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Over the past few months, I’ve been getting a barrage of calls from unknown numbers. Because I work directly with clients and am involved in politics, I answer most calls that aren’t marked as obvious spam. Yes, I’ve gotten the usual fake loan approvals and robotic scams. But one name has kept coming up again and again:
MGM Sportsbook.
I’m not a regular gambler. I used the MGM app once or twice for small Super Bowl bets — less than $200 total. So when the first call came, I declined and moved on. Then came the second. The third. The fourth. And on it went.
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I’ve long been wary of how pervasive gambling has become in our society, but these calls snapped things into focus: how easy it is to get sucked in, and how hard it is to get out.
Across the country, e-gambling apps now let you place thousands of dollars in bets with a single tap. And here in Virginia, we’ve been debating multiple forms of legalized gambling that are spreading faster than our laws can keep up.
At a moment of extreme wealth inequality and rising prices, people — especially young men — are desperate for ways to stretch a paycheck. That’s why it’s no accident that gambling companies ramp up their marketing around the holidays with “Get Rich Quick” sign-up bonuses like “Get $200 when you play for the first time,” conveniently hiding that you must spend $200 to get it.
And we need our elected officials — many of whom previously voted to relax gambling regulations — to realize that the house isn’t just winning; it’s expanding.
Skill Games: A False Promise
I had an op-ed published on this recently in the Richmond Times Dispatch but allow me to reiterate: In Virginia, we’re grappling with a rapid flood of so-called “skill” game machines — slot-style terminals showing up in gas stations, truck stops, bars, and convenience stores across the Commonwealth. Their supporters like to argue that these machines “help small businesses” and “bring in tax revenue.” But once you scratch beneath the surface, it becomes clear that this entire industry is designed to concentrate profit in the hands of out-of-state operators. At the same time, the harms fall squarely on low-income and vulnerable communities right here in Virginia.
And if we want to see what happens when this industry goes unchecked, just look to Pennsylvania. A jury there recently found [ [link removed] ] that one of the companies behind these machines played a direct role in the death of a store employee, awarding his estate $15.3 million in damages after he was fatally shot during a robbery targeting the cash inside one of the terminals. That incident pulled back the curtain: the same corporate forces pushing these machines here in Virginia are not looking out for everyday people or small business owners. They’re looking out for themselves.
Let’s lay out the facts. During the brief window when these machines were temporarily legal under the Virginia ABC scheme (July 2020 through May 2021), roughly 8,000 machines were in operation. And according to the state’s own data [ [link removed] ], more than 70% of those machines were placed in lower-income ZIP codes. That’s not a coincidence — that’s the business model. These companies know exactly where people are most vulnerable to predatory gambling, and that is where they set up shop.
Meanwhile, the primary operator behind these terminals in Virginia, Pace-O-Matic, has left a clear paper trail of lobbying, regulatory avoidance, and attempts to write the rules in ways that benefit them and only them. They love to claim they’re “coming through the front door” and “doing business the right way,” but their track record tells a very different story. When Virginia lawmakers put forward a reasonable proposal in 2024 to regulate these machines and bring them under state oversight, Pace-O-Matic fought it tooth and nail — because real oversight would slow down their profits.
The safety risks are not hypothetical. In 2022, the Joint Legislative Audit and Review Commission (JLARC) found that businesses [ [link removed] ] hosting these machines experienced higher rates of robbery, violence, and public safety incidents. Pennsylvania’s jury verdict said the same thing out loud: these machines create “unsafe environments” for workers because they function as unprotected, cash-rich magnets for crime. And anyone who has walked into a corner store with one of these machines sitting in the back knows that it does not look or feel like something designed to protect people.
And those rosy revenue projections the industry keeps touting? Don’t buy it. The claims that these machines could generate up to $200 million annually rely on an unrealistic scenario in which the terminals spread everywhere, with thousands of mini-casinos scattered across the Commonwealth. They also rely on pre-2020 assumptions that don’t reflect Virginia’s now-expanded legal gaming industry. Without strict limits and serious regulation, that revenue isn’t new money — it’s just money drained from communities that can least afford to lose it.
This is, at its core, a matter of equity. Are we really willing to allow a business model that siphons money from lower-income neighborhoods and funnels it to out-of-state investors — all while pretending it’s good for “small businesses”? That is not a justice-oriented approach. It’s exploitation with a friendly marketing veneer.
The solution is straightforward: put a stop to the deliberate defiance that has fueled the spread of these machines. For too long, companies like Pace-O-Matic have operated as though Virginia’s laws are optional. It’s time for the General Assembly to strengthen the existing ban, prohibit any new terminals, and enforce the laws already on the books.
The data is clear: these machines are predatory, they target vulnerable communities, they offer limited benefit to the state, and they create long-term risks for public safety, addiction, and local economies. Virginia has a real opportunity to reverse this trend.
And our communities deserve nothing less.
Casinos: The Mirage of Economic Revival
In 2020, the Virginia General Assembly opened the door to casino gaming in the Commonwealth. Since then, four cities — Bristol, Danville, Norfolk, and Portsmouth — have voted to approve casinos. Richmond voters rejected it twice [ [link removed] ], and legislators killed efforts to put one in Tysons [ [link removed] ]. Now the push has reached Roanoke, where residents and local elected officials are already sounding the alarm.
So why have casinos been so appealing to lawmakers for so long? Much like the proponents of “skill” games, casino advocates and lobbyists promise the world: massive tax revenue for schools and infrastructure, new jobs, a boost to local businesses, and even assurances that property values won’t take a hit. But when you look at the history of casinos in the United States—and where the money actually comes from—it’s far from the glamorous picture being sold.
Take Atlantic City as the clearest example. When New Jersey legalized casinos in 1977, [ [link removed] ] the pitch was nearly identical to what we hear today: casinos would revive a struggling economy, bring in jobs, and attract tourism. Yes, the jobs came. But the broader revival never arrived. The money that flowed into the casinos stayed there. The once-thriving Atlantic Avenue business district never saw the promised foot traffic; instead, it deteriorated into a stretch of liquor stores and cash-for-gold shops. Local merchants got left behind.
And it’s not just Atlantic City. The National Association of Realtors found that casinos have an “unambiguously” negative impact on property values. Communities located within ten miles of a casino experience double the rate of problem gambling. And unsurprisingly, these same communities also see higher rates of home foreclosures, economic distress, and domestic violence.
These concerns were all raised repeatedly during the Richmond casino referenda and the Tysons debate. A review by P.J. O’Gilvie in Humanities and Social Sciences Communications found that casinos are typically located in lower-socioeconomic communities that already have some gambling presence. Developers promise economic improvements for these neighborhoods, but the benefits are rarely sustained. In fact, increased accessibility to gambling tends to drive up rates of gambling addiction—and with it, the negative social and economic consequences.
Before, the high barrier of traveling to Las Vegas or another destination made it harder for gambling addictions to take root. Now, with casinos popping up across the country, especially in lower-income neighborhoods, that barrier is gone. These communities—many of which are already struggling—are being hit the hardest.
A report by the Institute for American Values stated: [ [link removed] ]
“Modern slot machines are highly addictive because they get into people’s heads as well as their wallets. They engineer the psychological experience of being in the ‘zone’ - a trance-like state that numbs feeling and blots out time/space. For some heavy players, the goal is not winning money. It’s staying in the zone. To maintain this intensely desirable state, players prolong their time on the machine until they run out of money - a phenomenon that people in the industry call ‘playing to extinction.’”
Gambling addiction has the highest suicide rate of any addiction. Unlike substance abuse recovery [ [link removed] ], where you might still have some financial footing left, gambling can wipe out everything—savings, credit, retirement funds—leaving people with massive debt, housing instability, and nowhere to turn. Meanwhile, gaming companies reap enormous profits from that devastation.
And here’s the final truth casino advocates don’t like to say out loud: the revenue they promise comes straight from the pockets of local residents. These aren’t destination casinos drawing tourists from out of state. They’re neighborhood casinos drawing money from people who live nearby—many of whom already pay high local taxes and struggle to make ends meet. In practice, casinos function as yet another tax on the poor, while the profits flow upward to gaming corporations.
Digital Betting: A New Frontier of Harm
Even if Virginia were to contain physical gambling locations, the truth is that digital betting has already blown the doors wide open. Over the past few years, online gambling platforms have spread across the country at a pace our laws simply can’t keep up with. And while we’ve been busy fighting over casinos and “skill” machines, an entirely new—and in some ways even more dangerous—form of gambling has taken hold.
Apps like Kalshi now allow people to bet on everything from sports outcomes to what someone might wear on a given day, all under the sanitized label of “trading.” But this isn’t the stock market. It’s gambling dressed up in financial language, and it’s drawing in younger and younger users who see it as a quick way to make money.
Many states have already taken notice. Massachusetts, Nevada, New Jersey, and Ohio have all taken legal action against Kalshi, arguing that it operates illegally by failing to follow state-specific gambling and sports betting regulations. Kalshi has managed to win injunctions in some states and lose them in others, leaving behind a patchwork of rulings and confusion. That’s the environment we’re operating in now—a Wild West where the industry moves faster than regulators can react.
But it goes deeper than that. The rise of platforms like Polymarket, where people can literally bet on election outcomes, takes the gamification of daily life to a new—and troubling—level. It turns our political system into a casino, where civic participation competes with the lure of a payout. For younger generations already feeling disconnected from politics, the temptation to place a bet rather than cast a thoughtful vote is real. And once money enters the equation, decision-making changes. Voting becomes a financial wager, not a civic duty.
That’s not just irresponsible. It’s dangerous.
And here’s the larger issue: these services don’t need a physical presence in Virginia to cause harm. They’re always in our pockets. They’re available 24/7. There’s no bartender or clerk noticing someone struggling, no family member watching a spiral unfold. It’s just a screen, an app, a push notification, and a credit card.
This is how addiction grows in the dark.
Digital gambling has created an environment where the barriers that once slowed gambling addiction—distance, cost, stigma—have vanished. Instead of driving hours to a casino, people can now bet their savings away on their couch. Instead of one or two casinos in a state, every smartphone becomes one. And instead of communities having time to see the warning signs, the harms spread quietly, invisibly, until they’re impossible to ignore.
For young adults, especially, this is uncharted territory. Countless studies have shown how harmful gambling can be to mental health, financial stability, and long-term well-being. But digital betting goes a step further: it blends entertainment, finance, and competition into a single addictive feedback loop that is nearly impossible to escape once you’re in it.
While state governments have allowed traditional gaming to run wild across the country, the digital side has grown even faster—and with far fewer safeguards. This is the new frontier of gambling harm, and it’s already here. The question now is whether we’re willing to acknowledge that reality before the damage becomes irreversible.
When the Risks Outweigh the Benefits
Virginia has already seen the early warning signs of what unchecked gambling can do to communities, but the fight is far from over. As new proposals pop up—like the most recent casino push in Roanoke—residents and elected officials are speaking out, and for good reason.
Gamblers Anonymous has a simple mantra: “There’s no such thing as a sure thing.” That wisdom doesn’t just apply to the person placing a bet. It applies to local and state governments, hoping that gambling will be the magic revenue source that fixes budget holes and revitalizes neighborhoods. Time after time, study after study, the results are the same: there are no guaranteed wins for communities when the gaming industry moves in.
What is guaranteed, however, is that the house always wins—and they win big.
Every day across Virginia, low-income families and people battling addiction pump hundreds of thousands of dollars into slot machines, casinos, digital apps, and convenience-store terminals, hoping that this time things might turn around. Meanwhile, gaming companies rake in huge profits, dangling flashy incentives and tiny, intermittent payouts to keep people hooked. They sell legislators a vision of economic growth, when in reality they’re draining wealth directly from the communities least able to afford it.
Local governments have a responsibility to revisit the presence of both “skill” games and casinos in their jurisdictions—and to think long and hard before approving any new proposals. A short-term cash infusion isn’t worth long-term community harm.
And Virginians should be watching the General Assembly closely. Future sessions will determine whether we continue expanding this industry or finally put guardrails in place. Lawmakers must take the decades of research showing how harmful gambling can be to public health, safety, and economic stability—especially for young adults, who are being aggressively targeted by online gambling platforms.
Physical gambling venues can be limited and monitored. Digital gambling is another story. It has exploded with almost no oversight, and it is reaching young adults at record levels. Apps like Kalshi and Polymarket are taking things even further, turning everything—from sports outcomes to elections—into a betting market. This isn’t harmless entertainment. It’s a direct threat to long-term financial stability, mental health, and, in the case of political betting, our democratic process itself.
We cannot afford to be complacent.
We Can Still Change Course
Our state has allowed gambling—physical and digital—to run rampant across the Commonwealth. But it is not too late to reverse course. Virginia can choose to protect people rather than expose them to industries designed to extract as much money as possible from those who can least afford to lose it.
Because the truth is simple: the house only wins when the rules favor the house.
We can change those rules.
We can strengthen bans on predatory machines.
We can reject casino proposals that prey on vulnerable neighborhoods.
We can regulate or prohibit digital platforms that lure young people with promises of easy money.
We can insist that economic development means real investment—not corporate extraction dressed up as opportunity.
Most importantly, we can decide that our communities, our workers, and our young people are worth protecting.
Gambling companies want us to believe that their success is our success. But we know better.
They say the house always wins. Virginia doesn’t have to let it.
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By the Ballot is an opinion series published on Substack. All views expressed are solely those of the author and should not be interpreted as reporting or objective journalism or attributed to any other individual or organization. I am not a journalist or reporter, nor do I claim to be one. This publication represents personal commentary, analysis, and opinion only.

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