Louis Dreyfus Company is due later this week to publish their annual report and accounts for 2018. The company’s CEO told Reuters that year-to-date results had “significantly improved;” he suggested an upturn after a first half sapped by a soy price-hedging effect and emerging trade tensions. To put that in perspective, 2017 group net income was $225 million, excluding the now-sold metals business, close to 2015’s decade low of $211 million and well below a record $1 billion in 2012.
In the late 1970s, when he was researching his book, Merchants of Grain, Dan Morgan had considerable difficulty in obtaining any information from the “shadowy and unknown” grain trading companies. At that time they did not publish financial results.
With the exception of Cargill, they provided minimal assistance, or none at all, in the preparation of his book.
They had nothing against Dan Morgan; it was just the way things were forty years ago. At that time a US Senator said of the grain multinationals, “No one knows how they operate, what their profits are, what they pay in taxes and what effect they have on foreign policy—or much of anything else about them.”
In 1976 the French magazine L’Expansion, called Louis Dreyfus, “a commercial empire of which one knows nothing.” Pierre Louis-Dreyfus invited Dan Morgan to lunch in his private dining room. The fish with cream sauce was apparently superb, as was the wine, but the journalist left without learning anything of interest about the company.
Georges André, head of André & Cie—and the original “A” of the ABCD group of trading companies—invited Dan to “an excellent lunch of brook trout in a village restaurant,” but all he got out of it was some historical data. ADM—the new “A” in the ABCD group—was no more open. When Dwayne Andreas became CEO of the company in 1974, one of the first things he did was to eliminate a 27-person public relations department.
Dan was granted a one-hour interview with Michel Fribourg, president of Continental Grain, but later received a letter from Continental saying, “It has been decided that we choose not to participate in further interviews with you.” The company had been in the grain business since the start of the nineteenth century, had never published a company brochure.
None of the trading houses were more obsessed with secrecy than Bunge. Dan Morgan wrote that, “Bunge was a private company about which nobody knew and nobody could speak…To Bunge officials public relations meant keeping Bunge out of the limelight.”
But then the company’s controlling families had a particular reason for avoiding the limelight. Five years earlier, in September 1974 in Buenos Aires, the Montoneros—an Argentine youth movement—kidnapped Jorge and Juan Born, 40 and 39 years old respectively, the grandsons of the founding partner and heirs apparent of the company.
Juan Born was released six months later, in March 1975, and Jorge in June 1975. No details were even given as to the ransom paid for Juan, but the Montoneros claimed that the Bunge family had paid $60 million for the release of Jorge. Although that doesn’t sound like much now, it was a huge sum in 1975, equivalent at the time to one third of the annual Argentine defense budget.
It should come as no surprise that after the kidnapping, the family withdrew even further behind a veil of secrecy. Dan Morgan “did not get near the Hirschs or the Borns, the ruling families of the Bunge Company.” The closest he got was an hour-long interview with the president of Bunge’s North American division. After the meeting, Bunge’s public relations agent told him that he had “neither the time nor the inclination for further discussions.”
Compare Dan Morgan’s difficulties in obtaining information with the ease with which Daniel Ammann gained access to Marc Rich for his book, The King of Oil, published in 2010. Daniel wrote, “These oil and commodity traders…shared their thoughts and their memories with me, opened doors and documents, and explained the technicalities of trading and financing. They tried to show me the big picture, and they revealed their little secrets.”
But then perhaps Mr Ammann was just lucky in his timing. Up until the series of interviews that formed the backbone of his book, Marc Rich had systematically avoided reporters and was, “considered the most secretive trader of the notoriously furtive commodities trading community. For years, no one had ever seen a photograph of him. The media had to resort to artists’ sketches for their reports.”
Glencore, the successor company to Marc Rich, is now a public company, as too are ADM and Bunge. Cargill and Dreyfus are still privately owned, but both act as if they are publicly quoted; they publish detailed company reports and actively interact with the wider community, whether bond investors, clients, banks or journalists. COFCO, the new giant among the grain trading companies, is Chinese-government owned.
All of the large agricultural commodity companies are now active on social media, and actively engage with NGOs on issues related to environmental sustainability or human rights.
This is a significant change since 1979, when Dan Morgan wrote, “The companies…stay in the shadows most of the time. Perhaps it was the ancient nightmare of the middleman-merchant that made them all so secretive—the old fear that in moments of scarcity or famine, the people would blame them for all their misfortunes, march upon their granaries, drag them into the town square and confiscate their stocks.”
Agricultural merchants are still being dragged into the town square of public opinion, and they are still regularly being blamed for varying misfortunes, but they are now very much out of the shadows.
I hope to publish my new book, “Out of the Shadows: The New Merchants of Grain” this autumn.