Harris Irfan - Heavens Bankers: Inside the Hidden World of Islamic Finance

HEAVENS BANKERS

HARRIS IRFAN

Constable London

Constable & Robinson Ltd
5556 Russell Square
London WC1B 4HP
www.constablerobinson.com

First published in the UK by Constable,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson, 2014

Copyright Harris Irfan 2014

The right of Harris Irfan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-47210-510-3 (hardback)
ISBN: 978-1-47210-506-6 (ebook)

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Printed and bound in the EU

For my parents
and
for Sadia

The Square Mile in the City of London. Its ten oclock in the evening and in the still buzzing hive of Deutsche Banks corporate finance division my glazed eyes are staring at now meaningless numbers on the screen. I need to put this bid to bed and get out of this dungeon. When I sleep tonight, my exhausted mind will not be capable of dreaming of anything except numbers appearing in random sequences across rows and columns. Some nights, if Im lucky, my brain will be a little more active and my dreams will feature death-match grapples with clients or desperate attempts to courier a bid document before an impossible deadline. A few days ago I dreamt that I stepped into the lift with my colleagues and we plummeted twenty floors to our doom.

I have not ordered a late meal at the office: even if I eat at midnight, it will be in the comfort of my home instead of in this corporate slave ship. A bitter November wind is funnelling down Old Broad Street bringing near horizontal drizzle with it. Down below, I can make out the sound of umbrellas snapping out of shape against the onslaught. At least when Im done tonight it will be late enough for me to charge a cab to the expense account, and travel in relative luxury the twenty-five miles to my home in a sleepy village in commuter-belt Surrey.

The investment banks head of oil and gas is striding towards me with an enormous cigar jammed in an enormous grin. Despite his brash American accent and even louder braces his Southern-style courtesy and folksy manner make him a rarity among his peers. If he wants to chitchat about life and the universe Im happy to oblige him, even though nothing would be more welcome to me right now than if he volunteered to finish off my bid document.

Kinda late for ya, huh? Something about his mannerisms and speech suggests his career was inspired by J. R. Ewing in the well-known TV series Dallas. It is perfectly normal for those at my modest pay grade to be here at this time, and he knows it. I am tired and irritable, but he warms to my less than warm response.

Sheesh, you know, maybe you need to be working for a real team making real money. See, these bastard PPP guys have got you picking up scraps from the lowly table of third tier clients. He chews on the end of his cigar thoughtfully. You need to reassess, buddy. A dig at my boss, who advises companies on the financing of government-sponsored publicprivate partnership infrastructure projects.

Its clear he hasnt come over to chew the breeze with me. Despite the grin, he seems to have a more purposeful air about him than is usual for our occasional chats at the water cooler. Feigning small talk with a random audience, J. R. casually turns to address the small gathering of late-night devotees huddled around computer terminals, most of them junior financial modellers whose thankless job it is to crunch numbers for people like me to interpret, repackage and convert into bid documents and financial contracts.

Yeah, well, I would kinda like to save one of you guys from your bondage and have you shipped off to the sunny Middle East. You could be out there building up our investment banking franchise, covering yourself in greed and glory, tax free bonuses, soaking up the sun on the beach, pool parties, Russian hookers in hot tubs, ya know, that kinda thing.

One of the junior analysts perks up, keyboard clickery temporarily paused, but J. R. has turned towards me, raising an unlit Partgas (Series D No. 4, natch) to his lips. Im looking at my screen again, pretending I didnt hear him. I have work to do and I want to go home.

The analyst is keen to know more. Is the bank opening a new office? Where? Do you need a financial modeller? J. R.s answers are vague and do little to satisfy the youngsters obvious interest. He is told that the bank is looking at the broad corporate finance picture in the Middle East and that the main board has decided the time is right to ramp up its activities out there.

I think project finance skills will be the critical element in our new business model, continues J. R., thoughtfully rolling the well-chewed end of his cigar between his fingers. Im still looking at the screen but I can sense he is waiting for me to respond. A pause, followed by, Yeah, Im looking at taking on a guy senior enough to build up the franchise, but young enough to be close to the transacting side of the business, ya know, someone who can sell a deal internally within the bank and externally. Itll be all about greed and glory.

Im still looking at my screen, although Im listening. Does he get a company Porsche? I ask.

He lets out a short, high-pitched laugh (now he knows he has piqued my interest) then says, Bankers out there are kinda more Mercedes men.

Well, I wouldnt be interested then. Another short laugh and J. R. turns to the other database drones, orders them good-naturedly to beat it and get a life, and walks away. But the bait has been cast.

Nine months later, I am installed in a serviced apartment in the heart of Dubais rapidly expanding metropolis. The phone rings it is my wife telling me to switch on the television. It is the afternoon of 11 September 2001 and, several time zones away, New York and Washington are waking up to a day that will define a new geopolitical era. What will follow is an extraordinary growth story in the Middle East region, catalysed by the sudden injection of repatriated Arabian Gulf money (though that story itself is not the purpose of this book). But it is this growth story that has led to the explosion of interest in Islamic finance.

***

In France, Muslim women are banned from wearing the headscarf in schools and the full-face veil the niqab in public. Ironically, verbal and physical abuse of Muslim women increased after the niqab ban.

Their narrative is unequivocal: one neo-conservative group contends that immigrants to the United States sought freedom from the discriminatory and cruel laws of Sharia.US Constitution, with violence being their most obvious and unsophisticated tool.

I believe Sharia is a mortal threat to the survival of freedom in the United States and in the world as we know it, said US Republican politician Newt Gingrich in a 2010 speech. Stealth jihadis use political, cultural, societal, religious, intellectual tools; violent jihadis use violence. But in fact theyre both engaged in jihad, and theyre both seeking to impose the same end state, which is to replace Western civilization with a radical imposition of Sharia.