone calls from last year that suggest that Mahony is under increasing pressure from Najib, on one hand, and from US and Swiss investigators combing through 1MDB’s deals, on the other.

In taped telephone conversations with Laura, Mahony appears obsessed with Rewcastle Brown, whom he refers to as a “bitch”. In a recorded conversation with Laura from November 2015, Mahony refers obliquely to a powerful person whom he claims could help reduce Justo’s sentence: “I told you the other evening, who the ultimate person is controlling this, and I am due to have another meeting with him soon … This guy is still stressed because it’s his political career on the line. He’s in deep shit and that’s all he cares about, nothing else.”

When Laura asks what she should tell her husband, Mahony says: “The only way that you can show that you’re on his side – to be a team player – is if you’re ready to put yourself out in the media. You are ready to denounce all the people who are conspiring against him … I am not going to lie to you … You can help the situation or you cannot help the situation.”

When Laura presses for Justo’s release, Mahony snaps. “I’m still dealing with this shit every day. You need to remember we are all in the shit. I know he’s in prison and you are alone with the baby. And I looked at you the other day and I told you I feel for you. But me, I’m also in the shit. And a lot of other people are in the shit. A prime minister of a country is in deep shit because he has been put in this shit.”

By December, Mahony admits in another phone call that he had been to the US, where “the FBI is looking at all this shit” and that he had been pulled in by the Swiss attorney general’s office. “The Swiss are continuing to really give us shit … They know they have nothing … But they say they are fearful of being accused of not doing anything.” PetroSaudi said that it will cooperate with any official authority in any jurisdiction and added that it is not the subject of any investigation in any jurisdiction. Mahony has not been interviewed by US or Swiss officials.

Xavier Justo leaves court in Bangkok on August 17, 2015. He was jailed for three years and remains in prison. Photograph: Pornchai Kittiwongsakul/AFP
The consequences of Justo’s leaks are still reverberating around the world. When the US Department of Justice laid out the case against 1MDB last week, it pulled no punches. “The Malaysian people were defrauded on an enormous scale,” said Andrew McCabe, the FBI’s deputy director. US officials told the Guardian that any party who wanted to contest the attorney general’s claim must file a response in a federal court within 60 days to answer the factual allegations.

In a separate case, the DoJ is also investigating whether Goldman Sachs violated US banking law in its handling of US$6.5bn in bond offerings that it carried out for 1MDB. The Wall Street behemoth earned US$593m in fees for the issue. Goldman Sachs denied any wrongdoing. The bank told the Guardian: “We helped raise money for a sovereign wealth fund that was designed to invest in Malaysia. We had no visibility into whether some of those funds may have been subsequently diverted to other purposes.”

Most important was that the DoJ allegations directly contradicted repeated assertions by Prime Minister Najib about the origins and purpose of hundreds of millions of dollars that ended up in his personal bank accounts – which he had claimed was a gift from a Saudi benefactor.

The DoJ filing was released at a critical moment for democracy in Malaysia. On 1 August, a draconian national security act introduced by Najib comes into force – allowing the Malaysian government to establish martial law in any designated geographic area. The law will dramatically expand the powers of Malaysia’s security forces – allowing for arrests, searches and seizures without warrants and the bulldozing of buildings.

But in the rest of the world, investigations into the sprawling corruption scandal are continuing to expand. In Switzerland, the US justice department identified RBS Coutts and Rothschild Bank as conduits for transactions in the corruption complaint. The Swiss attorney general is probing the billion-dollar fraud. The banks declined to comment when contacted by the Guardian.

Singapore found “lapses and weaknesses” in anti-money-laundering controls at major banks. For the first time in the island state’s history, the authorities shut down a merchant bank. In April the United Arab Emirates froze hundreds of millions of dollars in accounts held by alleged conspirators in the 1MDB fraud and banned the account holders from travelling abroad.

The board of 1MDB said that it was “confident that no wrongdoing had been committed” but as a “precautionary measure”, its accounts for 2013 and 2014 should no longer be “relied on by any party”. Najib has said that he did not commit “any offence or malpractice”. His attorney general cleared him of corruption earlier this year.

For now, the man whose revelations enabled the exposure of this vast fraud remains in a Bangkok prison. Xavier Justo was motivated by a mixture of morality and revenge – the desire to settle scores with a friend who betrayed him. To get even, he chose to blow the whistle, for a price. He may not go down in history as a hero who selflessly risked ruin to expose the truth. But in doing so, he did unwittingly sacrifice himself.


Monday, 1 August 2016

「真‧低頭族」的誕生,《Pokémon GO》热潮

談《Pokémon GO》的兒時記憶與集體熱情,以及商業應用模式
Source:  http://www.u-acg.com/archives/9845  |  UACG ED.  |  2016-07-11

在很短的時間內,《精靈寶可夢 GoPokémon GO這款手機遊戲已經成為全球玩家熱烈討論的對象,甚至羨慕為何自己不身在紐西蘭與澳洲,還有無數的真假消息。我們先來為大家整理一下,然後再切入本篇的論點。

之前傳出的因為沈迷於本遊戲而導致車輛翻覆以致駕駛員死亡的消息是假的,但是因為沈迷本遊戲而導致的高速公路阻塞與造成多起車禍的新聞真的(請參考下面的影片)。澳洲北領地的達爾文警察局在要求大批玩家不要再來佔領警察局,並請注意過馬路的千萬不要盯著手機螢幕,一位產婦正在產房忍受疼痛分娩的同時,她的先生沒有緊握她的手,卻正在興高采烈地補抓醫院內的口袋怪獸、甚至有人為了追尋稀少種的口袋怪獸,竟在無意間發現了意外命案的漂流屍體。

任天堂在日本東京的股價上漲了 9%,而且還在增加,然後由於伺服器的負荷過大,目前開發商 Niantic 已經暫緩其他國家地區的推廣,該公司表示將在修復並擴充伺服器容量問題之後,再逐步向其他國家推廣《Pokémon Go》遊戲,在另外一個海外論壇引用不具名的消息說,目前紐澳先開,接下來是美國加拿大,日本與歐洲,除了日本以外的亞洲地區將排在最後面。

當然,這款爆紅瞬間佔領 iOS 排行榜第一的遊戲也引發了許多電腦駭客、網路罪犯和木馬軟體的注意,目前可以於手機應用商店中找到許多偽裝的相似 APP,裝有後門的 APK 已經在網路上散播,欺騙手機 GPS 定位功能、還有引誘犯罪之工具。讓你在家無須外出就可以暢遊世界各地補抓神奇寶貝的修改程式更是一頁洗一頁的不斷冒出來,這一切都在說明《Pokémon GO》的紅火程度。不消說,相信許多臺灣香港許多玩家(包含筆者在內)也都透過 VPN 或其他方式正在遊玩著。

 Pokémon Go》是怎樣的遊戲?

Pokémon Go》 是一款基於真實地理環境與 AR 實境增設體驗的手機遊戲,能讓玩家運用 GPS 以及後置鏡頭,在真實世界的環境中捕抓虛擬的精靈寶可夢(神奇寶貝)。簡單說就是像我們小時候玩的《大富翁》等桌遊或紙牌遊戲,上面會有許多街道名稱或是觀光景點可以購買或擁有,而現在你必需要帶著手機真實到達那個地點才能進行佔領,讓真實的地理環境與街道風景和遊戲的虛擬圖像結合在一起。

過去比較知名的例子如 Google 的《Ingress》,每名玩家各自選擇啟蒙或反抗軍陣營,透過真實的地理街道來進行據點攻擊與佔領,三個點可以連成一個三角形的面,這個面積中內的人口、資源就成為所屬陣營的生產力量。為了佔領更大的面積、抵抗敵人的攻擊,玩家就必須經常巡視與防衛據點,過去臺灣曾發生過「核四電廠」內據點被攻擊與反覆佔領的案件

由於要攻擊或佔領該據點需要,真實 GPS 位置靠近核電廠,故當時也有人認為是內部員工為了攻擊據點,開放讓不應進入核電廠的一般朋友抵達園區內部進行遊戲。在某種意義上,這類型的  AR 增幅遊戲也讓宅在家不出門的玩家不得不要去面對戶外的陽光,把真實的自然環境和虛擬的遊戲資訊相結合的設計。

 Pokémon Go》為何受歡迎與相關的可能商業應用?

但是《Pokémon GO》所造成的受歡迎程度和可能形成的相關商業應用可非其他遊戲可比。一個最簡單的理由是因為:兒時記憶與集體熱情,共同話題與社群驕傲,形成了這後勢推力無窮擴增實境手遊,任天堂的股價已經證明了該公司可以在沒有推出任何新機器時攀升;白說,任天堂反而需要擔心的是:這款手機在全球造成的旋風和熱潮反而可能成為自家推出新主機時的最大阻力。因為本來會買任天堂系列主機的客群就和 PC/ Steam 或是 PS /Xbox 的核心取向玩家並不相同。

其次,不管叫做《神奇寶貝》、《口袋怪獸》、《寵物小精靈》、《袋魔(馬來西亞地區華語譯名)》或是《精靈寶可夢》,這個系列遊戲本來就是在原野或各種自然環境上遭遇、對戰、補抓怪獸,然後挑戰各個道場。故當它今天變成真實 AR 實境遊戲時,玩家感受到的是「過往的遊戲體驗竟然在真實世界中美夢成真」,那是一種難以複製與自動美化昇華的美好體驗,童年的青春回憶就這樣歷歷再現、親觸可得。

任天堂至少滿足了兩代人的遊樂慾望,它緣起的故事(到處去抓或訓練神奇寶貝)累積的資產轉成結合地理資訊系統的網路策略後,變成一個(預判上)空前成功的模式,待基礎設施問題與社會適應(如為了抓神奇寶貝而造成車禍)解決後,這個應用將是眾方起而效尤的路線。

套句老話:「哥玩的不是遊戲,哥玩的是回憶」


同樣的模式,我們如果把這套模式換成真實情境上下的狩獵遊戲呢?例如知名的狩獵遊戲《魔物獵人》系列或許也許是下一個候選人,但是《魔物獵人》系列累積的世代基礎不夠、跨性別之玩家吸引力更有嚴重落差,沒法做到男女老弱通吃的程度;還有一點,《魔物獵人》設定內的幻想感反而不適合基於真實世界的 AR 實境遊戲,其操作難度也是一大挑戰。

我們可以想像,《Pokémon GO》基於「真實地理系統」與擴增實境的虛擬相混,將有各式 Real Site 的商業模式或行銷策略因應而生。比如說,某個流行因欲歌手或是動漫聲優團體,的台北演唱會將放出特別版皮卡丘(只有買票入場者有機會捕獲),甚至指定時間演唱特定曲目或是廣告播出時放出特大號神奇寶貝,或是增加 10%的遭遇或補抓率呢?會不會有更多人為了抓到特定的神奇寶貝願意買票進場,甚至二刷三刷十刷?

而且這一設計還可以跳脫傳統的動漫 ACG 場,一些西方流行歌手也可以應用,因為《精靈寶可夢》的文化魅力本來就是跨領域跨國界跨年齡跨性別的,這是一般特定族群的作品所難以企及的,這將互相增益多少各方票房?例如 Radiohead 唱 〈Creep〉時放出百隻芭樂怪呢?至於買二十次屈臣氏就可掃瞄特別條碼補抓特定寶可夢,把機率調低一點來吸引人,這種老行銷手法就更不用說了。

再來,就如同 google 研究機構透過《Ingress》所呈現了人類移動行為大數據所顯示的神奇寶貝的位置應該在哪邊?想當然耳大多是熱門的景點,還有一些乏人問津的景點,透過網路的社群分享,我們得以知道缺少的神奇寶貝在哪個位置,在這裡就可能達成集體觀光與聖地巡禮的可能,進而帶動當地的觀光與經濟收益。例如最近的一個新聞是由於在德國與歐盟,網路供應商必須背負相關使用者的數據與安全責任,故德國的免費網路並不普及。

故教堂想出了一個辦法,在境內宗教場所廣設免費網路,吸引大家前往教堂聆聽神喻。《Pokémon GO》是否也可以有這種應用?把人潮吸引到特定的地點和區域去,例如春節交通大塞車時、鼓勵大家使用縣道,或是不要走國道五號雪隧而走蘇花高的話,就有更高的機率可以遭遇特定稀少顏色版的神奇寶貝?驅動人們去走那條更為艱難的道路來換取交通順暢的疏通,伴隨而來的是獎勵與成就感的獲得,這不也是一個遊戲化的清楚例證嗎?

這可說是數位時代中所謂的文化財,將是後勢待發的「老資產,新商機」了,只要你有認同基礎,社群基礎,集體記憶基礎,這些都是生意,所有的內容都是資產。說到這我們回顧並思考這一問題的時候,更加汗顏與反省:台灣能在這種新模式分到什麼呢?其實這不是什麼地方都可以搞的商品或服務,就算是韓國都沒有這種血肉,我們無需特別氣餒,只是這種新模式我們分不到,只能做地方代理商或主機管理者,就像今天的臺灣 ACG 產業一樣,靠著代理與引進日本聲優或是作品進來。

短期內或許最值得擔心的是:路上出現了一大批可怕的低頭族,然後會突然集體往同一個方向跑過去….XD


More onPokémon GO:
1. Man catches a Pidgey on Pokémon GO as his wife gives birth

2. Pokemon GO is earning Apple's App Store 3x as much money as Nintendo



Monday, 4 July 2016

America 1956 vs. America 2016

Has America changed for the better, or has it changed for the worse?
By Michael Snyder, on April 5th, 2016

Is America a better place today than it was back in 1956?  Of course many Americans living right now couldn’t even imagine a world without cell phones, Facebook or cable television, but was life really so bad back then?  60 years ago, families would actually spend time on their front porches and people would actually have dinner with their neighbors.  60 years ago, cars were still cars, football was still football and it still meant something to be an American.  In our country today, it is considered odd to greet someone as they are walking down the street, and if someone tries to be helpful it is usually because they want something from you.  But things were very different in the middle of the last century.  Men aspired to be gentlemen and women aspired to be ladies, and nobody had ever heard of  “bling”, “sexting” or “twerking”.  Of course life was far from perfect, but people actually had standards and they tried to live up to them.

So how did it all go so wrong?

Could it be possible that life in America peaked back then and we have been in decline ever since?

Before you answer, I want to share with you a list of comparisons between

life in America in 1956        and        life in America in 2016

In 1956, John Wayne, Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe were some of the biggest stars in the entertainment world.
In 2016, our young people look up to “stars” like Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga.
In 1956, Americans were watching I Love Lucy and The Ed Sullivan Show on television.
In 2016, the major television networks are offering us trashy shows such as Mistresses and Lucifer.
In 1956, you could buy a first-class stamp for just 3 cents.
In 2016, a first-class stamp will cost you 49 cents.
In 1956, gum chewing and talking in class were some of the major disciplinary problems in our schools.
In 2016, many of our public schools have been equipped with metal detectors because violence has gotten so far out of control.
In 1956, children went outside and played when they got home from school.
In 2016, our parks and our playgrounds are virtually empty and we have the highest childhood obesity rate on the entire planet.
In 1956, if a kid skinned his knee he was patched up and sent back outside to play.
In 2016, if a kid skins his knee he is likely to be shipped off to the emergency room.
In 1956, “introducing solids” to a baby’s diet may have meant shoving a piece of pizza down her throat.
In 2016, we have “attachment parenting” which advocates treating children like babies almost until they reach puberty.
In 1956, seat belts and bicycle helmets were considered to be optional pieces of equipment, and car safety seats were virtually unknown.
In 2016, millions of us are afraid to leave our homes for fear that something might happen to us, and if something does happen we slap lawsuits on one another at the drop of a hat.
In 1956, many Americans regularly left their cars and the front doors of their homes unlocked.
In 2016, many Americans live with steel bars on their windows and gun sales are at all-time record highs.
In 1956, about 5 percent of all babies in America were born to unmarried parents.
In 2016, more than 40 percent of all babies in America will be born to unmarried parents.
In 1956, one income could support an entire middle class family.
In 2016, approximately one-third of all Americans don’t make enough money to even cover the basics even though both parents have entered the workforce in most households.
In 1956, redistribution of wealth was considered to be something that “the communists” did.
In 2016, the federal government systematically redistributes our wealth, and two communists are fighting for the Democratic nomination.
In 1956, there were about 2 million people living in Detroit and it was one of the greatest cities on Earth.
In 2016, there are only about 688,000 people living in Detroit and it has become a joke to the rest of the world.
In 1956, millions of Americans dreamed of moving out to sunny California.
In 2016, millions of Americans are moving out of California and never plan to go back.
In 1956, television networks would not even show husbands and wives in bed together.
In 2016, there is so much demand for pornography that there are more than 4 million adult websites on the Internet, and they get more traffic than Netflix, Amazon and Twitter combined.
In 1956, the American people had a great love for the U.S. Constitution.
In 2016, “constitutionalists” are considered to be potential terrorists by the U.S. government.
In 1956, people from all over the world wanted to come to the United States to pursue “the American Dream”.
In 2016, 48 percent of all U.S. adults under the age of 30 believe that “the American Dream is dead”.
In 1956, the United States loaned more money to the rest of the world than anybody else.
In 2016, the United States owes more money to the rest of the world than anybody else.

And there is one more thing that I would like to share with you before I wrap up this article.

This is what the New York skyline looked like on March 31st, 1956 … (see picture in the link)

And this is the kind of thing that we are seeing displayed on the Empire State Building these days (in 2016) … (see picture in the link)

For those that don’t know, that is an image of the Hindu goddess of death, time and destruction known as Kali.  And next month a reproduction of the 48-foot-tall arch that stood in front of the Temple of Baal in Palmyra, Syria is going up in Times Square.

So now that you have seen what I have to share, what do you think?  
Has America changed for the better, or has it changed for the worse?