The UK is one of the most corrupt nations on Earth

Fortunes are being made by political favourites, while Brexit could cement London’s reputation for money laundering writes George Monbiot in The Guardian

‘Awarding coronavirus contracts to unusual companies, without advertising, transparency or competition now appears to have been adopted as the norm.’ Photograph: Andrew Milligan/PA


Fear, shame, embarrassment: these brakes no longer apply. The government has discovered that it can bluster through any scandal. No minister need resign. No one need apologise. No one need explain.

As public outrage grows over the billions of pounds of coronavirus contracts issued by the government without competition, it seems determined only to award more of them. Never mind that the consulting company Deloitte, whose personnel circulate in and out of government, has been strongly criticised for the disastrous system it devised to supply protective equipment to the NHS. It has now been granted a massive new contract to test the population for Covid-19. 

Never mind that some of these contracts have reportedly cost taxpayers £800 for every protective overall delivered. Never mind that at least two multi-million pound contracts appear to have been issued to dormant companies. Awarding contracts to unusual companies, without advertising, transparency or competition now appears to have been adopted as the norm. Several of the firms that have benefited from this largesse are closely linked to senior figures in the government.

Every week, Boris Johnson looks more like George I, under whose government vast fortunes were made by political favourites, through monopoly contracts for military procurement. Any pretence of fiscal rectitude or democratic accountability has been abandoned. With four more years and the support of the billionaire press, who cares?

The way the government handles public money looks to me like an open invitation to corruption. While it is hard to show that any individual deal is corrupt, the framework under which this money is dispensed invites the perception.

When you connect the words corruption and the United Kingdom, people tend to respond with shock and anger. Corruption, we believe, is something that happens abroad. Indeed, if you check the rankings published by Transparency International or the Basel Institute, the UK looks like one of the world’s cleanest countries. But this is an artefact of the narrow criteria they use.

As Jason Hickel points out in his book The Divide, theft by officials in poorer nations amounts to between $20bn and $40bn a year. It’s a lot of money, and it harms wellbeing and democracy in those countries. But this figure is dwarfed by the illicit flows of money from poor and middling nations that are organised by multinational companies and banks. The US research group Global Financial Integrity estimates that $1.1tn a year flows illegally out of poorer nations, stolen from them through tax evasion and the transfer of money within corporations. This practice costs sub-Saharan Africa around 6% of its GDP.

The looters rely on secrecy regimes to process and hide their stolen money. The corporate tax haven index published by the Tax Justice Network shows that the three countries that have done most to facilitate this theft are the British Virgin Islands, Bermuda and the Cayman Islands. All of them are British territories. Jersey, a British dependency, comes seventh on the list. These places are effectively satellites of the City of London. But because they are overseas, the City can benefit from “nefarious activities … while allowing the British government to maintain distance when scandals arise”, says the network. The City of London’s astonishing exemption from the UK’s freedom of information laws creates an extra ring of secrecy.

The UK also appears to be the money-laundering capital of the world. In a devastating article, Oliver Bullough revealed how easy it has become to hide your stolen loot and fraudulent schemes here, using a giant loophole in company law: no one checks the ownership details you enter when creating your company. You can, literally, call yourself Mickey Mouse, with a registered address on Mars, and get away with it. Bullough discovered owners on the Companies House site called “Xxx Stalin” and “Mr Mmmmmm Xxxxxxxxxxx”, whose address was given as “Mmmmmmm, Mmmmmm, Mmm, MMM”. One investigation found that 4,000 company owners, according to their submitted details, were under the age of two.

By giving false identities, company owners in the UK can engage in the industrial processing of dirty money with no fear of getting caught. Even when the UK’s company registration system was revealed as instrumental to the world’s biggest known money-laundering scheme, the Danske Bank scandal, the government turned a blind eye.

A new and terrifying book by the Financial Times journalist Tom Burgis, Kleptopia, follows a global current of dirty money, and the murders and kidnappings required to sustain it. Again and again, he found, this money, though it might originate in Russia, Africa or the Middle East, travels through London. The murders and kidnappings don’t happen here, of course: our bankers have clean cuffs and manicured nails. The National Crime Agency estimates that money laundering costs the UK £100bn a year. But it makes much more. With the money come people fleeing the consequences of their crimes, welcomed into this country through the government’s “golden visa” scheme: a red carpet laid out for the very rich. 

None of this features in the official definitions of corruption. Corruption is what little people do. But kleptocrats in other countries are merely clients of the bigger thieves in London. Processing everyone else’s corruption is the basis of much of the wealth of this country. When you start to understand this, the contention by the author of Gomorrah, Roberto Saviano, that the UK is the most corrupt nation on Earth, begins to make sense.

These activities are a perpetuation of colonial looting: a means by which vast riches are siphoned out of poorer countries and into the hands of the super-rich. The UK’s great and unequal wealth was built on colonial robbery: the land and labour stolen in Ireland, America and Africa, the humans stolen by slavery, the $45tn bled from India.

Just as we distanced ourselves from British slave plantations in the Caribbean, somehow believing that they had nothing to do with us, now we distance ourselves from British organised crime, much of which also happens in the Caribbean. The more you learn, the more you realise that this is what it’s really about: grand larceny is the pole around which British politics revolve.

A no-deal Brexit, which Boris Johnson seems to favour, is likely to cement the UK’s position as the global entrepot for organised crime. When the EU’s feeble restraints are removed, under a government that seems entirely uninterested in basic accountability, the message we send to the rest of the world will be even clearer than it is today: come here to wash your loot.

After Wirecard: is it time to audit the auditors?

The industry’s failure to spot holes in the accounts of several collapsed companies has led to clamour for reform writes Jonathan Ford and Tabby Kinder in The FT


At the end of 2003, the Italian dairy company Parmalat descended into bankruptcy in an eye-catchingly abrupt manner. A routine bank reconciliation revealed that €3.9bn of cash which Parmalat was supposed to have at Bank of America did not actually exist.

The scam that emerged duly blew apart one of Italy’s best-known entrepreneurial companies, and sent its founder, Calisto Tanzi, to prison for fraud. Dubbed Europe’s Enron, it humiliated two large auditing firms, Deloitte and Grant Thornton, and ended up costing the former $149m in damages. 

Yet it rested on an apparently simple deception: the reconciliation letter on which the auditors were relying had been forged. 

There were shades of Parmalat’s collapse again last week when, nearly two decades later, another fast-growing European entrepreneurial company blew up in strikingly similar circumstances. 

After years of public questions about the reliability of its accounts, primarily from the FT, the German electronic payments giant, Wirecard, was forced to admit to a massive hole in its balance sheet. 

Rattled by the failure of an independent probe by KPMG to verify transactions underpinning “the lion’s share” of its reported profits between 2016 and 2018, and unable to publish its results due to issues eventually raised by its longstanding auditors EY, Wirecard finally capitulated. It announced that purported €1.9bn cash balances at banks in the Philippines probably did “not exist” and parted company with its chief executive Markus Braun. Evidence relied on by EY had been bogus. 

It remains unclear exactly how the crucial confirmation slipped through the cracks. According to one EY partner: “The general view internally is that confirming historic cash balances is auditing 101, and [that] ordinary auditing processes were followed, including third party verification, in which case the fraud was sophisticated in its use of false documents.” 

Others, however, take a less charitable view of such slip-ups, especially when, as with both Wirecard and Parmalat, they were preceded by so many questions about the reliability of the figures. 

“The integrity of the cash account [which records cash and should reconcile to all the other items in the accounts] is totally central to the whole system of double-entry bookkeeping,” says Karthik Ramanna, professor of business and public policy at Oxford’s Blavatnik School of Government. “If there is no integrity to the cash account, then the whole system is just a joke.” 

Shareholder support 

Wirecard’s collapse is the latest in a wave of accounting scandals that has swept through the corporate world, including UK outsourcing group Carillion and Abu Dhabi-based hospital group NMC Health, as well as alleged frauds at the mini-bond firm London Capital & Finance (LCF) and the café chain Patisserie Valerie. 

Many fear a further surge as the Covid-19 lockdown washes away those companies with weakened balance sheets or business models in the coming months. 

Questions about “softball” auditing have dogged many recent high-profile insolvencies. Carillion’s enthusiasm for buying companies with few tangible assets for high prices led it to build up £1.5bn of goodwill on its balance sheet. Despite vast losses at some of those subsidiaries, it had written down the value of just £134m of that goodwill when the whole edifice caved in. 

Similar questions hang over LCF, where close reading of the notes in the last accounts it published show how the estimated fair value of its liabilities far exceeded that of its assets in 2017, making it technically insolvent roughly 18 months before it collapsed taking with it more than £200m of savers’ cash. Yet EY gave the accounts a clean bill of health. 

Such cases have raised concerns about the independence of auditors, and their willingness to challenge the wishes of management at the client, who are often driven by their own desire for self-enrichment or survival. 

“It’s so important if you want to keep the relationship to have a rapport with the finance director,” says a financier who once worked at a Big Four auditing firm. “It is basically sometimes easier to swallow what you are told.” 

It is a problem that has deepened with the adoption of modern accounting standards. Over the past three decades, these have progressively dismantled the traditional system of historical cost accounting with its emphasis on the verifiability of evidence and using prudent judgment, replacing it with one based on the idea that the primary purpose of accounts is to present information that is “useful to users”. 

This process has allowed managers to pull forward anticipated profits and unrealised gains, and write them up as today’s surpluses. Many company bonus schemes depend on the delivery of the “right” accounting numbers. 

In theory, shareholders are supposed to provide a check on the influence of self-interested bosses. They choose the auditors and set the terms of the engagement. But in practice, investors tend not to assert themselves in the relationship. Scandals rarely lead to the ejection of auditors. 

So after UK telecoms group BT announced a £530m writedown in 2017 because of accounting misstatements at its Italian business, the auditors, PwC, were not sanctioned by investors. Far from it, the firm was reappointed with more than 75 per cent support. And when EY came up for re-election at Wirecard in the summer of 2018, despite rumblings about the numbers, it was voted back by more than 99 per cent. 

Tight budgets and timetables 

 It is not only an auditor’s desire for an easy life that can drain audits of that all important culture of challenge. There are practical issues too. Tight budgets and timetables limit the scope for investigation. 

Audit fees in Europe are far below those in the US. Audits of Russell 3000 index companies in the US cost 0.39 per cent of company turnover on average. Those in Europe average just 0.13 per cent, while for German companies it is a feeble 0.09 per cent. 

With fees low, auditing teams are often stretched thin, with only limited support from a partner out of a desire to limit costs and maximise the number of audits done. Audit is traditionally the junior partner in a big accountancy firm, with around four-fifths of the Big Four’s profits coming from the non-audit consultancy side. 

Take the last audit of BHS under the ownership of Philip Green, who sold the failing UK retailer to a little known entrepreneur, Dominic Chappell, in 2015. The chain subsequently collapsed the following year. 

The PwC partner, Steve Denison, recorded only two hours of work auditing the financial statements. The number two, an auditor with just one year’s post-qualification experience, recorded 29.25 hours, and the more junior team members 114.6 hours. Mr Denison was later fined for misconduct and effectively banned by the audit regulator. 

According to Tim Bush, head of governance and financial analysis at the Pensions & Investment Research Consultants, a shareholder advisory group, this reliance on juniors tends to result in “box checking” rather than an investigative approach to audit processes. “Audit teams are less likely to have a feel for the company’s business model,” he says. 

This in turn can open the door to abuse. Scams often hinge on faith in some implausible business activity. Parmalat’s €3.9bn cash pile, for instance, was supposed to have come from selling milk powder to Cuba. But an analysis of the volumes claimed suggested that if the company’s numbers were accurate, each of the island’s inhabitants would have needed to be consuming 60 gallons a year. 

As the author Richard Brooks noted in his book The Bean Counters: “It shouldn’t have been difficult for a half-competent audit firm to spot.” 

No ‘golden age’ 

The academic Prem Sikka rejects the idea that auditing has gone downhill in the past few decades. “Go back into history and you will find there was never a golden age,” he says. 

He argues that most of the weaknesses are of longstanding vintage, and are down to a lack of accountability. “On the audit side, there is no transparency. You have no idea as a reader of accounts how much time the auditors spent on the task and whether that was reasonable,” says the professor of accounting at the University of Sheffield. 

While there are signs that the UK regulator is getting tougher, it is down to shareholders to provide stronger governance, Prof Sikka says. If they won’t do it, the government should consider setting up a state agency to commission audits of firms and set fees. “It wouldn’t have to be everyone. You could just do large companies and banks.” 

Britain has recently been through a comprehensive review of audit, including how it is regulated and competition in the market, plus a review by the businessman Donald Brydon of its purpose. This devoted many pages to establishing it as a distinct new profession and coming up with new statements to include in already groaning company reports. 

Far from creating new tasks, many observers think that audit should reconnect with its original purpose. This is to assure investors that companies’ capital is not being abused by over-optimistic or fraudulent managers. “At their heart, audits are about protecting capital, and thereby ensuring responsible stewardship of capital,” says Natasha Landell-Mills, head of stewardship at the asset manager Sarasin & Partners. 

Yet modern accounting practice has made audits more complicated while watering down the legal requirement to exercise the judgment needed to ensure the numbers are “true and fair”. Despite the endless mushrooming of numbers, it is no easier to know if the capital is really present and can thus justify the payment of dividends and bonuses. 

Michael Izza, chief executive of the Institute of Chartered Accountants in England and Wales says auditors need a “renewed focus on internal controls, going concern and fraud. The vast majority of business failures are not the fault of the auditor, but when audit quality is a contributory factor, the problem generally involves these three fundamental areas.” 

Mr Bush thinks a radical simplification is in order. “Without clarity there is never going to be proper accountability,” he says. “What we have is a recipe for weak auditing, and ever more Wirecards and Parmalats. In the extreme it facilitates Ponzi schemes. Stay on that route and it won’t be long before you come unstuck.”

The financial scandal no one is talking about

Accountancy used to be boring – and safe. But today it’s neither. Have the ‘big four’ firms become too cosy with the system they’re supposed to be keeping in check?

By Richard Brooks in The Guardian


In the summer of 2015, seven years after the financial crisis and with no end in sight to the ensuing economic stagnation for millions of citizens, I visited a new club. Nestled among the hedge-fund managers on Grosvenor Street in Mayfair, Number Twenty had recently been opened by accountancy firm KPMG. It was, said the firm’s then UK chairman Simon Collins in the fluent corporate-speak favoured by today’s top accountants, “a West End space” for clients “to meet, mingle and touch down”. The cost of the 15-year lease on the five-storey building was undisclosed, but would have been many tens of millions of pounds. It was evidently a price worth paying to look after the right people.

Inside, Number Twenty is patrolled by a small army of attractive, sharply uniformed serving staff. On one floor are dining rooms and cabinets stocked with fine wines. On another, a cocktail bar leads out on to a roof terrace. Gazing down on the refreshed executives are neo-pop art portraits of the men whose initials form today’s KPMG: Piet Klynveld (an early 20th-century Amsterdam accountant), William Barclay Peat and James Marwick (Victorian Scottish accountants) and Reinhard Goerdeler (a German concentration-camp survivor who built his country’s leading accountancy firm).

KPMG’s founders had made their names forging a worldwide profession charged with accounting for business. They had been the watchdogs of capitalism who had exposed its excesses. Their 21st-century successors, by contrast, had been found badly wanting. They had allowed a series of US subprime mortgage companies to fuel the financial crisis from which the world was still reeling.

“What do they say about hubris and nemesis?” pondered the unconvinced insider who had taken me into the club. There was certainly hubris at Number Twenty. But by shaping the world in which they operate, the accountants have ensured that they are unlikely to face their own downfall. As the world stumbles from one crisis to the next, its economy precarious and its core financial markets inadequately reformed, it won’t be the accountants who pay the price of their failure to hold capitalism to account. It will once again be the millions who lose their jobs and their livelihoods. Such is the triumph of the bean counters.

The demise of sound accounting became a critical cause of the early 21st-century financial crisis. Auditing limited companies, made mandatory in Britain around a hundred years earlier, was intended as a check on the so-called “principal/agent problem” inherent in the corporate form of business. As Adam Smith once pointed out, “managers of other people’s money” could not be trusted to be as prudent with it as they were with their own. When late-20th-century bankers began gambling with eye-watering amounts of other people’s money, good accounting became more important than ever. But the bean counters now had more commercial priorities and – with limited liability of their own – less fear for the consequences of failure. “Negligence and profusion,” as Smith foretold, duly ensued.

After the fall of Lehman Brothers brought economies to their knees in 2008, it was apparent that Ernst & Young’s audits of that bank had been all but worthless. Similar failures on the other side of the Atlantic proved that balance sheets everywhere were full of dross signed off as gold. The chairman of HBOS, arguably Britain’s most dubious lender of the boom years, explained to a subsequent parliamentary enquiry: “I met alone with the auditors – the two main partners – at least once a year, and, in our meeting, they could air anything that they found difficult. Although we had interesting discussions – they were very helpful about the business – there were never any issues raised.”

 

A new ticker about the Lehman Brothers collapse in New York in 2008. Photograph: Alamy

This insouciance typified the state auditing had reached. Subsequent investigations showed that rank-and-file auditors at KPMG had indeed questioned how much the bank was setting aside for losses. But such unhelpful matters were not something for the senior partners to bother about when their firm was pocketing handsome consulting income – £45m on top of its £56m audit fees over about seven years – and the junior bean counters’ concerns were not followed up by their superiors.

Half a century earlier, economist JK Galbraith had ended his landmark history of the 1929 Great Crash by warning of the reluctance of “men of business” to speak up “if it means disturbance of orderly business and convenience in the present”. (In this, he thought, “at least equally with communism, lies the threat to capitalism”.) Galbraith could have been prophesying accountancy a few decades later, now led by men of business rather than watchdogs of business.

Another American writer of the same period caught the likely cause of the bean counters’ blindness to looming danger even more starkly. “It is difficult to get a man to understand something”, wrote Upton Sinclair, “when his salary depends upon his not understanding it.”
For centuries, accounting itself was a fairly rudimentary process of enabling the powerful and the landed to keep tabs on those managing their estates. But over time, that narrow task was transformed by commerce. In the process it has spawned a multi-billion-dollar industry and lifestyles for its leading practitioners that could hardly be more at odds with the image of a humble number-cruncher.

Just four major global firms – Deloitte, PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC), Ernst & Young (EY) and KPMG – audit 97% of US public companies and all the UK’s top 100 corporations, verifying that their accounts present a trustworthy and fair view of their business to investors, customers and workers. They are the only players large enough to check the numbers for these multinational organisations, and thus enjoy effective cartel status. Not that anything as improper as price-fixing would go on – with so few major players, there’s no need. “Everyone knows what everyone else’s rates are,” one of their recent former accountants told me with a smile. There are no serious rivals to undercut them. What’s more, since audits are a legal requirement almost everywhere, this is a state-guaranteed cartel.

Despite the economic risks posed by misleading accounting, the bean counters perform their duties with relative impunity. The big firms have persuaded governments that litigation against them is an existential threat to the economy. The unparalleled advantages of a guaranteed market with huge upside and strictly limited downside are the pillars on which the big four’s multi-billion-dollar businesses are built. They are free to make profit without fearing serious consequences of their abuses, whether it is the exploitation of tax laws, slanted consultancy advice or overlooking financial crime.

KPMG abandons controversial lending of researchers to MPs


Conscious of their extreme good fortune and desperate to protect it, the accountants sometimes like to protest the harshness of their business conditions. “The environment that we are dealing with today is challenging – whether it’s the global economy, the geopolitical issues, or the stiff competition,” claimed PwC’s global chairman Dennis Nally in 2015, as he revealed what was then the highest-ever income for an accounting firm: $35bn. The following year the number edged up – as it did for the other three big four firms despite the stiff competition – to $36bn. Although they are too shy to say how much profit their worldwide income translates into, figures from countries where they are required to disclose it suggest PwC’s would have been approaching $10bn.

Among the challenges PwC faced, said Nally, was the “compulsory rotation” of auditors in Europe, a new game of accountancy musical chairs in which the big four exchange clients every 10 years or so. This is what passes for competition at the top of world accountancy. Some companies have been audited by the same firms for more than a century: KPMG counts General Electric as a 109-year-old client; PwC stepped down from the Barclays audit in 2016 after a 120-year stint.

As professionals, accountants are generally trusted to self-regulate – with predictably self-indulgent outcomes. Where a degree of independent oversight does exist, such as from the regulator established in the US following the Enron scandal and the other major scandal of the time, WorldCom – in which the now-defunct firm Arthur Andersen was accused of conspiring with the companies to game accountancy rules and presenting inflated profits to the market – powers are circumscribed. When it comes to setting the critical rules of accounting itself – how industry and finance are audited – the big four are equally dominant. Their alumni control the international and national standard-setters, ensuring that the rules of the game suit the major accountancy firms and their clients.

The long reach of the bean counters extends into the heart of governments. In Britain, the big four’s consultants counsel ministers and officials on everything from healthcare to nuclear power. Although their advice is always labelled “independent”, it invariably suits a raft of corporate clients with direct interests in it. And, unsurprisingly, most of the consultants’ prescriptions – such as marketisation of public services – entail yet more demand for their services in the years ahead. Mix in the routine recruitment of senior public officials through a revolving door out of government, and the big four have become a solvent dissolving the boundary between public and private interests.
There are other reasons for governments to cosset the big four. The disappearance of one of the four major firms – for example through the loss of licences following a criminal conviction, as happened to Arthur Andersen & Co in 2002 – presents an unacceptable threat to auditing. So, in what one former big-four partner described to the FT as a “Faustian relationship” between government and the profession, the firms escape official scrutiny even at low points such as the aftermath of the financial crisis. They are too few to fail.

The major accountancy firms also avoid the level of public scrutiny that their importance warrants. Major scandals in which they are implicated invariably come with more colourful villains for the media to spotlight. When, for example, the Paradise Papers hit the headlines in November 2017, the big news was that racing driver Lewis Hamilton had avoided VAT on buying a private jet. The more important fact that one of the world’s largest accountancy firms and a supposed watchdog of capitalism, EY, had designed the scheme for him and others, including several oligarchs, went largely unnoticed. Moreover, covering every area of business and public service, the big four firms have become the reporter’s friends. They can be relied on to explain complex regulatory and economic developments as “independent” experts and provide easy copy on difficult subjects.

Left to prosper with minimal competition or accountability, the bean counters have become extremely comfortable. Partners in the big four charge their time at several hundred pounds per hour, but make their real money from selling the services of their staff. The result is sports-star-level incomes for men and women employing no special talent and taking no personal or entrepreneurial risk. In the UK, partners’ profit shares progress from around £300,000 to incomes that at the top have reached £5m a year. Figures in the US are undeclared, because the firms are registered in Delaware and don’t have to publish accounts, but are thought to be similar. (In 2016, when I asked a senior partner at Deloitte what justified these riches, he sheepishly admitted that it was “a difficult question”.)

Targeting growth like any multinational corporation, despite their professional status, the big four continue to expand much faster than the world they serve. In their oldest markets, the UK and US, the firms are growing at more than twice the rate of those countries’ economies. By 2016, across 150 countries, the big four employed 890,000 people, which was more than the five most valuable companies in the world combined.

The big four are supremely talented at turning any change into an opportunity to earn more fees. For the past decade, all the firms’ real-terms global growth has come from selling more consulting services. Advising on post-crisis financial regulation has more than made up for the minor setback of 2008. KPMG starred in the ultimate “nothing succeeds like failure” story. Although – more than any other firm – it had missed the devaluation of subprime mortgages that led to a world banking collapse, before long it was brought in by the European Central Bank for a “major role in the asset quality review process” of most of the banks that now needed to be “stress-tested”.

The big four now style themselves as all-encompassing purveyors of “professional services”, offering the answers on everything from complying with regulations to IT systems, mergers and acquisitions and corporate strategy. The result is that, worldwide, they now make less than half of their income from auditing and related “assurance” services. They are consultancy firms with auditing sidelines, rather than the other way round.

The big firms’ senior partners, aware of the foundations on which their fortunes are built, nevertheless insist that auditing and getting the numbers right remains their core business. “I would trade any advisory relationship to save us from doing a bad audit,” KPMG’s UK head Simon Collins told the FT in 2015. “Our life hangs by the thread of whether we do a good-quality audit or not.” The evidence suggests otherwise. With so many inadequate audits sitting on the record alongside near-unremitting growth, it is clear that in a market with very few firms to choose from, poor performance is not a matter of life or death.

 

The ‘big four’ accountancy firms. Composite: Getty / Alamy / Reuters

These days, EY’s motto is “Building a better working world” (having ditched “Quality in everything we do” as part of a rebrand following its implication in the 2008 collapse of Lehman Brothers). Yet there is vanishingly little evidence that the world is any better for the consultancy advice that now provides most of the big four’s income. Still, all spew out reams of “thought leadership” to create more work. A snapshot of KPMG’s offerings in 2017 throws up: “Price is not as important as you think”; “Four ways incumbents can partner with disruptors”; and “Customer centricity”. EY adds insights such as “Positioning communities of practice for success”, while PwC can help big finance with “Banking’s biggest hurdle: its own strategy”.

The appeal of all this hot air to executives is often based on no more than fear of missing out and the comfort of believing they’re keeping up with business trends. Unsurprisingly, while their companies effectively outsource strategic thinking to the big four and other consultancy firms, productivity flatlines in the economies they command.

The commercial imperatives behind the consultancy big sell are explicit in the firms’ own targets. KPMG UK’s first two “key performance indicators”, for example, are “revenue growth” and “improving profit margin”, followed by measures of staff and customer satisfaction (which won’t be won by giving them a hard time). Exposing false accounting, fraud, tax evasion and risks to economies – everything that society might actually want from its accountants – do not feature.

Few graduate employees at the big four arrive with a passion for rooting out financial irregularity and making capitalism safe. They are motivated by good income prospects even for moderate performers, plus maybe a vague interest in the world of business. Many want to keep their options open, noticing the prevalence of qualified accountants at the top of the corporate world; nearly a quarter of chief executives of the FTSE100 largest UK companies are chartered accountants.

When it comes to integrity and honesty, there is nothing unusual about this breed. They have a similar range of susceptibility to social, psychological and financial pressures as any other group. It would be tempting to infer from tales such as that of the senior KPMG audit partner caught in a Californian car park in 2013 trading inside information in return for a Rolex watch and thousands of dollars in cash that accountancy is a dishonest profession. But such blatant corruption is exceptional. The real problem is that the profession’s unique privileges and conflicts distil ordinary human foibles into less criminal but equally corrosive practice.

A newly qualified accountant in a major firm will generally slip into a career of what the academic Matthew Gill has called “technocratism”, applying standards lawfully but to the advantage of clients, not breaking the rules but not making a stand for truth and objectivity either. Progression to the partner ranks requires “fitting in” above all else. With serious financial incentives to get to the top, the major firms end up run by the more materially rather than ethically motivated bean counters. In the UK in 2017, none of the senior partners of the big firms had built their careers in what should be the firms’ core business of auditing. Worldwide, two of the big four were led by men who were not even qualified accountants.

The core accountancy task of auditing can seem dull next to sexier alternatives, and many a bean counter yearns for excitement that the traditional role doesn’t offer. As long ago as 1969, Monty Python captured this frustration in a sketch featuring Michael Palin as an accountant and John Cleese as his careers adviser. “Our experts describe you as an appallingly dull fellow, unimaginative, timid, lacking in initiative, spineless, easily dominated, no sense of humour, tedious company and irredeemably drab and awful,” Cleese tells Palin. “And whereas in most professions these would be considerable drawbacks, in chartered accountancy they’re a positive boon.” Palin’s character, alas, wants to become a lion tamer.

The bean counter’s quest for something more exciting can be seen running through modern scandals like Enron and some of the racy early-21st-century bank accounting. One ex-big four accountant told me that if there was a single thing that would improve his profession, it would be to “make it boring again”.

Where once they were outsiders scrutinising the commercial world, the big four are now insiders burrowing ever deeper into it. All mimic the famous alumni system of the past century’s pre-eminent management consultancy, McKinsey, ensuring that when their own consultants and bean counters move on, they stay close to the old firm and bring it more work. The threat of an already too-close relationship with business becoming even more intimate is ignored. In 2016, EY’s “global brand and external communications leader” waxed biblical on the point: “You think about the right hand of greatness; actually the alumni could be the right hand of our greatness.”

The top bean counter’s self-image is no longer a modest one. “Whether serving as a steward of the proper functioning of global financial markets in the role of auditor, or solving client or societal challenges, we ask our professionals to think big about the impact they make through their work at Deloitte,” say the firm’s leaders in their “Global Impact Report”. The appreciation of the profound importance of their core auditing role does not, alas, translate into a sharp focus on the task. EY’s worldwide boss, Mark Weinberger, personifies how the top bean counters see their place in the world. He co-chairs a Russian investment committee with prime minister and Putin placeman Dmitry Medvedev; does something similar in Shanghai; sat on Donald Trump’s strategy forum until it disbanded in 2017 when the US president went fully toxic by appeasing neo-Nazis; and revels in the status of “Global Agenda Trustee” for the World Economic Forum in Davos.

The price of seats at all the top tables is a calamitous failure to account. In decades to come, without drastic reform, it will only become more expensive. If the supposed watchdogs overlook new threats, the fallout could be as cataclysmic as the last financial crisis threatened to be. Bean counting is too important to be left to today’s bean counters.

Britain could end these tax scams by hitting the big four accountancy firms

The spiders spinning the web of avoidance are the major accountancy firms who make billions from the public purse

• 
• • Polly Toynbee
  • The Guardian, Monday 10 December 2012 21.00 GMT

A Starbucks protest on 8 December. ‘A clever protest on the right issue can catch public imagination and media attention.' Photo: Antonio Olmos for the Observer

Sometimes it only takes a spark. Never imagine nothing can be done: UK Uncut packs a punch far above its weight, as did the suffragettes, slave trade abolitionists and most causes great and small. A clever protest deftly done on the right issue can catch the public imagination and the media's attention: now the public accounts committee investigates and the government is obliged to pledge action.

At Saturday's Starbucks occupation of 40 coffee shops, the point was easy to explain to passers-by: companies massively avoiding tax help to cause the cuts that shut libraries, Sure Starts and women's refuges. This short occupation with an orderly exit and loud chants causes Starbucks deep reputational damage. Costa, nearby, does pay its taxes, while Starbucks avoids its duty to the civilised society it depends on.

Take note, all other corporate avoiders: Manchester Business School estimates that Starbucks will see a 24% drop in sales over the next year, from the experience of reputational crises in 50 other companies. The eye-popping stupidity of choosing this same week to cut its staff's paid lunch breaks and sickness and maternity pay suggests a company whose only efficiency is in tax-avoiding. The £20m it offers as a "donation" to HMRC may even be tax deductible: it can offset this "overpayment" against future tax, once public attention has drifted elsewhere, adding to the phenomenal recent drop in corporation tax receipts, as companies copy one another's avoidance schemes.

In 2009 the Guardian's tax gap series kicked off this debate, exposing devious but legal devices such the "double Luxembourg", the "Dutch sandwich" and Roger the Dodger of Barclays. This is the most dangerous kind of investigation, where any mis-step risks lethal lawsuits from those with deep enough pockets to kill: it cost us £100,000 in lawyers' fees alone, plus months of journalists' time digging into opaque company accounts. We told how Boots, bought by private equity firm KKR, abandoned its Nottingham home to put its HQ in Zug, the Swiss tax haven. By loading the company with debt, its tax bill dropped from £606m to £74m – and Barclays lent them billions to do it. GlaxoSmithKline and Astra Zeneca moved to Puerto Rico and Shell took its trademark to Switzerland. Diageo transferred brand names to a Dutch subsidiary, so Johnnie Walker whisky paid just 2% tax.

How did they put the profits from a whisky blended in Kilmarnock into low-tax Amsterdam? Deloitte did it, reportedly so proud they broke open champagne when it went through. And that is the crux of the matter. At the heart of almost every tax-avoiding scheme is one of the big four accountancy firms – Deloitte, PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC), KPMG and Ernst & Young.

Tax campaigner Richard Murphy, whose razor-sharp work with the Tax Justice Network fuels so much of this campaign, says these four are at the heart of the worldwide web of avoidance, with offices in all the main tax havens. PwC explained on the radio last week that the reason it had large offices in Bermuda was to audit the local hospital. Few clients could use these havens without one of the big four as auditor: virtually no business happens in havens, but bankers, lawyers and accountants need to be located there.

The four have a grip on the auditing of many major firms. The dogged work of accountancy professor Prem Sikka shows how they work, cold-calling to offer elaborate tax schemes. They hardly ever give bad audits to companies hiring them, and despite grave failures in auditing banks, they are not disciplined by professional accountancy bodies. Nor does the Treasury recover costs, even when successfully challenging their elaborate scams.

The public accounts committee last week gave a satisfying roasting to three boutique tax-avoidance firms. Margaret Hodge tore a strip off them, as one admitted that all his schemes had been declared illegal and shut down. But now the committee needs to go after the big four: none of this could happen without them. In his autumn statement George Osborne declared – as chancellors always do – that he would pursue avoiders. But he replaced only a fraction of the Revenue's cuts, with another 10,000 staff still to be lost.

If Osborne were serious, stern regulation could stop all this. As it is, companies that pay their auditors £700 an hour will sometimes undeservedly get a clean bill of health, as did Northern Rock, HBOS, Bear Stearns and the rest. One radical suggestion is that the National Audit Office should take charge of all big company auditing itself, paid by a levy according to company size: it would protect shareholders from inadequate audit and taxpayers from avoidance. Banks are still receiving clean audits, despite the governor of the Bank of England declaring them to be zombies paralysed by undeclared bad debt.

So far attacks on tax avoidance focus on the web, but now it's time to go for the spiders that spin it. The same firms that conspire to deprive the state of revenues are paid large sums as consultants by the very government they weaken. KPMG, along with McKinsey, is conducting much of the sale of the NHS to private contractors. If you want to see this curious contradiction, look no further than PwC's website, which blends its contrary functions in one sentence: "Our Government and Public Sector practice comprises over 1,300 people, more than half of whom work in our consulting business, with the remainder in assurance and tax."

Osborne has announced a consultation on making honest tax payment a condition of winning government contracts. But these companies are woven into every aspect of government and business. The chair of the NAO, Sir Andrew Likierman, is a director of Barclays and past president of the Chartered Institute of Management Consultants. The NAO auditor general, Amyas Morse, was previously global managing partner at PwC. Meanwhile, accountancy firms are major donors to the Conservative party.

With political will, all this can be cleaned up. However remiss in office, Labour should seize the initiative. The OECD is urging the G20 to agree on a fair system for taxing companies according to where profits arise – though countries are locked in cut-throat corporation tax competition. However, the UK controls most tax havens and could shut them down overnight if it copied Charles de Gaulle: angered by tax scamming, he once surrounded Monaco and cut off its water supply until it relented.

Auditors must be held to account

The shareholder spring is the perfect time to challenge the poor performance of unscrutinised accountancy firms

• 
• • Prem Sikka
  • guardian.co.uk, Thursday 31 May 2012 15.04 BST

'KPMG, PricewaterhouseCoopers, Deloitte and Ernst & Young, collectively known as the Big Four accountancy firms, audit around 99% of FTSE 100 companies.' Photograph: Action Press / Rex Features

Shareholder spring is in the air, with increasing numbers voting against fat-cat executive rewards for failure and mediocre performance. However, the same scrutiny is not being applied to the business advisers and consultants implicated in headline failures. They continue to receive huge financial rewards. Company auditors are good example.

PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC), Deloitte, KPMG and Ernst & Young, collectively known as the Big Four accountancy firms, audit around 99% of FTSE 100 companies. These firms audited all distressed banks. At the height of the banking crisis they gave the customary clean bill of health to Northern Rock, Abbey National, Alliance and Leicester, Bradford & Bingley, HBOS, Lloyds TSB and Royal Bank of Scotland (RBS). Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers went bust shortly after receiving the all-clear. A subsequent inquiry by the House of Lords economic affairs committee accused auditors of "dereliction of duty" (para 161) and "complacency" (para 167) and basking in a culture of "box ticking" (para 6) rather than delivering meaningful audits. Despite the damning criticisms, some partners in audit firms still charge over £700 an hour for their services.

In 2011, Barclays, the bank that forced the government to introduce retrospective legislation to combat its tax avoidance schemes, paid £54m to its auditors PricewaterhouseCoopers, including £15m for consultancy and advice on tax matters. PricewaterhouseCoopers, which once audited Northern Rock, collected another £48m from Lloyds Banking Group , including £10m for consultancy. HSBC has paid a whopping £56m, including about £8m for tax and consultancy services to its auditors KPMG, the firm that audited HBOS and Bradford & Bingley. RBS has paid £41m, including £7.4m for consultancy to Deloitte, the firm that audited Abbey National, Alliance & Leicester and Bear Stearns. Ernst & Young, the firm that audited Lehman Brothers, earned £36m in audit and consultancy fees from BP and another £28.5m from Aviva. At major companies, the fees paid to accountancy firms are larger than CEO salaries, but rarely attract sustained media attention. The auditor dependency on companies for vast fees neuters any impulse to deliver an independent opinion on company accounts. No one at any accountancy firm is ever promoted for blowing the whistle on dubious practices of companies and losing a client.

At company AGMs auditors are appointed often without any discussion. The resolutions on auditor appointment are not accompanied by any information on the composition of the audit teams; time spent on the job, audit and consultancy contracts, information obtained from directors, list of faults found with company accounts, regulatory action against auditors or anything else that might shed light on the quality of audit work or conflict of interests. With weak accountability measures, auditors deliver little of any social value.

The charges of "dereliction of duty" and "complacency" have not led to any worthwhile UK reforms though there is plenty of spin about encouraging auditors to be sceptical and tweaking auditing standards. There is no scrutiny of the basic auditing model which requires entrepreneurial accountancy firms to somehow invigilate giant corporations. The success of auditors is measured by private profits and they have no obligations to the state, or the public, which eventually bears the cost of bailouts and fraud. This mutual back-scratching has been a key factor in the debacles at Enron, WorldCom, Lehman Brothers and the banking crash. Yet no real change is in sight.

The EU is proposing minimalist reforms to check the collusive relationship between auditors and companies. These include a ban on the sale of lucrative consultancy services to audit clients and forcing companies to regularly change their auditors. At present, FTSE 100 companies change auditors every 48 years on average. Inevitably, major firms are using their financial and political resources to oppose even these modest proposals.

Major accountancy firms have got used to collecting mega fees for failure and mediocre performance. Shareholders should check that by turning the spotlight on them and demand refunds for poor performance. The government should sharpen liability laws so that auditors are forced to make good the damage done by their silence.