FIRST PERSON
Alliances with casino insiders became pipelines for the very crimes regulators claimed they were preventing – money laundering, tax evasion, bribery, trafficking. That collusion threatens the foundational compact upon which casinos operate. These institutions don’t exist by market entitlement. They exist by public charter. In exchange for privileged access and legal protections, they accept obligations: to ensure fairness, prevent abuse, and reject criminal entanglements. When that bargain collapses, legitimacy unravels – and with it, the legal foundation on which the industry rests. The compact is not immutable; it is conditional, upheld by public trust. And when that trust breaks, public opinion doesn’t deliberate – it indicts. Swiftly. Often irreversibly. And yet, as the regulators faltered, another line of defense remained: the legal profession. For lawyers working in this space, the stakes are high. This is more than a matter of legal procedure. It is a matter of responsibility. We are not mere observers of the public compact – we are its custodians. And with that comes an obligation – not just to the letter of the law, but to the trust that gives the law its power. Too often, lawyers serve not as gatekeepers but as architects of plausible deniability – wrapping vice in procedure until principle disappears. By taking refuge behind legal formalism, the industry has allowed its ethical foundation to decay. An ethical casino doesn’t ask, “What can we get away with?” It asks, “What should we be doing?” That means building systems that uncover misconduct – not conceal it. It means asking better questions – and having the courage to act, even when profits are at stake. My research found an industry standing at a moral crossroads. Its players divide into three camps. First, the immoral – those who knowingly breach
the rules, viewing ethics as obstacles to profit. Next, the amoral – those who adhere to the letter of the law while sidestepping its spirit. And finally, a quieter third group – smaller in number but vital to the industry’s survival: the moral actors. They do more than comply. They interrogate. They take ownership, even when it’s inconvenient. And they measure success not by quarterly returns, but by whether their institutions still reflect the values the public entrusts them to uphold. If the casino industry is to be saved – and to be worth saving – it must be redefined by that quiet, smaller, third group. Whether drafting policy, advising clients, or auditing compliance, lawyers play a pivotal role. You don’t need a badge to draw the line. You need sharper instincts – and the will to act on them. • Does this transaction reflect not just legal compliance, but ethical integrity? • Are we reinforcing public trust, or rationalizing its erosion? • Do we understand the networks operating just beyond our sightlines? Conclusion Above all, this is about restoring trust – between law and the public, between regulators and the regulated, and within the profession itself. The Romans had a saying: “Nothing is more unpredictable than the mob, nothing more obscure than public opinion.” In gaming, that volatility carries a cost. Regulatory failure provokes backlash. And when public trust collapses, no audit, no statute, no courtroom victory can restore what’s lost – not in the eyes of the public, and not in the soul of the industry. When trust collapses, the industry doesn’t just lose credibility. It may lose its fiat to exist. And no amount of legal brilliance can buy it back.
ANTHONY CABOT Anthony Cabot is a founder and former president of IMGL and, until recently was Distinguished Fellow of Gaming Law at the UNLV Boyd School of Law Before joining academia Tony practiced gaming law for 37 years and was chair of the gaming law practice and executive committee member at Lewis Roca Rothgerber Christie.His new book, Casino Redux i s reviewed overleaf.
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IMGL MAGAZINE | JUNE 2025
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