In the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, before New Orleans had turned into a modern-day Atlantis and when the media was still focused on Mississippi and Alabama, some of the most stunning photos to appear on CNN were of riverboat casinos, flipped entirely off their "foundations" and blown clean across an interstate to a roadside ditch. It was a scene eerily reminiscent of "The Wizard of Oz," and yet wasn't staged on a Hollywood set, but rather a series of impoverished Mississippi towns, once reliant on such gaming parlors for jobs, tourism and tax revenue. And as these towns try to quilt back together the tattered pieces of their one-time existence, those costly casinos will have to be entirely rebuilt or local unemployment rates will approach numbers once reserved for vodka-gulping Russian outposts.
The human toll of this veritable catastrophe is of course the primary concern today, and citizens' safety — especially in areas most vulnerable to natural disaster — should always be paramount. But in a capitalist society, one must wonder why the most pivotal prongs of a community's economic infrastructure — casinos — are left in some of the most vulnerable positions.
The answer, of course, is that Mississippi requires such gambling hubs to be on the water. The relevant laws are a thinly veiled attempt to reconcile the values of a relatively puritanical state and the significant financial benefits of legalized gambling. So long as the sinful activity doesn't occur on land, there is an illusion of governmental helplessness. That these casinos are taxed, subject to state laws and parts of local police districts is irrelevant — they at least look like they are part of the lawless world of maritime recklessness.
Of course, Mississippi isn't alone. Numerous states allow gambling so long as it is on the water. Resultantly, many casinos are not solidly constructed buildings but rather faux boats, devoid of an engine or a deck and with a crew trained only in the arts of slot-machine maintenance and blackjack dealing. These are not the boats that once played host to George DeVol; they are buffet-laden hubs of glamour that would easily blend into a Rat Pack film. The guiding rationale appears to always be the same: citizens may benefit from the financial advantages of casinos without facing the social appearance of what many deem to be impropriety.
Now the time has come for the charade to end. Casinos are no longer those peculiar things found only in Nevada and on the Jersey shore; they are within driving distance of every major Midwestern metropolis. To leave them so vulnerable to destruction — exposing so many local economies to harm at the same time — is simply unacceptable. We live in an era of state lotteries, tribal casinos, OTB parlors, bingo halls and "riverboats" that don't need anchors because they will always be docked. Craps games are no longer played on sidewalks and numbers are no longer run by organized-crime outfits. Not allowing inland casinos is not just idiotic — it is altogether hypocritical.
Perhaps Captain Renault best epitomized this troublesome veil of naiveté: "I'm shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here."
Mac VerStandig ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in rhetoric.
