Sneaky
Jerome Cahuzac, former French budget minister, leaves court after the first day of trial in his tax fraud case. Paris, 8 February 2016. Image: Charles Platiau/Reuters.
There is only one journalist with a microphone, and he just falls inside the frame. The rest of the journalists are only photography and video.
Are you not allowed to interview a suspect on the steps of the Parisian higher court? Or has everyone given up asking this man questions, because he lies all the time anyway? As minister of budget in the government Hollande Jerome Cahuzac let himself be known for his ruthless dealings with tax evasion. In that period he transferred 600 thousand euro, that he had in a Swiss bank account, to an account in Singapore. He thought he would outsmart his own legislation in this way, but late 2012 two journalists found out about his embezzlement. For one and a halve year he stuck to his story and denied ever committing fraud. On 19 March 2013 he resigned, but kept denying. Until two weeks later he finally admitted.
Now he is faced with a jail time of 7 years. And then he walks out like this after his first day on trial. Hand in the pocket, gazing like a film star on a photo shoot.
A man who not only has a hand, but the whole world in his pocket.
His lawyers have declared that he has paid taxes on his dirty money, plus a fine, and you cannot punish a man twice for the same offence. To find out if this is right, the judge has postponed the trial. You don’t have to ask whether the suspect is convinced that this turn in the case will be for the best, you can tell he is.
No matter how he deludes himself and the world around him, somewhere in his body there must be something that knows what he is. He has unquestionably reached a high level in rejecting it. But you can wait for it: that last shred of self-knowledge will surface one day. Especially when there is an audience present. Some people start to sweat a bit more than usual, others start to show red spots on their skin. Then there’s itching, and increasingly fast breathing. But what gives Jerome Cahuzac away?
There was a time when he smoked, and not just a little. He presses his thumb and index finger of his right hand together. There used to be a cigarette in between, the burning end underneath the palm of his hand. That’s how sneaky smokers smoke when they are not allowed to.
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