By Gerard Ryle. I was at a global conference in Rio late last year listening to Glenn Greenwald declare journalism in a “golden age”. Greenwald is the reporter credited with breaking the Edward Snowden story. He said the profession’s largest institutions are experiencing tough times because of the changing way people consume news. This was not something to be sad about – rather we should be happy about it. “The media institutions are failing and it’s a great thing to celebrate”, he said. Journalism isn’t dying. It’s thriving and just going to other places.” At the same conference, the day before, David Leigh also declared that journalism was in a new “golden age”. Leigh is the recently retired investigations editor of The Guardian newspaper, the paper that first carried the Snowden stories. Leigh’s argument was this. It is a golden age because investigative journalists are coming together in new forms of collaborations using fresh technology. And this dynamic is producing unprecedented levels of transparency and impact. “We are in the age of collaboration”, Leigh said. The Guardian has been involved in three of the biggest such investigative projects in the last three years. Leigh cited the Wikileaks collaboration that released hundreds of thousands of secret US diplomatic cables; the most recent Snowden disclosures of secret data collection by the US National Security Agency; and a story that I was involved with that broke worldwide in April 2013 that has since become known as Offshore Leaks. Once upon a time in Australia a man came along who claimed to have invented a magic pill. You put this pill in your motor vehicle and suddenly your fuel lasted 20 per cent longer. What’s more, the pill managed to eliminate all of the toxic emissions. The Australian Trade Commission wanted to believe so badly it had an entire section of its website devoted to the success of this company. The company got nearly €300,000 in taxpayer grants for sales that had never been made.It had no factories; it had no trucks – in fact, it had no actual product for sale at all. But it had penetrated deeply into Australia’s elite. Many of them secretly held shares in the company and they too thought they were going to be rich. So when I exposed all this as a fraud I spent my time defending the lawsuits, attacks in the Australian senate and I went through the despair and doubt that all investigative reporters are put through when powerful people don’t want something made public. This firm had been sending the money it was getting from selling shares to the British Virgin Islands and to other tax havens and then bringing the money back to Australia, as if it were sales of the magic pill. As long as new investors could be found, and the price of the shares continued to rise, the game went on. It continued for nearly 18 months even after I exposed it as a fraud, until finally the company stopped paying the lawyers who were suing me. By then I realised that I was staring at something much bigger – a secret universe that allowed this kind of thing to happen. And my pill company was only a small part of it. After I wrote the book about the magic pill, a mysterious package arrived in the mail. It was a computer hard-drive – the kind you can buy in any store. But this one was packed with a hoard of documents – the biggest stockpile of inside information about the offshore tax haven system ever obtained by a journalist. We are talking 2.5 million secret records. The total size of the files, if you were to measure it in gigabytes, was more than 160 times larger than the U.S. State Department documents given to Wikileaks. There were 120,000 clients from all over the world, from nearly 170 different countries. There were Americans … Russians … Irish. But this presented me with a dilemma: I had spent most of my career as an investigative reporter. We fiercely protect our secrets, at times even from our editors because we know that the minute they hear what we are working on they want it right away. To be frank, when we find a good story we also like to keep the glory for ourselves – but it’s funny how life sometimes throws up opportunities in batches. A few months after I got the hard drive in the mail, I got an email from my old professor at the University of Michigan. He was on a board that ran an outfit called the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists. This is a non-profit organisation headquartered in Washington DC that oversees some of the best investigative journalists in the world.It brings them together to work on cross border projects. He told me they were looking for somebody new to run the network – how did I fancy living in Washington for a few years? And the data I had was a total mess and extremely hard to read. It contained nearly 30 years of records taken from people who set up offshore accounts for clients. Going, sometimes four deep, into each of these folders I found emails, random PDFs with passport and home addresses, and spreadsheets with the names of thousands of clients. I began doing what many other reporters would do after me. I began looking for big names. But the story I was looking at was not about big names. The real value of what I had was an unprecedented look into a secret world. The same secret world I had a glimpse of when I was researching the magic pill. This is a world whose very product is secrecy. That’s what it sells. And this anonymity allows some individuals and corporations to gain tax advantages not available to average people. It allows frauds like the magic pill company. It can also pit economies and entire nations against one another. You just have to