Stakes Are High in Indian Casino Debate

A relatively few years ago, the phrase “Indian prosperity” would have been a classic oxymoron.

Today, however, the adult members of the Table Mountain Rancheria, in the rolling Sierra Nevada foothills northeast of Fresno, are handed individual $14,000 profit-sharing checks every month from their 10-year-old casino. Each of the tribe’s 30 families has been given $250,000 to build a custom home. And the 40 tribal children receive after-school tutoring from two full-time teachers, with every A on report cards bringing a $1,000 reward. In a single year, a straight-A student can earn $28,000.

“The only downside to our casino,” said Table Mountain tribal chairman Vern Castro, “is in debating where to spend the money.”

As a November vote nears on hotly contested Proposition 5--the Indian-spawned ballot measure calling for a continuation of existing casino operations--few dispute that gambling is a key to tribal self-sufficiency. In communities near casinos, politicians, police and business leaders--many of whom receive tribal financial gifts--also say the gambling halls are a boon to the local economy.

Opponents of the measure counter that communities will suffer if casinos are allowed to proliferate without state government approval and oversight.

“Some tribal lands are remote and don’t impact their neighbors,” said Sean Walsh, spokesman for Gov. Pete Wilson. “But for others, you have inadequate roads that lead to dangers, not only for neighboring residents, but for casino players; you have a wanton disregard of environmental laws in the state, and you have a population alien to local communities, potentially bringing vices and crime that you don’t want your children or family exposed to.”

Tribes Divided by Prop. 5

The debate has proved divisive not just among voters, but among some of the tribes that have the most at stake.

In recent months, 11 tribes--including Table Mountain--have signed compacts with the state that limit their operations and gaming equipment, and four of them are actively campaigning against the passage of Proposition 5. They say that even with new state-approved video gaming machines, their casinos will still be successful.

About 80 tribes--including most of the tribes with existing casino operations--support passage of Proposition 5. They say anxiety about Indian casinos that would be allowed under the ballot measure is unwarranted.

Since casinos started to proliferate in the early 1990s, few major problems have surfaced. Indeed, many public officials, particularly in rural areas, say the gambling halls have proved beneficial.

“I see no downside to casinos, whatsoever,” said Riverside County Supervisor Jim Venable, whose district includes Indian casinos in Cabazon and near Anza and Hemet. The gaming halls have boosted employment and reduced welfare costs, said Venable, who has received political contributions from various tribes.

San Diego County Supervisor Diane Jacob, whose district includes Indian casinos near El Cajon, Alpine and Lakeside, says the gambling facilities are the largest employers in her rural east county district. Jacob, who has not received political money from the tribes, recently told the National Gambling Impact Study Commission that the casinos “are a major contributor to our economy, recreation and tourism industries.”

In the last decade, some tribes have closed casinos for lack of business. But for those that succeed, casino revenue can transform a tribe wallowing in poverty into a wealthy one.

The 100-member Sycuan tribe near El Cajon has used profits from its 700-employee casino to establish a library, day care center, medical clinic and a 60-employee fire department and paramedic service that also responds to county fire calls.

In the far reaches of Northern California, the small Elk Valley tribe in Del Norte County has eliminated 80% tribal unemployment, built a community center and has purchased more than 400 acres of land for economic development.

Federal law requires that casino revenue be spent on tribal government functions--which can range from feeding hungry children to hiring lobbyists, lawyers and advertising agencies, for instance, to promote Proposition 5. Through September, tribes had contributed $42.7 million to the pro-5 campaign.

Casino profits distributed to tribal members range from Table Mountain’s $14,000 individual monthly checks to less than $1,000 a month on some reservations with hundreds of tribal members.

Tribes create tremendous goodwill by lavishing donations on local philanthropic causes.

The 240-member Barona tribe in San Diego County, for example, has donated more than $2 million--including $200,000 for the San Diego Symphony summer pops program and 15,000 teddy bears to Children’s Hospital in San Diego.

Non-Indians Also Benefit From Casinos

An economic analysis commissioned by various Indian tribes estimates that California reservation casinos generated $632 million in net profit in 1997 for their 41 tribes. About 16,000 tribal members live on these reservations, according to federal statistics.

The report, prepared by Analysis Group/Economics Inc. of Los Angeles on behalf of Californians for Indian Self-Reliance, the sponsors of Proposition 5, says more than 14,000 people are employed by Indian casinos in California--90% of them non-Indian--with a payroll of about $280 million in 1997.

That same private analysis estimates that, because of casino revenues and employment opportunities, about 3,400 tribal households no longer receive welfare, a savings of $21 million a year.

A spokeswoman for the campaign against Proposition 5 said she cannot dispute the numbers. Neither does Ron Jaeger, director of the federal Bureau of Indian Affairs in California.

Said Jaeger: “The tribes have demonstrated that gaming has been certainly beneficial not only to themselves as tribal members in becoming self-sufficient and less dependent on the federal government, but in providing job opportunities to the non-Indian community as well.”

The financial impact of casino operations does little to assuage the criticism by some that gambling halls make poor neighbors.

In Palm Springs, critics of the Spa Casino, operated in the downtown commercial district by the Agua Caliente Indians, complain that a neon sign alongside the casino/hotel complex has marred the town’s serene, laid-back ambience. Because the casino, like others, is on reservation land, the tribe--which supports Proposition 5--did not need city approval.

“Our clientele is not particularly happy with it,” said Frank Tysen, who operates a local bed-and-breakfast inn. “If they want a town with glitz and gaudiness, they could go to Las Vegas. They come to Palm Springs to get away from all of that.”

Even a former tribal chairwoman wrote the local paper to complain that it was “unconscionable” to “desecrate [the site] with grotesqueness.”

Most complaints about Indian casinos come where there are nearby residential neighborhoods.

Tensions grew thick at the Shingle Springs Rancheria near Placerville when a bingo casino opened in 1996. The only access was through a small housing tract.

Residents protested by driving slowly along their own streets, creating something of a moving roadblock; one was arrested for throwing nails on the road leading to the casino. For their part, neighbors complained that a dog was mysteriously killed.

Ultimately, the casino closed its doors for lack of business, and tribal leaders are now hoping to find more accessible land elsewhere to exchange.

Near Temecula in southern Riverside County, the Pechanga Entertainment Center--a combination casino and outdoor concert venue--abuts a housing tract.

“This used to be a little, quiet road--and now there’s traffic all day long, all night long,” complained Shirley O’Dell, whose home backs onto the main access to the casino.

A neighbor, Helen Liptak, is more forgiving. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” she said. “At night, I can sit in my bedroom and listen to [a live concert by] the Temptations--and that’s OK, if you like the Temptations.”

In the gold hills east of Sacramento, residents complain about the high volume of traffic along a two-lane highway, en route to the Jackson Rancheria Casino.

“There are times when you can hardly get out of your driveway,” said Jim Edmonds, who lives on the highway.

Concerns by other neighbors about crime are ill-founded, said Amador County Undersheriff Karl Knobelauch.

In 1997, deputies responded 105 times to the Jackson casino to arrest people detained by the Jackson Indian security force on casino property, mostly for drug violations, he said.

Only twice in recent years has Knobelauch’s department identified off-reservation crimes related to the casino--two home break-ins by casino patrons.

Knobelauch said his department asked the tribe for $500,000 a year to pay for round-the-clock coverage of the casino by deputies. They negotiated and, based on the number of actual incidents, the tribe--which has signed a state compact--agreed to pay $100,000 to the Sheriff’s Department.

In Northern California, critics point to gunfire two years ago at the rural Elam tribal reservation that wounded several tribal members who couldn’t agree on who should control the casino. SWAT officers rushed to the reservation to quell the outbreak.

“I’ve been dealing with the Elam tribe for 14 years--including 12 years before they had gaming--and they have never been able to resolve their issues,” said Jaeger, of the Indian Affairs bureau. “There’s been lots of infighting there, even before they had a casino.”

Few Problems From Palm Springs Casino

Of all of California’s Indian casinos, the Spa in Palm Springs is in the most urban setting, and “from our experience, [casino-related crime] is not something to be alarmed about,” said Palm Springs Police Chief Lee Weigel.

The biggest issue, said Police Capt. Gary Boswell, is vagrants who get drunk near the casino.

On the other hand, he said, there have been none of the more severe problems some critics worry about--prostitution, violent crime or such trappings of organized crime as money-laundering.

His thinking is not biased, Boswell said, by the fact that the tribe donated about $60,000 last year to local police programs.

Fresno Sheriff Steve Magarian said his biggest concerns about Table Mountain are with tribal police who, he said, are lax in preserving crime evidence.

Magarian--who in 1991 raided the casino’s video machines and was later ordered by the courts to return them--said casino-related crimes include car break-ins and a rape in the casino parking lot two years ago.

Overall, he said, criminal activity at the casino is not much different than what is encountered at other large public businesses.

Fresno-area organizations aren’t complaining about Table Mountain, either.

The tribe has donated more than $1 million, including $400,000 for the local zoo, $250,000 toward a new museum to highlight the region’s farming heritage, $100,000 for high school stadium bleachers and $56,000 for the local children’s hospital--$1,000 on behalf of each of the tribe’s children.

In Palm Springs, the Agua Caliente Indians last year donated $472,000 to various community organizations.

Casinos also provide “a huge economic development benefit,” said Palm Springs Chamber of Commerce Director David K. Aaker, whose agency received a $25,000 donation from the Spa casino.

“When someone wants to go on a vacation or plan a convention, Indian gaming is one more attraction, one more reason to choose us,” he said.

Such success stories would not have been possible before 1987, when Indian tribes won the right to open casinos in California, thanks to a lawsuit brought by the Cabazon Indians that went to the U.S. Supreme Court.

The next year, the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act was enacted by Congress, which instructed states to negotiate government-to-government compacts with Indian tribes to conduct gaming in states that already allow it.

At issue in California is what kind of gaming is legal. Proposition 5 and the compacts some tribes have signed with the state are competing ways to resolve it.

Proposition 5 would maintain existing casino operations--which do not now include such classic Nevada trappings as roulette wheels and crap tables. It would also allow the continued use of the type of video slot machines that state and federal authorities now deem illegal in California.

If the measure is rejected by voters, tribes will be required to adopt compacts negotiated by Gov. Wilson that call for a limit on the number of video machines, greater state regulations, environmental restrictions, customer safeguards and union rights.

The state-blessed compacts require tribes to use high-speed video machines mimicking the California Lottery. Unlike with the current machines, players would not trigger a specific machine’s outcome, but rather enroll in ongoing games generated by a central computer, similar to the state lottery. Such devices have not yet been consumer tested, and some tribes worry that they won’t be as attractive to gamblers as the current machines--which account for 75% or more of tribal revenue.

Also, under Wilson’s compacts, each tribe would be limited to 199 devices--or could lease more from non-casino tribes for a total of 975 machines. Several existing casinos now offer more than 1,000 machines, and they contend that Wilson’s compact would be a step backward for them.

Among the biggest supporters of Proposition 5 is the 1,250-member Pechanga tribe near Temecula. Before it entered the gambling business, the tribe toyed with other ideas: a drag strip, a tow-junk yard, sand mining, a swap meet, even processing sewage sludge into fertilizer. None was attractive.

It opened its casino three years ago and has used the revenue to construct a sports park, fire station, gas station, mini-mart and water and sewage systems.

Like most other tribes operating casinos, Pechanga won’t disclose how much money its casino generates. Tribal chairman Mark Macarro, the prime television spokesman for the pro-5 campaign, said 20% is invested, 30% is spent within the reservation for items ranging from housing assistance to college scholarships, and 50% is distributed among the tribe’s 856 adult members.

Tribal members no longer have to wait for the government commodities truck to arrive with its load of butter, lard, fruit and meat, leaders say. “Now we have pride in ourselves,” said Butch Murphy, president of the tribe’s development corporation.

One Tribe’s $35-Million Gamble

The Viejas Casino and Turf Club, east of San Diego, is one of California’s oldest Indian casinos. After opening in 1990, one of its big attractions was a bungee jumping platform.

Today, an attractive, name-brand factory outlet center--with a nightly Indian-themed fire-laser-and-water show--stands across the street from the casino. It was constructed by the 280-member tribe at a cost of $35 million as it parlayed its casino revenue into other investments.

The tribe, which reluctantly signed a state compact but nonetheless has contributed $5.1 million to the pro-5 campaign, has come a long way, reflected 16-year chairman Anthony Pico.

“I didn’t realize it at the time, but when I was a child, I was witnessing the total destruction of my own people,” said Pico, 53. “Elders were in drunken stupors, laying on the ground unconscious, their hair matted in blood from fights.”

Today, every tribal child has an educational trust fund. Every elder is built a modest home. The tribe purchased majority ownership of the Borrego Springs National Bank, so loans could be extended to Native Americans who might not be able to secure loans elsewhere for homes and businesses. All tribal members have full health insurance coverage.

“There was a time when 80% of our people were on some kind of welfare,” Pico said. “Today, none. Eight years ago, 70% of our people were unemployed. Today, everyone who believes employment is important, is employed.”

Pico acknowledges sadly that 20% of the tribe’s members are still “in a life of despair” because of alcohol or drug abuse. “That’s why it’s so important for us to develop our economic base.”

No Turning Back Now

Members of the Table Mountain Rancheria are among those most enjoying a new life of riches.

Tribal officials say they adopted a compact with the state and are against Proposition 5 because they don’t want to risk losing their cash cow in continuing court battles over the legality of casinos. They have tasted the good life, they say, and they like it.

Sundance Burrough, a 28-year-old member of the tribe, admitted that receiving a $14,000 monthly check as his share of casino revenue is a bit heady. He owns a Dodge Viper, a Dodge pickup truck, a Mercedes-Benz, a Chevrolet Suburban and perhaps the ultimate in big-boy toys, a Humvee.

Tribal chairman Vern Castro opened a limousine business and bought a beauty spa.

This, thanks to a casino that, in 1997, generated $32 million in profits for the small tribe.

“I’ve worked all my life to be where I am today,” said Castro, who remembers picking up trash and maintaining boats at the nearby Millerton Lake State Recreation Area. “I’m not ashamed to be where I am today, with the help of the tribe and our casino.”

These days, tribal meetings are usually spent with financial counselors, offering advice on where to invest individual and tribal funds. The tribe owns half-interest in a small chain of Mexican restaurants and recently bought a custom-car manufacturing business.

Among the many tribal amenities--including the monthly checks, the housing fund, the cash rewards to students with good grades, the tutors, the fully outfitted youth activities center, the tribal library and computer learning center--is a $4-million medical, dental and vision clinic with a full-time doctor for the 95 tribe members plus casino employees.

“Hey, we’re fortunate people,” said Shannon Jones, a former janitor who now owns his own custodial company. “We know how it was to struggle. Please be happy for us.”