Расследование

Прочитайте текст СМИ, отметьте его специфику, приготовьте перевод.

N Урок 6

Smoke and Fire Why one cigarette company struck a bargain with opponents of smoking By Marc Levinson

talk about an unlikely hero. Only a week ago the public knew Bennett LeBow as a vaguely un­savory wheeler-dealer, just an­other of those arrogant raiders who tear up companies, kill off jobs and diwy up the booty over dinner at the 21 Club. When he won public notice at all, it was for eviscerating Western Union and for using Brooke Group, the publicly traded company he heads, to lend himself money. But last Wednesday the scuba-div­ing computer scientist turned dealmaker made headlines in a more positive light. By settling a bevy of lawsuits against Brooke's tobacco arm, Liggett Group Inc., LeBow sent shock waves through the embattled cigarette industry—and, at least for the mo­ment, became Mr. Respectability.

Ralph Nader he's not. Money, not public health, lies behind LeBow's peace pact with the anti-smokers. But by striking a deal, he's broken the tobacco industry's united front against federal regulators, state govern­ments and the damage-hungry plaintiffs' bar. Until now, tobacco's critics have come away empty-handed. Liggett's defection could give those who sue the hard evi­dence they need to win massive damages. And it gives them a psychological edge, too. Henceforth, says anti-smoking activist John Banzhaf III, "every juror will remember that one cigarette maker paid out $50 million a year, and will assume that 'where there's smoke, there's fire'."

Bennett LeBow has another purpose al­together. Allied with Carl Icahn, an old enemy best known for flying TWA into bankruptcy back in 1992, he's in the midst of a raid on RJR Nabisco Holdings, the owner of Joe Camel. They want RJR to split off cigarettes in order to protect Nabisco's cookie profits from lawsuits—and LeBow wouldn't mind if the cigarette company were to buy Liggett along the way. RJR has refused to re­structure, claiming that the folks who are suing it would block a Nabisco spinoff in court. Liggett's settlement with some of those litigants sends RJR's objections up in smoke: to win LeBow over, the plaintiffs agreed not to contest an RJR Nabisco breakup.

Liggett's surprising surren­der will reverberate through courtrooms across America long after the cookie controver­sy is over. Although it hasn't paid out a dime in damages, Big Tobacco's legal war is a growing burden. A February securities filing by Philip Mor­ris, the largest cigarette maker, lists 10 pages of pending law­suits. Grand juries are probing such matters as possible crimi­nal violations by the Council for Tobacco Research, while federal sleuths are looking into alleged antitrust violations and tobacco smuggling. Some in­dustry executives may face criminal charges, too. Sources tell Newsweek that the Justice Department is near a decision about whether to file perjury charges against execs who told Congress in 1994 that nicotine is not addictive.

Those assaults left the indus­try unbowed—until last week. By breaking ranks, LeBow bought a cheap escape from a siege that, he says, was costing Liggett, the smallest of the five major U.S. tobacco companies, $10 million a year. Instead of facing the same multibillion-dollar claims as its com­petitors, Liggett will devote 5 percent of pretax profits to anti-smoking programs. Last year, that would have come to $550,000.

Petty cash? Absolutely. Some lawyers pressing other anti-tobacco lawsuits are screaming sellout. But in the war on tobacco, the dollar amount means far less than the other terms of Liggett's surrender. Some of the suits it settled seek to recover five states' Medicaid spending on health care for tobac­co-related ailments. To get dropped as a defendant, Liggett in effect accepted FDA regulation after years of arguing that the agency had no jurisdiction over tobacco. Most important of all, Liggett agreed to hand over key files—file s that anti-smoking force s hope will prove that the industry suppressed evidence that nicotine is addictive. If such documents exist, they could prove devastat­ing to other cigarette makers. "This isn't quite like turning state's evidence in a mur­der case," says Mississippi Attorney Gener­al Mike Moore. "But it's pretty good."

Liggett's competitors fear precisely that. Industry lawyers are headed for court to make sure confidential memos stay secret, and they are bitter about the settlement. "This is nothing but a sham and a ploy concocted between a corporate raider and plaintiffs' lawyers," says Steven Parrish of Philip Morris. But the other four ciga­rette makers may no longer be able to toe a single line. Why? If Liggett joins with RJR, the com­bined company could settle on the same terms Liggett re­ceived. That would remove the sellers of one in three cigarettes from the litigation—and leave the rest risking an even bigger tab if a jury finds against them. Florida shock: LeBow's defec­tion wasn't the only setback for cigarettes last week. Another big shock came from Tallahas­see, where the Florida Senate refused to repeal a 1994 law that tore down some of the indus­try's key legal defenses. Tobac­co lobbyists, backed by the powerful Associated Industries of Florida, thought they'd won the battle until, about two hours into the debate, Republican Virginia Brown-Waite rose to speak. Both sides counted her as a pro-tobacco vote. She sur­prised them. "I lost a dad to TB and cancer," she told the Sen­ate. "My mom had emphysema and cancer. I had a sister who died of cancer. I can't sit here any longer and play the tobacco game." For the moment, repeal went down to defeat, leaving the industry—minus Liggett— exposed in Florida's Medicaid recovery suit.

All in all, it was a bad week for Mr. Butts. But hold the obit­uaries. The tobacco industry has yet to pay out on a single lawsuit holding it responsible for smokers' ill health or prema­ture death. Cigarette plants still roll profits like mad, because to­tal consumption keeps rising despite the two-decade decline in the share of Americans who smoke. At the state level, tobac­co interests have enough clout to hold down taxes that could scare smok­ers away; cigarette-tax revenue has risen less than consumer prices since 1980. Ex-smoker LeBow has no desire to kill off a good thing. If companies would give up profits to settle health claims, he insists, their stock would climb so high that share­holders would be better off. "Let's sit down, make peace and stop fighting," he says. And, yes, sell more cigarettes.

Дата добавления: 2014-12-27