SO THIS is where it ends: in 12 minutes, in Court 11, a small, obscure space on the second floor known colloquially as the repo court, with its patchy, hospital-green walls and the hovering spirits of all the little people whose modest dreams died here. By the time they reach the repo court, such people rarely have the luxury of legal representation, still less the confidence to argue that in truth, m’lud, if the private repayment schemes cooked up at private meetings, had only been given a chance (and a private judicial seal of approval), their creditors would have been better off.
In fact, if the little people only had that kind of legal cavalry, they wouldn’t have to suffer the indignity of appearing in the humid little repo court at all.
But the (former) rich are (still) different. And thus, an iconic moment in Irish social, cultural and commercial history occurred yesterday in the conspicuous absence of its star. The national script required Seán FitzPatrick’s presence.
For a tormented nation seeking catharsis, it might have offered a public expiation; for the hapless spirits hovering over the repo court, a signal that the freebooting bankers, builders and light-touch bureaucrats who presided over their ruin were also vulnerable to public judgment. But this was Hamletwithout the prince, The Playboy of the Western Worldwithout the playboy, in one drily functional 12-minute act.
In truth, no one really expected FitzPatrick to make an appearance. Senior counsel and bankruptcy expert Mark Sanfey was there instead, mopping the sweat off his brow while arguing matter-of-factly that Anglo Irish Bank (aka Joe Citizen, who “owns” 85 per cent or €110 million of Mr Fitzpatrick’s borrowings) would have been better off accepting the “private” scheme. Paul Gardiner, counsel for Anglo Irish – who dubbed it an “informal scheme” – was begging to differ, when Mr Justice Brian McGovern told them to take it outside (or to “ventilate their issues in some other forum” to be precise).
Anyway, since the “private” scheme hadn’t been accepted, said Mr Sanfey, his client was “bowing to the inevitable”.
In the fantasy national script, the judge might have uttered some portentous words, perhaps about hubris and nemesis.
He settled for the straightforward: “I will make an order adjudicating that Mr FitzPatrick be made a bankrupt.” It was the moment that marked Seán FitzPatrick’s transition from banking buccaneer to supplicant, who for 12 years may not borrow a sum over €650 without disclosing his bankrupt status.
And thus ended the starry trajectory of the man who once told Ivor Kenny that “the last thing I wanted was a grey-headed customer coming in with a notepad and pencil and asking how much we would charge to do such-and-such . . . We only wanted to play at the sexy end [of the market] . . . Other bankers would mutter about us , ‘Of course, Anglo take a lot of risk’. I never saw us taking a big risk at all . . .”
The best guess now is that his great adventure may land all of us with a bill of €33 billion.