Who Really Owns Ireland E-Book

Matt Cooper

• Herausgeber: Gill Books
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 709

Beschreibung

Through centuries of oppression, we were tenants in our own land. Today, despite our independence and new-found affluence, we are in the midst of a crisis. The question of who owns Ireland is once again taking on a sense of urgency. Is the land of Ireland still for the people of Ireland? In a deep and far-reaching investigation, journalist, broadcaster and No. 1 bestselling author Matt Cooper examines the power wielded by those who control the land where we live, work and play. Who are they, how did they acquire so much and what does it mean for ordinary citizens when the ownership of key resources like shopping centres, wind farms, forestry and data centres comes from outside? This is a story about how power and money influence and control the present and the future of Ireland … sometimes for good and sometimes for bad. Filled with riveting detail, this compelling story of Who Really Owns Ireland is an essential account of the issues that affect every single one of us living on this island.

Leseprobe

To my family

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedications

Introduction: Who Owns Ireland?

Part 1 Owning the Past

1. The microcosm: O’Connell Street, Dublin city

2. How we landed here

Part 2 Owning the Land

3. The Americans ride in

4. Trophy assets

5. A little local money in the mix

6. The return of the Comers

Part 3 Owning the Consequences

7. Take a bite of the Apple … or not

8. Intel inside (but not in one man’s land)

9. Heads in the clouds: data centres

10. China: corporate China, cultural crisis

11. China: the hard impact of soft power

Part 4 Owning the Capital

12. Dublin Docklands: the landscape south of the Liffey

13. Dublin Docklands: the landscape north of the Liffey

14. Small in stature, big on ideas: Johnny Ronan

15. Rooms and views: hotels

16. Press Up: the Instagram generation

Part 5 Owning the Homes

17. Cheap money and overvalued assets

18. Landlordism: accidental, reluctant and deliberate

19. House or apartment? The State decides

20. Vultures, cuckoos and funds

21. The housebuilders

22. Expectations of social housing

23. Homelessness: those left behind

Part 6 Owning the Change

24. Fail to plan, plan to fail: zoning and population trends

25. The problems with planning

26. A change of purpose

Part 7 Owning the Foundations

27. The biggest landowner in Ireland: the Catholic Church

28. A habit of making money

Part 8 Owning the Needs

29. Student accommodation crisis

30. A small idea: co-living

31. Housing an ageing population

Part 9 Owning the Solutions

32. An IDA for land

33. Empty eyesores: vacancy and dereliction

34. New suburbs

35. The regeneration of Dublin’s Liberties

36. The regeneration of Cork City

Part 10 Owning the Future

37. Selling the family silver

38. Greening our energy

39. From land to sea

40. The carbon capturers: trees and land-under-forest

Postscript

Acknowledgements

Copyright

About the Author

About Gill Books

INTRODUCTION

WHO OWNS IRELAND?

Land and property ownership have had a deep impact on Irish history and, arguably, its psyche. This was emphasised by the schooling many of us experienced growing up, with its focus on how British rule led to a denial of many rights to the Irish, particularly those of the Catholic faith, and especially to own our land. The landlord–tenant relationship was central to what we learnt about the Great Famine of the mid-nineteenth century, the belief that essentially foreign landlords – even if born on this island because they professed to British nationality – had kept or sold the food that the general population needed. They were able to do so because they had confiscated the land and allowed only minimal holdings to the native population, for which they charged excessive rent. We had become tenants in our own land.

The late nineteenth-century rise in nationalism – and the early twentieth-century revolution that led to our independence from British rule – can be traced in large part to the formation of the Irish National Land League, Conradh na Talún, and what became known as the Land War, with the Catholic Church to the forefront of organising a political movement. The term ‘rack-rent’ became synonymous with excessive charges to tenants and evictions of those unable to pay; it became a hated feature of what was seen as British-enforced law on behalf of landlords. Land League co-founder Michael Davitt’s slogan of ‘The land of Ireland for the people of Ireland’ went into folklore. Resistance to evictions was organised, leading sometimes to violence. The twenty-first-century distaste in Ireland for evictions has its roots here.

The aspirations of the 1916 rebellion, as set out in the Proclamation of Independence, declare ‘the right of the people of Ireland to the ownership of Ireland’ and add in the same sentence ‘to the unfettered control of Irish destinies, to be sovereign and indefeasible. The long usurpation of that right by a foreign people and government has not extinguished the right …’ The Proclamation continues to assert the right to control but nowhere does it adequately offer a definition as to how the ownership of Ireland’s land should be shared by the citizens of this newly declared state. The Proclamation went on to guarantee ‘religious and civil liberty, equal rights and equal opportunities to all its citizens, and declares its resolve to pursue the happiness and prosperity of the whole nation and of all its parts’.

Greatly influenced by deference to the Catholic Church, our political leaders did not embrace the Marxist or communist beliefs of shared ownership of land and the means of production and the sharing of the proceeds more equitably, which were taking hold in other parts of the world. The Catholic Church was opposed to godless communism – and any assault on private property rights – and that was effectively that as far as Ireland was concerned. As our new political classes emerged, the commitment to private property became entrenched. The 1937 Constitution of Ireland confirmed this, declaring that the State would vindicate the property rights of every citizen. This means that any individual or corporate entity has a right to own, transfer and inherit property and bequeath it upon death. The State has guaranteed to pass no law to abolish these rights. However, there is one caveat: Article 43 acknowledges that these rights ought to be regulated by the principles of social justice. This means that the State may pass laws limiting the right to private property in the interests of the common good.

This is all part of being a republic, a form of government in which a state is ruled by elected representatives of the citizen body. The government sets laws and rules, subject to change. It doesn’t mean that the people own everything in common or on a shared basis. We don’t live in some kind of socialist state. Ireland belongs to all of us as citizens, but some own the land and the property that sits on it, and others don’t, and wealth flows accordingly.

The State does control certain lands on our behalf. It owns and maintains commonly used pieces of land, such as the streets and roads and our public parks, and its commercial state bodies also acquire chunks to allow them to fulfil their mandates. However, the remainder of the country is owned by individuals, families, trusts, partnerships, companies, farmers, financial institutions, religious entities, sporting organisations, charities, co-ops, community groups, and others. Land (and the properties on it) is bought and sold, for profit or loss, or it is kept for generations. It is mortgaged or debt-free, bringing the banks and others who hold liens over property as security for loans into the equation and giving them power over borrowers. It produces income, or it does not. It is kept in good nick, or it is left derelict. It is owned by natives and foreigners. Increasingly, again, by foreigners, although that is very much part of an international trend.

Who owns the land and the properties that stand on it controls, in effect, much of our country. That impacts how everyone lives. The owners, subject to certain State-enforced restrictions, decide what gets put on the land and who gets to use it, if we can buy it from them or merely rent it, or even use it at all. The rights conferred upon private property mean that much of the space of the country is not available for access to us without the permission of the owners.

Land and property owners control the number of houses and apartments that the rest of us compete to buy or rent, the office spaces and factories where we go to work, the shops where we purchase our essential items and material luxuries, the restaurants and pubs where we eat, drink and meet, the green spaces and indoor arenas on which we play or watch others compete for our enjoyment, the venues where we enjoy cultural events, the farms on which our food is grown and livestock reared for slaughter or export, or where our power is generated.

Outside of the small patches of land that some of us own – usually nothing more than our homes on which many of us still owe mortgages – we are tenants on the rest of the island, paying the bills for the use of other people’s space. This matters because it excludes many – and provides great benefit to those who have been able to gain that control.

In Ireland, property is arguably the most valuable or important of what are called the asset classes. By mid-2022 the Central Bank of Ireland reported that the net wealth of Irish households had exceeded €1 trillion, with property ownership accounting for €649 billion of that. Property is the chief dividing line between rich and poor in this State. That gap is widening.

There has been an extraordinary transfer of ownership of land and property in Ireland since what has become known as The Great Recession which resulted from the global banking crisis of 2008 and lasted, roughly, to the end of 2012. One of the conditions of the humiliating rescue of the national finances by the Troika – the European Commission, European Central Bank and International Monetary Fund – in late 2010 was the enforced sale of many State-controlled assets. This included, by virtue of the State taking responsibility for the liabilities of most of the banks, land and property. It contributed to the rescue of the State’s finances but created a whole new set of difficult dynamics that are not always fully understood.

As 2023 progressed, the issues around not having enough affordable housing for our rising population became the dominant political theme. Many of the complaints seemed contradictory. Rents for many were too high relative to income, despite laws to restrict rental increases in designated areas, yet simultaneously some landlords complained that they couldn’t get a sufficient return from their investments and sought to sell. A temporary ban on evictions ended in March 2023 amid considerable rancour; some tenants given notice by their landlords found there was nowhere for them to go, yet the government insisted that this would be better for the system in the medium to long term. Home builders said they couldn’t get planning permission to build on land they owned, yet tens of thousands of granted permissions had not been acted upon. Those who complained about there not being enough new housing were often at the forefront of objections that either delayed or denied construction. The system upon which everyone depended was mired in controversy because of internal shortcomings and possible illegality.

Those who wanted to buy from the limited stock often failed to get large enough mortgages. Many of those who had mortgages struggled as interest rates went up. Generational divides intensified. Meanwhile, environmental concerns about where people should live – the old rural/urban divide – returned, as did debate about the type and suitability of our housing stock.

The Russian invasion of Ukraine provided a shock to an international economic system still recovering from the unprecedented Covid shutdown; as 2023 progressed, it was clear that further change in the valuations and holding of land and property was upon us. Consumer price inflation – which is different from asset price inflation – had taken hold and even if the increase in prices had moderated somewhat, they were still rising. Central banks were making borrowing money more expensive by increasing interest rates, so investors returned to ‘safer’ assets, such as government bonds, believing that the risk involved in purchasing property was not worth it. This applied to both commercial and residential property, despite the demand remaining for the latter while falling for the former. Indeed, any transactions taking place for properties other than for use as homes seemed to be at lower prices.

If the foreign private capital upon which we had become so reliant was going to be harder to source, would Irish capital, either public or private, step in? It seemed not, so this increased the pressure on the government to use its now regular and growing annual budget surpluses on more housing; it seemed reluctant because of the fear that the booming corporation taxes could not be maintained. But could it persuade those who held so much money in Irish savings to invest instead, or would they too eschew the risk?

So many questions and so much debate as to what might constitute the correct answers. In attempting to find those answers, what we uncover is a deep and far-reaching story with wide ramifications.

This is the story about where we live, all of us, the common ground we share, the collective. But it is not straightforward. It is the story of how public and private interests intersect and sometimes collide. It is where national and international capital competes and seeks profit but sometimes suffers financial loss. It is about how power and money influence and control the present and the future of Ireland … sometimes for good and sometimes for bad.

It is about our society, our politics, our economy, our environment. It is about those who have and those who don’t. It is about tangible and intangible gains and losses. It is about what we see every day … and what goes on in those parts of the country we don’t see unless it is put in front of our eyes. It is both urban and rural, it is about preservation, regeneration and creation. It is about dereliction and shiny new trophy buildings.

It is about idealism and pragmatism. It is about compromise. It is about a changing Ireland and how that is happening at a pace we can scarcely control.

It is about housing, both rented and owned, workplaces, shopping centres, pubs and restaurants, hotels, churches, theatres, student accommodation, sports facilities, windfarms and forests: all the things that we may take for granted but that we need to be provided and managed for us.

It is a story that affects every single one of us living on this island, which is why it is an important story to tell.

PART 1

OWNING THE PAST

To go forward, we must first go back. While Ireland in 2023 is in overall financial good health – for the most part, because nothing is ever perfect – that was far from the case a decade and a half ago and for a number of years afterwards. It was the response to that economic crisis that has left us where we are today. That is where the roots of the present-day situation lie.

ONE

THE MICROCOSM: O’CONNELL STREET, DUBLIN CITY

Easter Sunday, 27 March 2016 was a landmark date for this nation. A solemn commemoration took place on O’Connell Street, in front of a grandstand facing the General Post Office. President Michael D. Higgins oversaw proceedings, alongside his two living predecessors Mary McAleese and Mary Robinson, Taoiseach Enda Kenny and a host of political leaders past and present as well as various dignitaries and guests. The main street of our capital city was packed to capacity to watch nearly 3,000 members of the defence forces and emergency services parade to pay a centenary tribute to the rebels of the Easter Rising of 1916 whose actions set in train the creation of this 26-county State.

To many, the GPO is Ireland’s most iconic building, providing the backdrop to many of our most important national celebrations, including the annual St Patrick’s Day parade. It is certainly one of the most visually imposing and impressive of our buildings, one for the ages. More than two centuries old, the neo-Classical building was seized by the self-proclaimed provisional government of the new republic as part of the Rising, partly for tactical but also for symbolic reasons. Its interior was destroyed by fire during the siege by British soldiers but the shell remained standing, as did its centrepiece, the boldly projecting portico of six fluted Ionic columns supporting an entablature and cornice. Thankfully, the new State decided in 1924 to rebuild rather than level the site and start anew. Inside the GPO, customers can enjoy the Art Deco beauty of the reconstructed main hall. They can also enter the specially created visitor centre – opened in 2016 – which gives locals and tourists the opportunity to understand the history of the Easter Rising. However, the offices behind, which have housed the staff of An Post for decades, are no longer fit for purpose and the company has moved to the tallest new office building in the country, the Exo in the north docklands, leaving the future of the building uncertain.

Parts of O’Connell Street, one of Europe’s widest streets, have been put to good use in the twenty-first century. It is no longer a street dominated by cars as access is now restricted to public transport and emergency services. The footpaths have been doubled in width to 11 metres and a granite-paved, tree-lined central median installed in an excellent example of the good common use of public space. The Spire has extended towards the sky since the turn of the millennium, a monument that essentially stands for nothing and therefore offends few, other than those who don’t like its aesthetic. Since 2017 tram lines allow the Luas to run one-way up towards the north side of the city, with the return journey on the parallel Marlborough Street.

In the 1950s, the street was truly Dublin’s main central boulevard, its cinemas hosting major premieres with visiting stars, the Gresham Hotel being the premier five-star destination of choice for movie-stars and millionaires visiting Ireland. Over the decades, however, the grandeur faded and the condition of O’Connell Street has long been a national talking point and, to some, an embarrassment. All along the street there is vacancy and dereliction, and some of the shops that remain open are cheap and tatty. It has gained a reputation, more than partly deserved, as dangerous; drug-dealing takes place openly and assaults are unfortunately too common, even during daylight hours. Many Irish people avoid it entirely unless passing through it to get to Croke Park for Gaelic games or concerts. Tourist numbers suggest a 5:1 ratio in favour of visiting the south side of the River Liffey in preference to the north side. If they are not warned off and visit, they often high-tail it back to the other side of the city quickly, although Temple Bar also has more than its share of increased social misbehaviour. O’Connell Street is not a place where people live either: the potential for apartment living above the shops, of creating a vibrant living environment in the darker hours of evening time, has been largely ignored.

The heart of Dublin city needs investment to restore it to its former glory, to restore the prestige of the days when this was known as Sackville Street, and to make us all proud of it as the central area of the capital city of our nation. That requires money, imagination and ambition but, despite dereliction, change is too often opposed and nothing happens.

At the northern end of O’Connell Street, there’s a major site, behind hoardings, that has been derelict since 1979, redevelopment having been stalled both by economic circumstances and objections. The glaring void is 5.5 acres, largely vacant since the Carlton Cinema closed in October 1994. The beautiful Art Deco façade of that building remains but all behind it has been demolished. Two businessmen, Richard Quirke (a former Garda who owns a slot machines ‘emporium’ on the street) and Paul Clinton (an architect who is now a successful publican) formed the Carlton Group in the 1990s, unsuccessfully proposing a national conference centre financed by an up-market casino. The next idea of a ‘Millennium Mall’ was delayed by legal rows with Treasury Holdings, a company controlled by Johnny Ronan and Richard Barrett, which also wanted the licence for a conference centre on the site. Dublin City Council (DCC) successfully issued a compulsory purchase order (CPO) on the site in 2001, the city manager justifying this on the basis of it being ‘the most important site in the entire city’.

There was a suggestion that the Abbey Theatre be relocated there. This was dismissed by the government on the now almost hilarious grounds that legal disputes about the ownership of the site would delay any construction for too long. Later, the Green Party’s Eamon Ryan suggested that RTÉ should sell its Donnybrook campus – for use as housing – and build a new broadcasting complex on O’Connell Street, for television, radio and concert performances, as a cultural anchor for the city centre. Instead, the council sold the site to developer Joe O’Reilly and his company Chartered Land.

Chartered was best known as the builder of the Dundrum Town Centre in south Dublin – which was marketed for a time as Europe’s biggest such venue – and part-owner of the Ilac shopping centre on Henry Street (off O’Connell Street) in the city and the Pavilions shopping centre in Swords to the north of Dublin. It seemed a good choice given O’Reilly’s track record in developing centres to which large numbers of shoppers went, at least if that was what was deemed best for the area that shopping was to take precedence over cultural use. In 2010 Chartered was granted planning permission for a €900 million redevelopment, to include shops, restaurants and a car park, 800,000 square feet in size. British department store John Lewis was lined up as the anchor tenant. The permission from An Bord Pleanála (ABP), which gave Chartered seven years to complete the development instead of the usual five, came too late to be acted upon: in expanding its empire Chartered had racked up enormous debts – running into billions of euro – and was not in a position to finance the development. And with the country in an economic downturn, few saw the potential for a new shopping centre.

A new entity called the National Asset Management Agency (NAMA) took control of Chartered’s loans on behalf of the State, but after a few years of partnership, during which no further progress was made with developing the site, NAMA sold the site. Hammerson, a British retail property developer, acquired it as part of a bigger purchase of Chartered’s debts, gaining control of all of its shopping centres at what seemed a knock-down price.1

This purchase created political sensitivities for some, not least because of the British identity of the new owners. Part of the site includes Moore Lane and, more importantly, Moore Street, the location to which the 1916 rebels fled and were captured after the GPO went on fire. Chartered’s original plans included the demolition of some buildings. Republican activists and historians had engaged in an earlier campaign to save as much of Moore Street as possible from redevelopment. Numbers 14–17 were declared a national monument in 2007, but campaigners wanted more buildings on the street – which has shops and street stalls but is badly run down – included for protection. They headed for the courts and in 2016 High Court judge Max Barrett declared nearly all of the buildings on the east side of Moore Street, as well as the laneways leading to it, to be part of the 1916 Rising battlefield and therefore protected as part of the official register. The State appealed his decision and it was overturned by the Court of Appeal in 2018. However, a compromise was offered. The State took ownership and possession of numbers 14–17 and proposed their redevelopment as a Rising Commemorative Centre, at an estimated cost of at least €16.25 million. In early 2023, the work had not yet started.

Hammerson decided on new plans, including the demolition of some buildings and other structures on Moore Street and Moore Lane. However, it promised to preserve the ‘scars of the 1916 battlefield’ by highlighting in chalk the bullet-holes in the walls at Nos 10–11 and 12–13 and protecting them behind glass viewing screens. This wasn’t good enough for the likes of Gerry Adams, the former leader of Sinn Féin who denies a personal past IRA involvement. ‘Moore Street holds a special place in the history of Ireland,’ Adams wrote in one submission to the planning authorities. ‘No 16 Moore Street was where five of the seven signatories of the proclamation held their last meeting before the surrender,’ he said, claiming the plans were in breach of the Venice Charter and other international guidance on the conservation and restoration of historic buildings. But there was no threat to number 16; it was other buildings further up the street that had been nominated for demolition.

An air of dereliction was palpable as I walked Moore Street on a sunny Saturday afternoon in September 2022. There was nothing to suggest to any visitor the history of the street, other than a small plaque high on the wall of one of the shuttered houses. Behind the buildings on Moore Street were surface car parks or empty spaces and an underground car park on Moore Lane. Anything, surely, would be better than this ugly, wasteful mess.

Hammerson had downscaled its plans for the site. Its first suggestion was for an enclosed shopping complex running west from O’Connell Street to Moore Street, and north of Henry Street to Parnell Street. Prompted by Covid – and by the acceleration in the trend in retail towards online ordering – it changed that in mid-2021, cutting the proposed size of the now €500 million scheme by 15 per cent and the number of shops dramatically, increasing office space and suggesting two hotels with 210 rooms in total, the restoration of the now derelict Conway’s pub, and 94 apartments that would be available for rent rather than being sold. At its tallest, the scheme would be seven storeys over the ground. The plans also included a new east–west pedestrian street between O’Connell Street and Moore Street, the restoration of the cinema façade, two new civic squares and an underground station for the State’s latest proposal of a new Metrolink rail line. Three protected structures, 42 O’Connell Street – the last remaining, and vacant, Georgian house on the street – O’Connell Hall at the back of No 42 and Conway’s pub, would also be restored.

Mary Lou McDonald, now Sinn Féin party leader and local constituency TD, lodged a formal appeal against the public plaza. She claimed, ‘Moore Street, famed for its street market traditions and 1916 Rising connections, is Dublin’s historic core and as such provides the city’s uniqueness in terms of a tourist offering and a sustainable, socially just and economically vibrant regeneration opportunity for the north inner city.’ She insisted that the planning application failed ‘to protect and preserve this area of unique historical, architectural, social, cultural and economic importance’. DCC planning officers disagreed, however, seeing the opportunity for the regeneration of a clearly neglected site. It said that the proposed developments ‘will complement the development of the adjacent National Monument as a commemorative centre for the 1916 Rising’.

Hammerson had its own financial issues by this stage, leading to speculation that it would not be able to proceed with the redevelopment, even with all the necessary permissions in place. It was trying to fill retail space at the Ilac centre and noted the difficulties other landlords were having in keeping retail tenants in place on Henry Street, traditionally Ireland’s busiest shopping street. It also noted the change of use being implemented at Clery’s department store.

If the O’Connell Street area is to be revitalised, then the revamp at Clery’s, due to reopen in late 2023, might kick-start things. Nearer the southern end of O’Connell Street, and on its eastern side, the landmark shopping store closed permanently after a highly controversial and opportunistic property transaction in 2015. Clery’s had first opened in 1853, and became one of Europe’s oldest purpose-built department stores. It was totally destroyed at the time of the Easter Rising but was rebuilt beautifully, with a colonnaded façade, wide marble internal staircase and many columns, tearooms and the famous Clery’s clock under which many Dubliners arranged to meet in the days before mobile phones.

But as a department store, it had struggled for years in a changing retail environment, partly because it was regarded as old-fashioned and dated, but also because of a move by consumers to newer shops and centres on Henry Street or across the river. Its woes were exacerbated by the economic crash of 2008. Watching the twentieth-century ambitions of Arnott’s new owners on nearby Henry Street for a major redevelopment of the shopping complex (which ultimately never happened), Clery’s management had embarked on its own ill-fated property buying frenzy in the O’Connell Street area, again using borrowed money. When it all went wrong, Bank of Ireland seized the property by putting receivers in charge, ending the 70-year ownership by the Guiney family, originally from Kerry.

In September 2012 Gordon Brothers, a more than century-old Boston-based investment group, bought the business from receivers for just €12 million. It borrowed €10 million from Bank of Ireland which, in turn, is believed to have written off another €10 million of the money it was owed by the previous owners. Gordon provided the usual PR rhetoric: it was ‘committed’ to ‘revitalising’ Clery’s fortunes, to facilitating a ‘fresh start’ and was ‘acutely conscious of and respectful towards [Clery’s] heritage and tradition’.

In what would prove subsequently to be a highly significant move, it split the business into two parts: a property company that owned the building and remaining land; and an operating entity for the ongoing retail business. Then it sold both businesses in 2015 for €29 million, repaying Bank of Ireland the borrowed money but receiving a massive return on what was essentially an investment of just €2 million in equity, all for less than three years of involvement.

The bigger story was in the behaviour of the buyer, which was the Natrium consortium led by Irishwoman Deirdre Foley of D2 Private (who got her money from Quadrant Real Estate, a US company backed by Australian pension fund money) in partnership with a London company called Cheyne Capital Management. Immediately, Natrium sold Clery’s operating business to specialist insolvency practitioners in the UK for just €1 and they, in turn, applied to the High Court, with no warning to staff, to have Irish liquidators appointed. Trading ceased immediately. The operating business had lost €2 million in the 12 months to February 2014, and Natrium didn’t want to either manage the business or shoulder further losses. However, the property business, which leased the Clery’s store to the operations company, had turned a profit of nearly €5 million for the same period, which showed that, combined, the business was profitable. But it wasn’t profitable enough for Natrium; what was of real interest to it was the potential of revamping the store for different use.

The workers were disposed of with haste and for as little money as possible. The 130 employees of the store – and about 330 people working for concession-holders – lost their jobs with no notice and little compensation, nothing other than statutory redundancy, the minimum required by the State and, in this case, €2.5 million in total. Gordon Brothers wrote to Natrium on completion of the deal, expressing ‘serious concerns’ about what had happened, as the seller had apparently thought it had sold the business as a going concern. It subsequently agreed to pay €785,000 to partially reimburse concessionaires who had been turfed out unceremoniously.

Natrium unveiled a plan for a redevelopment that would create a ‘minimum’ of 1,700 jobs and turn Clery’s into a ‘major new mixed-used destination’. It got planning permission from DCC within 18 months. But the workers, via trade union SIPTU, appealed to ABP. In March 2017 SIPTU withdrew the appeal after it received compensation, believed to be about €1 million, to distribute to the workers.

In 2018, Natrium sold everything for €63 million, an extraordinary twist from which it is believed D2 Private took €8 million, with Cheyne doing even better. In an incredibly self-serving exit statement, Foley said that the purchaser’s ‘aspirations for this site vindicate our vision when we bought in 2015. We helped lay the groundwork for the redevelopment. Natrium saw the potential for this wonderful property on an iconic street which had been neglected for 40 years.’

The buyers were a consortium led by Press Up Group, a company that had aggressively grown in the hospitality business since the crash and which also dabbled in property development. It was run by Matt Ryan and, more pertinently perhaps, by Paddy McKillen junior, the son of property investor Paddy senior who had managed to navigate the Celtic Tiger crash with his wealth intact. They bought the business with Europa Capital, a division of New York-based real estate firm Rockefeller Group, and Core Capital, described as ‘a family office for private investors’. The latter had been established in 2007 by Derek McGrath and offered what it called ‘a cradle to grave investment function, from site acquisition to investment sale’.

The new development changed the nature of Clery’s. The basement, ground and first floors are to be used now for retail and Clery’s Quarter, as it is now known, has two major international retail chains arriving as anchor tenants. Premium fashion group Flannels, part of Mike Ashley’s Fraser Group, signed a deal to occupy half of its retail space and Swedish fashion chain H&M is taking the remaining 2,787 square metres for its largest Dublin city centre store. Talk of an Apple store proved to be unfounded. There are also restaurants and bars but overhead there are three floors of offices, over 90,000 square feet, a panoramic rooftop restaurant and a 176-bedroom four-star hotel.

Every distance in Ireland is measured from the GPO on O’Connell Street. It is the designated base-point. How we measure our use of our land, our ambition for it and our pride in it can be compared to our partial approach to making O’Connell Street a stand-out location, a worthy landmark for both citizens and visitors alike, something that gives us more pride. It may be overly ambitious to say that it could be an Irish version of the Champs-Élysées in Paris, but it could at least be better if an effort was made and decisions taken to act were actually implemented, which is something that can be said about the way we do a lot of things in Ireland.

1 Chartered prospered again from 2015 onwards, using money from the Abu Dhabi investment fund to build the most expensive apartment block in the country on the site of the old Berkeley Court hotel on Lansdowne Road, taking back control of Killeen Castle in county Meath and investing in a number of other developments.

TWO

HOW WE LANDED HERE

Everything that affects the ownership of land and property in Ireland in the 2020s goes back to the early twenty-first-century government under Fianna Fáil’s leadership and to the subsequent actions taken by the Fine Gael–Labour coalition to try and recover control of our own destiny.

Early twenty-first-century Ireland saw property ownership as the passport to personal and national wealth. It was our equivalent of an American-style late nineteenth-century gold rush. Money was available cheaply from the banks as we enjoyed the dubious benefits of our membership of the new single currency, the euro, leading people to borrow to buy property either to live in or to rent to someone else. Eager developers sought to be the suppliers. Rising property prices gave those who had bought early a false impression of their true standing, as the assumed worth of their properties was in many cases far larger than their debts. The so-called wealth effect came into play as many borrowed money for consumption or other investment (often in holiday homes or rental properties) on the basis of the assumed, but temporary, values of their homes. Older people were encouraged to ‘release equity’ by borrowing again on the value of homes where their mortgages had been paid down or off. Pension plans were based on property investments: people were advised to buy a house or apartment, cover the costs of a mortgage with rental income and then sell it later at a higher price to fund their retirement years.

By 2006 the widespread assumption remained that property prices would only go up, giving rise to a state of collective economic euphoria. Those who cautioned that this could not continue indefinitely were accused of being begrudgers, pessimists and, worse, traitors. Some experts promised a wondrous thing called a ‘soft landing’: if, for some reason, house prices stopped rising, they would not fall downwards, or if they did, it would only be by a fraction of the previous rise. What was called the Celtic Tiger era – so dubbed because the Irish economy was roaring ahead aggressively – was in reality a Celtic bubble. And it burst.

There were many reasons but, firstly, the banks ran out of the money needed to fuel the machine. Then, more pertinently, as the values of assets backing their loans fell from excessive levels, the banks became insolvent. These financial institutions – both Irish and international operating in Ireland – had lent recklessly to the developers and builders who were building houses and apartments everywhere. To make sure that the builders sold the homes to cover the repayments to the banks, the banks had provided individuals, couples and families with the loans to buy those properties, spectacularly misjudging their future repayment capacity. They advanced 100 per cent loans so that people didn’t need savings to put in equity, as had been the traditional way of securing a mortgage. They offered up to 40 years to repay the loans to those who were on low incomes: sometimes people were allowed to borrow a sum as much as six, eight or even ten times their annual income. It was a carousel, but a dangerous one; the speed kept picking up until it suddenly stalled and threw off many.

Property values had to readjust to reflect the reality of economic capacity rather than wishful thinking. This was an international problem, but it impacted Ireland disproportionately. Our property spurt in the first part of the century had been faster than almost anyone else’s and we had further to fall. Within four years the value of houses and commercial property in Ireland would drop by 60 per cent.

What made things worse for Ireland was the introduction, with the support of Fine Gael and Sinn Féin from the opposition benches, of the infamous bank guarantee of September 2008, whereby the State promised to make good on the bank debts without realising their extent and the State’s inability to cover them. The Irish-owned banks had to be rescued with a €64 billion State investment that could scarcely be afforded. The National Asset Management Agency (NAMA) was set up to take control of many of the loans that developers and investors couldn’t repay. The idea was that by getting their ‘bad’ loans off their books, they could return to going about their normal business. NAMA bought the largest loans from five banks and building societies – AIB, Bank of Ireland, EBS, Permanent TSB and Irish Nationwide – for €30.5 billion, on loans that amounted to €72.3 billion. The amounts involved were deemed to be the up-to-date market value of the loans, based on the assumed value of the underlying assets at the time of transfer. The valuation was a tacit acknowledgement that the chances of recouping the remaining money – over €40 billion – were slim to non-existent. There was a stated determination to get borrowers to repay every cent they owed the banks, but the reality was that it wasn’t possible. The best that could be done was to ensure they repaid the amount that equalled what NAMA had paid the banks for the loans, especially as the State had borrowed that money to create NAMA.

We learnt a lot about the true financial state of those who had been living it up as Ireland’s wealthiest. Three developers had debts of more than €2 billion each and 12 others had more than €1 billion each with the Irish banks. Of the total amount transferred to NAMA, over €61 billion was with just 190 borrowers. Many of the companies were owned by individuals and their families. Some had given personal guarantees, making them liable to personal bankruptcy. The reality was that bankruptcy would not bring about the recovery of the money. That didn’t stop NAMA from insisting on the receivership or liquidation of some of the biggest developers in the country, so-called no-hopers, who were subjected to ‘enforcement action’. As companies floundered, some of the most prominent developers from the boom (most of whom featured in my 2009 book Who Really Runs Ireland?) headed for personal bankruptcy: Bernard McNamara, Liam Carroll, Paddy Kelly, John Fleming, Derek Quinlan, Seán Dunne, Jim Mansfield and Ray Grehan among them.

NAMA had ended up with a motley collection of unfinished housing estates and commercial office blocks in Ireland and abroad. All sorts of unexpected issues arose. For example, NAMA became Ireland’s biggest golf course operator, with more than 30 premium courses under its control. It became the biggest hotel operator, with loans for 83 Irish hotels, eight of which were five-star properties and 33 four-star at a time when potential customers were curtailing their holidaying and spending.

NAMA had turned out to be only a very partial solution to our crisis. Even after the big transfers, the banks were still laden with loans on which customers could not make repayments. Many of these were commercial loans under €20 million in size, which was the NAMA threshold for transfer. Home loans were as significant for some lenders. Banks like Permanent TSB, for example, had not lent to developers but to home-owners on very generous terms and now faced extinction as borrowers were unable to make repayments.

Meanwhile, Anglo Irish Bank, an Irish stock market-quoted bank that under the stewardship of the now reviled Seán Fitzpatrick had been the bubble’s totem, was discovered to have bad loans of €22.5 billion. It was taken into State ownership and subsequently renamed the Irish Banking Resolution Corporation as if that would make us forget it. The plan was to work out that mess separately to NAMA.

It turned out that the Irish banks had not been the sole offenders when it came to reckless lending. Foreign-owned banks Ulster Bank, ACC (Rabobank), Bank of Scotland (Ireland) and National Irish Bank were just as bad, if not worse. Overall, their bad loans altogether were another NAMA in scale, and these banks sought to sell the underlying properties into a moribund market. The government was unable to control their decisions and actions.

The government had enough of its own problems. Tax revenues evaporated and it was unable to find anyone ‘in the markets’ to lend to it to cover day-to-day bills such as pensions, unemployment benefits and State employee pay. In late 2010 it all came to a head, in humiliating fashion. The International Monetary Fund teamed up with the European Central Bank and European Commission – the three institutions becoming known to us as the Troika – to provide emergency rescue funds on terms that demanded swingeing cuts in public spending and tax increases on the incomes of those who had kept their jobs. Construction activity almost entirely stopped, adding to unemployment and reducing tax revenues further. The country went into a form of collective grieving, experiencing the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

THE OUTSIDER VIEW

In March 2011 the overriding emotion was anger and an angry public swept Fianna Fáil (and the Greens) from power in a general election. This brought the Fine Gael and Labour parties into a coalition government, one of the most important in the history of the State. It also meant that outsiders were brought in to offer advice.

John Moran was one such: he had never served in the public sector but was invited in to bring fresh thinking to officialdom. Moran was a qualified lawyer who had started his career with the Shannon-based aircraft leasing giant GPA before moving to New York from McCann Fitzgerald, an Irish firm of solicitors, to a career merging law with investment banking. He had become a senior figure at Zurich Bank at a young age before taking time out to live in France and own and manage juice bars. Moran had joined the Central Bank of Ireland initially as head of wholesale banking supervision in 2010, the year before Michael Noonan took office as Minister for Finance, and only then moved to the Department of Finance, where he served as secretary general between 2012 and 2014. Noonan’s wife had been one of his schoolteachers.

More than a decade on from then, Moran is clear on what had to be done: ‘We had to put a floor under the asset prices or they would’ve continued in free fall.’ Hardly any commercial property traded in Ireland in 2011, the exception being the €100 million purchase by Google of a major office development called Montevetro, located a stone’s throw from NAMA’s offices in the National Treasury Management Agency (NTMA) on North Wall Quay. If nothing was trading it implied that nothing had value (even if that clearly wasn’t true), theoretically wiping out all the money the State had put into NAMA. ‘Mechanisms were put in place to try and encourage foreign capital into Ireland because we had none in this country and that seems to have been forgotten,’ said Moran. ‘We could not get Irish institutions to invest money in Ireland, could not convince Irish pension funds to buy Irish government bonds. It was hard to persuade people that the Irish State would not default, that the euro wasn’t going to break up and we’d have to return to the punt.’

Subsequently, the government and its advisors were accused of selling too quickly, and of allowing the transfer of great swathes of Irish assets to foreign opportunists. Moran believes little criticism was voiced at the time, and that hindsight is easy to offer. ‘Imagine if I had walked into the Minister’s office in 2012 with this great new plan that we’d worked up in the Department of Finance to sit out the property recession because we thought our properties were undervalued. Remember we had just gotten into this crisis because of property speculation and developers, and we can’t borrow money on the public markets, but we’re going to become property speculators because I think that property prices will go up in the future and therefore we’ll recoup a lot more money [than by selling now]? The concept that we would bet the country again, a second time, on real estate values simply doesn’t make sense.’

The government did not have the luxury of being able to wait for property values to recover. The purchase and sale of all kinds of property came to a near halt, making NAMA’s job of recovering its investment and the chances of the banks sorting out the remainder of their loans much more difficult to achieve. If the banks were reluctant to provide loans, then somebody else was going to have to provide money to grease the machine of property transactions. Even the wealthy Irish who had retained their wealth were fearful of risking any of it in Irish investments. However, as Moran went on tour around the USA and Europe, he began to pick up positive signals: ‘There was more confidence in Ireland’s future from people outside Ireland, whether it was buying Bank of Ireland, Irish Life (the insurance company) or government bonds.’ Noonan introduced a raft of what subsequently became highly controversial tax measures specifically designed to attract international investment to Ireland.

The cavalry was about to arrive.

PART 2

OWNING THE LAND

Over the last decade, Ireland has had the most extraordinary transfer of ownership of assets. Sales at prices lower than what the assets had been bought for meant the crystallisation of losses for previous owners and, by extension, the State picking up much of the tab on our behalf. A subsequent surge in values made some assets even more expensive than they ever were in the days of the Celtic Tiger madness and provided their new owners with enormous profits.

THREE

THE AMERICANS RIDE IN

Former US President Bill Clinton was the star salesman at the ‘Invest in Ireland’ conference that took place in New York in February 2012. He told the investors present, who he described as having ‘money in the banks’, that there was somewhere to spend all of that cash. ‘Now is the time to invest in Ireland, where property is a steal and you’ve got the best-educated workforce and everybody is all dressed up with no place to go,’ the former US President declared, with the full support of the Irish government.

At an Ireland Funds event in Florida the following month, Hilary Weston, an Irishwoman whose family owned the Brown Thomas department store in Dublin, introduced Wilbur Ross as ‘a white knight, riding to Ireland’s rescue’. He was usually called other things: ‘Mr Distress’, ‘the king of bankruptcy’, ‘the king of the turnaround’ and ‘a vulture’. His reputation had been made by taking control of failed companies in the steel, coal, textiles and car parts industries and restoring them to financial viability, taking big profits from doing so before turning his attention to Ireland. Ross told his largely wealthy audience: ‘We’re not used to being rock stars. We’re not U2.’

Ross was celebrated as a key figure in a group that took control of Bank of Ireland in 2011. The government had provided €4.5 billion in rescue capital for the bank but did not want to spend more by taking it into State ownership, as it had done with all the other Irish banks. Ross’s associates included the Canadian insurer Fairfax Financial Holdings, the Boston-based Fidelity Investments and two Californian investment firms, Capital Group and Kennedy Wilson. These came together to buy 34.9 per cent of Bank of Ireland’s shares. Ross took 9 per cent of the overall total and said publicly that he expected to triple his money within three years, having secured the shares at a 40 per cent discount to their apparent ‘book value’. And he made his money as he had hoped.

‘There was plenty of blame to go around for all sorts of things that were done wrong, but right now should be a period of healing, a period of rehabilitation, a period of getting on with it,’ Ross said in one interview. In another, a year later, he added: ‘Ireland is a high-tech economy, with non-cyclical exports, good infrastructure, a young workforce and Irish people understand they have to get through this tough period. I have great confidence it will be the first of the peripheral economies to recover.’

He was conscious of not being seen as a vulture, given that vultures ‘eat dead flesh off a carcass’. He defended his profit-making motive – ‘you can make good gains and yet do good’ – and held himself out as some kind of altruist: ‘We’re helping a whole country of very deserving people to do better, like in the cowboy movies – the troopers are coming.’

Ross’s arrival – and that of the other new Bank of Ireland shareholders – was partly facilitated by the work of two Irishmen, Nick Corcoran and Nigel McDermott of Cardinal Capital. It also had contact with Bill McMorrow, the controlling 22 per cent shareholder in the investment firm Kennedy Wilson. McMorrow arrived in Dublin in late November 2010 with a reputation for investing which others feared, particularly in Japan in 1994 when that country was still undergoing the after-effects of a property crash a few years earlier. McMorrow has distant Irish roots – from Manorhamilton in County Leitrim – but he enlisted Bobby Shriver, nephew of US president John F. Kennedy (and partner, with U2 lead singer Bono, in the (Product)Red brand to promote Third World businesses) to make introductions in Ireland. He had dozens of meetings where he heard little other than negativity, but McMorrow is one of those investors who deliberately goes against conventional wisdom, and believes in buying when everyone else is selling.

Kennedy Wilson first bought Bank of Ireland Real Estate Investment Management, a subsidiary of the main bank, which managed about €1.6 billion of commercial property, mainly in Europe. This provided an introduction to Bank of Ireland boss Richie Boucher, who was trying to raise equity capital from private sector sources to avoid nationalisation. McMorrow liked his story, particularly that the bank would be the only non-State-controlled one in the country if it got fresh investment – and that it would have far less competition to contend with than in the previous decade as foreign banks exited the market. McMorrow contacted Prem Watsa, the Indian-born, Toronto-based billionaire who controlled Fairfax. When they met, McMorrow discovered that Watsa had been talking to Ross already about the Irish bank. They formed an investment group with Cardinal Capital.

It was only the start of an Irish spending spree by McMorrow that initially reached €600 million. Kennedy Wilson teamed up with Deutsche Bank to buy about 150 loans from the Irish operations of the UK Lloyds Bank, taking in about 100 properties from 25 borrowers, mainly offices and shops. These loans had an original value of €360 million but were purchased for just €61 million. Kennedy Wilson bought the debt to the Shelbourne Hotel on St Stephen’s Green for an estimated €110 million (after the previous owners, led by Bernard McNamara and Jerry O’Reilly, spent €265 million on it) and took control of the hotel operations.2 It paid €30 million for the 138-bedroom, four-star Portmarnock hotel and golf resort on 178 acres. The previous owners, Capel Developments, had paid €70 million for it in 2005.3 It bought the major apartment development at the Irish Army’s former Clancy Barracks at Islandbridge on the River Liffey near Heuston Station and, in time, added hundreds more apartments there.

Over the next decade, it would spend, sometimes in partnership with others, an estimated €1.8 billion buying Irish properties and €1.5 billion developing them; it recouped over €770 million through the sale of a small number of assets acquired. It bought over 1,800 apartments in Ireland, built as many and sold 136, leaving it with 3,520 homes in Dublin and Cork, the second largest landlord in Ireland. It purchased 1.8 million square feet of office or retail space, built one million more, and sold 800,000 square feet. Ireland would become its second-largest market by revenue after the US and account for about 15 per cent of the group’s global total. It took joint control, with Axa, of Vantage, a 442-apartment complex in Leopardstown. It would become the most visible developer of new apartments along the Stillorgan dual-carriageway into Dublin. It bought the 265-apartment Grange complex and adjacent land from NAMA for €153 million and then extended the complex to 663 homes. It bought the Leisureplex site after buying the Stillorgan shopping centre across the road and obtained permission for 232 apartments in five blocks of four to eight storeys.

Blackstone also arrived early. Founded in 1985 by a group of top US investment bankers led by Stephen Schwarzman, Blackstone was one of the world’s largest private equity investment firms, with more than $80 billion of assets under management. In 2010, Schwarzman said he would ‘wait until there’s really blood in the streets’ before investing in Europe. ‘As we look at the current situation in Europe, we’re basically waiting to see how beaten-up people’s psyches get, and where they’re willing to sell assets,’ he said.

By 2012 Blackstone was in Ireland, buying a quarter of the key telecoms infrastructure company Eircom, bidding unsuccessfully for ownership of Bord Gáis and buying a batch of office buildings from NAMA. It got the Burlington Hotel in Dublin 4, the second largest in the country with 501 bedrooms and extensive conference and banqueting facilities on a 3.8-acre site, for just €67 million. Only five years earlier Bernard McNamara had paid €288 million for it, with plans to demolish it and the adjacent Irish headquarters of Axa Insurance and to construct an office and retail complex – with some expensive luxury apartments too – which he reckoned could be worth over €1 billion. He never got the chance, going bankrupt with debts of over €1.5 billion. Blackstone put about another €20 million into an overdue refurbishment. Less than four years later it sold the hotel for €180 million to German investor Deka Immobilien. It also made tens of millions of euro in profits on various properties purchased from NAMA and sold again in the same time frame. It did make charitable donations – useful, but small compared to the size of the profits made – to Irish universities, however, and plaques thanking Blackstone can be seen at UCC – where one of its Irish directors, Gerry Murphy, had taken his degree – and at Trinity College Dublin.

Between 2012 and 2015 American money poured into Ireland in a bewildering array of deals, far too many to mention here. Property investors could see technology and financial services companies expanding but lacking the additional modern office space they needed. With demand exceeding supply, rents went up. Hotels could be bought for a fraction of their construction cost. The rate of return implied on many investment properties in Ireland was a multiple of that on offer in countries such as Luxembourg or Germany. The foreigners had the field largely to themselves as the downturn had wiped out a large amount of Irish wealth and very few Irish investors were capable of assembling the money to buy, plus the Irish banks didn’t have the capacity to offer loans, even with interest rates very low.

The Americans mostly didn’t buy individual assets, other than large, obvious, stand-out ones, because that would have taken too much time. They preferred instead to acquire entire loan books from the departing foreign banks, taking their chances on what they would find within the portfolios – having done as much investigation as was practicable beforehand – and then selling or keeping whatever took their fancy. They controlled the debt secured against large amounts of commercial and residential property, personal loans, mortgages and businesses. This gave them economic control of the assets, rather than physical possession, and immense power, with the ability to seize the assets if the loan was not repaid or restructured on their terms.

NAMA initially sold its loans slowly, but the foreign-owned banks rushed to sell. The list of private equity, hedge funds and investment banks buying grew quickly. Goldman Sachs (the Wall Street investment bank known as the Vampire Squid for its ability to suck money out of deals) ended up as one of Ireland’s largest hotel operators and owners, its portfolio expanding to include the Crowne Plaza hotels in Dublin and Dundalk, plus a number of Holiday Inns. It took control of shopping centres, such as the Laurence Shopping Centre in Drogheda from local builder Gerry Maguire, and medical facilities, such as the Whitfield Clinic in Waterford. It purchased 3,500 home mortgages from US multinational General Electric (GE).

Pimco, founded by legendary investment figure and avid stamp-collector Bill Gross and with an estimated $2 trillion in assets under its control, took control of many of the loans connected to Liam Carroll, a former billionaire builder who went bankrupt. It collected over €5 million a year in rent from offices it let to three government departments, Justice, Agriculture and Social Protection, to the HSE and even to An Garda Síochána.