Look around. Take pictures. Record what Maryland looks like in the humid haze of August 2009, the last summer before slots.
People are probably still outside sunning themselves at the beach. Or maybe they are running the sprinkler for their children in the backyard and barbequing. They do not yet have the opportunity to shutter themselves in the cool confines of windowless football fields filled with one-armed bandits, as they used to be known.
The Anne Arundel County Council is doing its best to stall gambling’s inevitable entrance. It has pushed to the fall debate about whether to rezone land next to Arundel Mills Mall for an entertainment megaplex with 4,750 slot machines proposed by Baltimore-based Cordish Cos.
But they will come, in accordance with the referendum passed by 59 percent of the state’s voters in November 2008. And Gov. Martin O’Malley, frustrated by cuts to his budget, will have more cash to throw around once again, even if it is not the $800 million each year that he originally had hoped for.
And that is the problem. Turning certain areas of this lovely state into mini versions of Crystal City, the modernist horror in Arlington, Va., where people tread underground in tunnels and abide in high rise silos for maximum efficiency, should cause people to shudder.
Gambling operators always do their best to create all-in-one venues to lure customers from video lottery terminals, to restaurants to movie theatres to children’s diversions. So in those centers there will be no “eyes on the street” — the bedrock of a vibrant community as writer and activist Jane Jacobs proved. There will just be lots of eyes glued to machines in the five venues that eventually win licenses to operate.
But that is not the ugliest consequence of slots. Bigger government is. People don’t have to play slots. They must pay for government.
Morally, it’s hard to justify prohibiting slots or any form of gambling. The state already allows a lottery and horse racing, a business so beloved and allegedly so quintessential to Maryland’s identity that it is forcing residents to subsidize it through slots’ revenue.
And most Americans consider gambling the moral equivalent of going to see a movie or out to dinner. The most compelling issue for slots is that without them, other states are capturing revenue that could be Maryland’s.
That argument is the one O’Malley and the Maryland State Teachers Association and other supporters successfully used to lobby for them prior to last fall’s referendum. The problem is that slots dollars will not replace other revenue sources, thereby reducing residents’ tax burden, and will not preclude new taxes, contrary to their assertions before the election. They merely expand government’s resources.
Earlier this month Gov. O’Malley said he hopes that new taxes are not needed to balance the budget. The state is not raking in the millions in taxes from slots yet. But it is never satisfied. Two years ago legislators passed $1.3 billion in new taxes, cementing Maryland’s reputation as anti-business. Sales and corporate taxes went up, as did vehicle titling fees, and legislators created a new tax bracket for millionaires.
If after such a short time the governor won’t rule out more tax increases, why should anyone believe that slots revenue will assuage the government’s appetite? The only example of government shrinking is when it ceases to exist.
Gaming will instead become a fountain from which even more special interests will come to drink – which means a continuing cycle of more gambling to pay for more government. Statistics from the American Gaming Association show that gambling revenue contributed $5.7 billion in direct taxes to states and local governments in 2008, down 2.2 percent from 2007 after almost a decade of strong growth. So once the recession fades, consumers will likely head back to the casinos.
If the state wants to avoid letting gambling become its oil, the main road block to Middle Eastern countries reforming their economies, it should reduce taxes by the same amount gambling revenue contributes to the state budget each year. That would prevent Marylanders from pining for pre-gaming days when only children played video games all night and the structural deficit was only $2 billion each year.
