But, getting on for two years later, we're in the middle of the UN Oil-for-Fraud investigation, the all-time biggest scam, bigger than Enron and Worldcom and all the rest added together. And whaddaya know? The bank that handled all the money from the program turns out to be BNP Paribas, which tends to get designated by Associated Press and co. as a "French bank"— but is, as it happens, controlled by one of M. Desmarais's holding companies. That alone should cause even the droopiest bloodhound to pick up a scent: the UN's banker for its Iraqi "humanitarian"? program turns out to be (to all intents) Saddam's favourite oilman.I'm not a conspiracy-minded guy, and, if I were, I'd look for a sinister global organization with a less obvious name. If "Power Corp." was the moniker given to the sinister front operation for the latest Bond villain, critics would bemoan how crass the 007 franchise had become. And a "Power Corp." that controlled the "Total Group" would have them hooting with derision. But it's nevertheless the case that M. Desmarais's bank functioned as the cashier for Saddam's gaming of the global-compassion crowd: if a company agreed to sell Iraq some children's medicine for $100 million, Iraq would invoice BNP Paribas for $110 million, pay the supplier and divert the skim-off into other areas. Everyone knew this was happening. It seems impossible, even with the minimal auditing, that BNP Paribas did not.
So here is a Canadian "making a difference in the world." Suppose Conrad Black controlled a bank that had enriched a brutal dictator with a fortune intended to go to starving children, and that he also had an oil company that had cooked up an arrangement to make billions from the same dictator's oil resources. Think Maude Barlow and the CBC might show an interest? But Paul Desmarais's no-publicity clause is apparently enshrined in the Charter of Rights. So on it goes. Only the other week, M. Desmarais was hosting at his home in Quebec Nicholas Sarkozy, very likely the next president of France. Even after they'd become heads of government, neither Bush nor Blair could be bothered swinging by Ottawa to look in on Chretien; not for years. But an invitation from M. Desmarais, and France's coming man can't wait to hop on the plane.
M. Desmarais's spectacular rise from an obscure Quebec bus company operator to an obscure global colossus is an amazing story. Instead of struggling to find a local angle on the international scene, why doesn't the CBC just start from the basic premise that whatever the subject--Iraq, oil-for-food, the European Union--somewhere at the heart of it will be the world's least famous Canadian.
Instead, not a whisper. The good news is it's not because Robert Rabinovitch, president of the CBC, is another discreet Power Corp. alumnus. He's not. Rabinovitch's close buddy, John Rae, who ran Chretien's campaigns, is. And so's Rabinovitch's old colleague Joel Bell, who was Trudeau's chief economic adviser. And so's Rabinovitch's old boss, Senator Michael Pitfield. And so's . . .