QATAR is a place for pointing fingers. They are invariably aimed by tourists towards a truly impressive skyline and a wondrous corniche that surrounds a stunning expanse of sea.

There is, of course, other finger-pointing. The awarding of the 2022 World Cup to the Gulf state prompted proper investigation of their human rights record and unsubstantiated but persistent claims of how the bid was successful.

I was part of a journalistic team who were invited out by the World Cup organisers in 2019 to visit sites, talk to workers and to World Cup executives. We were given free rein. Five days is hardly enough time to come to definitive judgements so I will leave the verdict to a Ugandan I met outside workers’ accommodation.

He said of conditions: ‘They are not as good as they could be but they are better than where I came from.’ This is the auld sang of the immigrant.

The process of awarding the World Cup to Qatar, though, drew cynical comments from the West. It was much more difficult to reach precise conclusions about this. There is one enduring truth, however, and it was expressed eloquently to me by an Arab businessman in the coffee house of my five-star hotel. (Full disclosure: paid by the World Cup hosts)

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He was visiting Qatar to lecture on the prospects for a post-fossil fuel economy. I was keen to talk about Arab culture. He was gently dismissive.

‘It’s is full of cliche,’ he said. ‘Arabs are keen to help their tribe. Do you not seek to help your family? Arabs are extraordinarily keen to welcome guests? Do you not give a warm welcome to visitors in Scotland? And the jibes against Arabs over baksheesh? The most corrupt places I have practised business are Wall Street and London.’

This was no Marxist. He was an entrepreneur and a thinker. He was a businessman comfortably wedded to the reality of making money.

Baksheesh, of course, can refer to tipping or charitable giving but it is most commonly used as an accusation. It is a synonym for corruption through the paying of money in bribes or inducements.

Corruption is crude, if effective. It can be easily defined when a judge is paid off, a policeman is given money to look the other way, a politician’s hand is filled to promote a cause or when a journalist is rewarded for writing good things about, invariably, bad things.

The Arab businessman and myself, though, talked of the activities that cannot be classed as criminal corruption but are deeply concerning and blur the edges between proper, moral deal-making and obvious, blunt deal manipulation.

This land could be called “cronyism” or “political support”. The latter was the subject of the splash in the Financial Times last week when it reported that Conserative Party donors had been invited to meetings with the Prime Minister and the Chancellor.

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The newspaper described it as “a secretive group” and pointed out that some of its members had given £250,000 to the party, earning the group the unofficial title of the 250 club. It is seen, the FT reported, “as a means of connecting major Conservative backers with its top figures”. Quite.

It was also reported this week that Jeffrey Epstein, whose capacity for blackmail now seems limitless, also made a considerable living by being a conduit between businessman and oligarch, between businessman and dictator, between businessman and government.

This access to power is the preserve of the lobbying business. It has honourable traits. There has to be a pathway for those who have a cause to talk to those who can decide upon it. It has, though, as David Cameron will sincerely testify, the ability to throw considerable shadow on the motives and morals of those who participate in it.

This ranges from unrecorded meetings with ministers to dubious deals with government.

The world has been dominated by Covid. People have been rightly concerned by trying to keep their job, trying to educate their children and trying to live as securely as they can in uncertain times.

But the threat to democracy and to ethical decision-making has co-existed with the virus, perhaps even grown because of it. It has also become oddly acceptable. A Prime Minister can say – after considerable urging – that, yes, donors paid for his new curtains. But he paid it all back. So that’s alright, then. We move on.

Hundreds of meetings were held last year between Scottish Government ministers and multinationals, wealthy individuals and other influential organisations, as reported in The Herald recently. They were left off the lobbying register because, basically, they took place by phone. So that’s all right then. We move on.

But at what cost to ethical government and, indeed, to ourselves? Does the 250 group want meetings with the Chancellor to seek a way to eradicate child property? Is the renovation of Johnson’s private flat a priority for the state? Were those hundreds of meetings with Scottish Government ministers focused on dealing with drug deaths or even fixing the soddin’ ferries. Maybe not.

But we don’t know quite what was promised to donors or callers. Or what was not. We didn’t know what was expected. We just don't know.

This is sad. But there is a grimmer development. These stories flash across the media and disappear, making nary a dent on polls. We move on.

‘Look to yourself and see how you deal with these matters,’ said the Arab businessman on that night in Qatar. 'What is your response when you read of powerful friends helping powerful friends?’

We both moved on.

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