by Heidi Blake
The delegation arrived in Doha on 28 June, enjoyed Bin Hammam’s hospitality and attended talks with the dignitaries in charge of Qatar’s sovereign wealth funds. No deals were signed, but the ability to arrange such high-level access for his new employer was a big feather in Beckenbauer’s cap – and it was all thanks to Bin Hammam. Rickmers wrote personally to the Qatari at his home address to thank him for all he had done a month after the group returned to Germany. That would be the last favour he would do for one of FIFA’s World Cup voters.
On 1 July, Bin Hammam finally received a letter from FIFA enclosing the full report put together by Louis Freeh’s team of investigators and informing him that the final hearing of the ethics committee would take place on 22 July. He hurriedly opened the attached document and began to scan through the pages. ‘There is substantial credible evidence that cash was offered to and accepted by attendees of the CFU meeting held in Trinidad and Tobago on May 10-11, 2011,’ the report said. ‘This evidence comes in the form of witness statements, documents, and more than $80,000 worth of payments received at the conference that three football associations are willing to disgorge.’
It went on: ‘There is no direct evidence linking Mr Bin Hammam to the offer or payment of money to the attendees of the Trinidad and Tobago meeting. However, there is compelling circumstantial evidence, including statements attributed to Mr Warner, to suggest that the money did originate with Mr Bin Hammam and was distributed by Mr Warner’s subordinates as a means of demonstrating Mr Warner’s largesse. Indeed, the funds were offered to attendees shortly after Mr Bin Hammam’s campaign speech.’
The Freeh report noted that, although Warner’s resignation letter had promised ‘cooperation with the FIFA Ethics Committee in the resolution of the ongoing investigations into alleged irregularities pertaining to the recent visit of Mohamed bin Hammam to Port of Spain,’ he had subsequently told reporters he would ‘die first’ before speaking to the investigators. Their numerous attempts to speak with him had been unsuccessful, and he had finally confirmed his refusal to cooperate in writing on 26 June, accusing them of being part ‘of a trans-Atlantic cabal’ which was trying to destroy him.
The report noted that Bin Hammam had also ‘refused to speak with Investigative Counsel working for the FIFA Ethics Committee’. He had also refused to provide his bank statements for review and claimed that telephone records the investigators had demanded did not exist.
The report made grim reading, but here was a small glimmer of hope for Bin Hammam. It said in plain black ink that there wasn’t actually any evidence that he had anything to do with the cash envelopes. Almost all the Caribbean officials recalled Warner telling them to collect their gifts upstairs, and later saying they came from him, but no one could remember anything linking Bin Hammam to the payments beyond what Warner had said. Worawi Makudi, Hany Abu Rida, Manilal Fernando and Michelle Chai had all spoken to the investigators to confirm they had not seen any evidence of money being transported into Port of Spain on Bin Hammam’s private jet, or distributed in the hotel. Surely no court would convict on that basis? Netzle was already hard at work using all his forensic legal brainpower to tear the Freeh report to shreds.
A week after Bin Hammam received his copy of the document, on 7 July, he was appalled to see it extensively quoted in a flurry of press reports. There had been a leak. ‘FIFA find evidence of Jack Warner and Mohamed bin Hammam corruption,’ the headline in the Daily Telegraph blared. That day, Najeeb Chirakal forwarded the entire file to Hassan Al-Thawadi.
The secretary general of the Qatar 2022 supreme committee was keeping a close watch on Bin Hammam’s case. He found himself in a terrible bind. Al-Thawadi revered this wise elder who had taken the bid committee’s young leaders under his wing and taught them so much about the world of football politics. They knew how much they owed him. Everyone had expected Bin Hammam to play a huge part in the preparations for the World Cup he had worked so hard to bring to Doha, and Al-Thawadi had been looking forward to working alongside his mentor to bring the bid’s grand plans to fruition over the next decade.
Only ten days before the scandal had broken in the Caribbean, he had been busily negotiating with Elie and Mona Yahchouchi, the partners in Bin Hammam’s new IT company, which was in line for a multi-million-dollar contract to deliver digital services to the tournament in 2022. He had done all he could to get Bin Hammam’s presidential push off to a flying start, too – bankrolling a private jet from the supreme committee’s central funds and engaging Netzle to advise on the campaign. He had grown close to Bin Hammam, but not so close that he couldn’t see the full horror of the situation when he read the Freeh report.
Al-Thawadi was the chief custodian of the Qatar World Cup project, and it was his job to keep the poison of scandal away from the Emir’s ‘big cake’. Much as it pained him, he knew that Bin Hammam had become toxic and he needed to be kept at arm’s length now more than ever. That IT deal would have to be junked, for a start. And Al-Thawadi thought it would be best if Bin Hammam retired from world football altogether. After Bin Hammam had pulled out of the presidential race to protect the World Cup bid, the Emir had generously granted him a long enough leash to allow him to fight to clear his name – as long as Qatar 2022 didn’t get dragged into the mess. Al-Thawadi hoped very much that he would succeed, but when he read the Freeh report, he didn’t feel hopeful. It was better for everyone if the wounded old timer accepted that his days in football administration were over, so Qatar could look to the future.
The secretary general of the 2022 supreme committee gave an interview to the Guardian from his office high up in Doha’s Olympic tower at the start of July to try to polish away the dirt accumulating around his bid. Al-Thawadi was an accomplished media performer: engaging, assured and articulate. Perhaps sometimes he could be a touch abrasive, but today he was showing the reporter his soft underbelly, confiding that he had broken down and cried when Qatar won. ‘So much good can come out of this World Cup,’ he insisted. ‘Breaking down prejudices between the Arab world and the rest of the world, bringing people together, a profound legacy.’ The corruption allegations whirling around Qatar’s bid were just a figment of the imagination, fuelled by anti-Arab prejudice, he said. ‘I’m asking the world to look at us rationally. There is no evidence behind any of these claims, not a sliver . . . Even if we had wanted to do anything improper, which we did not, we could not risk it because if it ever came out, the reputation of our whole country would be in tatters, the absolute opposite to what we are trying to achieve.’
Then, Al-Thawadi took his first tentative steps towards disowning his mentor. Bin Hammam had not, he said, been integral to Qatar’s World Cup bid, and they should not be tarnished by the scandal which had brought him down. ‘We never went and gave him instructions. There is no connection to what is happening to him now, and what happened with us,’ he said. He couldn’t bring himself to jettison the man completely – not yet. ‘Also remember: he too is innocent until proven guilty,’ Al-Thawadi said. ‘And in our nature, as Arabs, as Qataris, we are not just going to abandon people for the sake of others in the world saying we should.’ Within a few short months, he would find himself with no option but to do just that.
On 17 July, Al-Thawadi was taking one last look over a statement that had been drafted for Bin Hammam by the Qatar 2022 team, for the greater good of the World Cup dream. It was five days before the accused man was due to appear one last time before the ethics committee. Satisfied that the right tone had been struck between protestations of innocence and resignation to the inevitable, he sent the statement to Najeeb Chirakal, with an instruction to ‘Please forward the below statement to Mr Bin Hammam’.
It read: ‘On the 22nd of this month, I will travel to Zurich for my hearing in front of the FIFA Ethics Committee. It is no secret that the last two months have been disappointing. My hopes of a fair trial have been jeopardised by continuous leaks of information and public comment from certain people involved in the proc
ess.
‘In spite of this, my years serving football and FIFA give me confidence that the Ethics Committee will give me the fair hearing that I deserve, uninfluenced by political agendas or other interests. I trust that the committee will base their decision on factual evidence and come to a reasoned decision. I will fight my case to the end. If this means taking the matter to CAS or the Swiss Federal Courts – I am prepared. I will not rest until I clear my name.’
Then came the punch. ‘Continuing the battle to prove my innocence and clearing my name will eventually allow me to retire from all football-related affairs. It is disappointing to leave a game behind that I truly love and am committed to. The majority of my life has been dedicated to serving the game and in particular the Asian Football Confederation. I intend to conclude my career on a high and am convinced I will be fully exonerated from the charges made against me.’
Bin Hammam read the statement, and his jaw set defiantly. The Emir had promised him he would be allowed to clear his name before he was made to retire from the game. He knew it was inevitable at the end of all this, but announcing it now looked all too much like conceding defeat. He was a realist and he could see that his chances of surviving the ethics committee hearing unscathed were almost nil, with all the odds stacked against him, but he didn’t want to admit it was all over. Not yet.
Two days later in Kuala Lumpur, Jenny Be was chatting to Victoria Shanti, a secretary in the AFC president’s office. They hadn’t seen their boss, whom they called ‘P’, for ages. He had been in Doha since his suspension – and they were sick with worry. But on 19 July, Be had news for her colleague.
‘I spoke to boss on the weekend,’ she said.
‘Oh . . . how is he?’ Shanti was eager to know.
‘He is worried coz no matter what, they will pin it to him,’ Be replied.
‘Yeah, I thought so too,’ Shanti said sadly. ‘But the Emir not pressuring P to leave football?’
‘No, this time, they backed off, coz he is fighting for his name,’ Be explained. ‘In their culture that is more important than life and death.’
‘I see. But they might reopen the bid,’ Shanti worried.
‘No, Blatter gave his word.’
‘Yeah right. I don’t believe a word he says.’
‘It is not that smart to go against a country’s Emir, and one of the richest men at that,’ Be reminded Shanti.
‘Yes, money is everything,’ she responded. ‘Even Blatter knows that.’
The next day, Bin Hammam released an altogether more defiant version of the statement Al-Thawadi had sent him on his website. Some parts of the secretary general’s draft had survived. Bin Hammam had assented to saying that: ‘My years serving football and FIFA lead me to think, and presume, that at the very least the ethics committee will give me the fair hearing that I deserve, uninfluenced by political agendas or other interests.’ But much of the statement struck a more strident tone, and all mention of retirement had been excised.
The evidence against him was ‘weak and unsubstantiated’, the allegations were ‘flimsy and will not stand up to scrutiny in any court of law’. Bin Hammam was gloomy about his prospects – ‘I am not confident that the hearing will be conducted in the manner any of us would like . . . So, none of us should be completely surprised if a guilty verdict is returned’ – but he vowed to ‘travel a long and hard road to clear my name of the stain of this politically motivated affair’.
Bin Hammam chose not to go the hearing on 22 July – he had been booked into the Baur au Lac, but had cancelled his trip at the last minute. Instead, he was represented by Netzle and a formidable team of lawyers from Zurich, London and Washington. Eugene Gulland, his lead US counsel, arrived at FIFA headquarters under gunmetal skies sporting large round orange-rimmed spectacles under his helmet of iron-grey hair. Bin Hammam had some of the finest legal minds in the world on his team, and they gave Damaseb’s panel a run for their money. The first day of the hearing lasted 13 hours, running on till 10pm, and reconvened at 9am the following day. But it was no good. The ethics men were convinced that the Qatari presidential contender had been the source of the $1 million that had been handed out in cash in Port of Spain. At the end of the second day, the ethics judge emerged before a crowded press room and announced: ‘Bin Hammam is hereby banned from taking part in any kind of football-related activity at national and international level for life.’
Gulland was quick to shoot out a statement. ‘Mr Bin Hammam rejects the findings of the FIFA ethics committee hearing and maintains his innocence,’ it said. ‘He will continue to fight his case through the legal routes that are open to him. The FIFA ethics committee has apparently based its decision upon so-called “circumstantial” evidence, which our case has clearly demonstrated was bogus and founded on lies told by a senior FIFA official.’ The next step was to take the case to the FIFA appeals committee, and the team got to work preparing their submissions right away.
Bin Hammam was desolate, but had known this was coming ever since his shock suspension the day after his deal with Blatter. ‘I was expecting it actually,’ he said glumly in an interview by phone from Doha. ‘The ban for life, that shows how much these people are angry, how much they are full of revenge.’ Asked if he meant revenge for standing against Blatter, he replied: ‘Exactly. There is nothing else.’ That evening, he sat for many hours brooding over what had come to pass. Riffling through some old papers, he happened upon a letter which brought the old days flooding back – the days when he had basked in the golden light of the president’s gratitude and brotherly friendship. He read it and raged.
The next morning, the letter appeared on his website in a posting headed: ‘The Reward.’ It was the message Blatter had sent him back in June 2008, to mark his tenth anniversary as FIFA president. ‘Without you, dear Mohamed,’ he had written, ‘none of this would ever have been possible.’ It was an acknowledgement of all Bin Hammam had done to pave his path to the presidency with slabs of Gulf gold. Under the letter published on his website, Bin Hammam had written one line. ‘This is only the battle, not the war,’ it said.
In Kuala Lumpur, Bin Hammam’s empire at the AFC was crumbling. Zhang Jilong had taken over as acting president when he was suspended, and the Chinese official had got his feet under the table with what some considered indecent haste. Manilal Fernando had railed against seeing his friend so quickly supplanted. When Jilong had called an emergency meeting of the AFC to set the confederation’s new course just a week after Bin Hammam’s suspension, Fernando snapped. He sent a round-robin email calling for a freeze on any changes to AFC activities till its true leader was back at the helm. ‘We must all stand behind our President Mr Mohamed bin Hammam Al Abdulla who has done so much in reforming and improving the AFC,’ he said. ‘We do not need any acting revolutions, what we need is stability and strength. The President I knew in Mr Hammam is an honest man, sincere in his beliefs, perhaps arrogant sometimes but never vicious and has been a good friend to me, to Football and therefore, we should stand united with him. There is no need to create any fuss or have meetings regarding this. Let him seek legal relief.’
There was no longer any hope of holding back the tide. Jilong had reacted to Bin Hammam’s life ban by vowing to wash away corruption in Asian football, and the Qatari’s enemies in the AFC were quick to capitalise on his ruin. ‘It is the best news for Asian football and FIFA,’ Peter Velappan, the confederation’s former secretary general crowed. ‘I have worked with bin Hammam. He totally polarised the Asian football family.’ He went on: ‘It is a fair decision. Justice is done. There is no better alternative. Now the whole world will know how Qatar won the hosting rights of the 2022 World Cup.’
Suddenly, the loyal cabal of aides inside the AFC were feeling very exposed. In the days after the ban, Jenny Be orchestrated a frenzied effort to shred all the evidence from the three years in which Bin Hammam had waged his World Cup campaign and then his presidential bid. Victoria Shanti was her main accomplice.
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‘Vic, I need you to take all P’s correspondence (misc ones, i.e. via emails) except for letters and start shredding them,’ Be wrote to the secretary in mid-July.
‘Oh,’ Shanti said, crestfallen. ‘So soon.’
‘Start from now,’ Be urged. ‘There are three years of filing to be shredded . . . also, please do it quietly.’
‘So only official letters that he replied, don’t shred?’ asked Shanti.
‘Yeah.’
‘But all others such as emails and those from Peter Hargitay, shred?’
‘Yes.’ The shredding went on for days.
‘Do I shred every email sent to P directly?’ Shanti later asked.
‘Yeah. Just from 2008 onwards. No need before.’
‘There is an email from Moscow for P to consider a Russian for position on the AFC. Shred?’
‘Yes,’ said Be.
‘For P’s personal file,’ Shanti asked, ‘should I just keep it aside first or need to shred most of it?’
‘Personal file contains what?’ asked Be.
‘Mostly from 2004 to 2007 . . . correspondences . . . invoices.’
‘Keep that,’ said Be. Back then, there had been nothing to hide. ‘Only from 2008 to shred,’ she told Shanti.
‘The list of nominees from tech com from Hassan with P selecting them, should I shred?’