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By Brian Hews
Publisher | Follow X
October 21, 2025
For nearly a decade, California’s top law enforcement office has quietly worked both sides of the gambling table—taking millions from tribal casinos while punishing the legal cardrooms that sustain local cities.
First, it was Xavier Becerra. Now, it’s Rob Bonta.
Both attorneys general accepted major tribal campaign donations and then issued Bureau of Gambling Control regulations that could cripple cardrooms—destroying jobs, choking off city revenue, and protecting tribal casino monopolies in the process.
Los Cerritos Community News first exposed this pattern in February 2020, when an LCCN investigation revealed that Becerra’s campaign and political committees had accepted more than $792,000 from tribal casino interests between 2016 and 2019. Public filings showed five- and six-figure contributions from the Pechanga Band of Luiseño Indians, Agua Caliente Band of Cahuilla Indians, San Manuel Band of Mission Indians, Yocha Dehe Wintun Nation, and other tribal casino operators.
Just months later, Becerra’s Bureau of Gambling Control began issuing “emergency” regulations—crafted behind closed doors—that upended decades of stable, legal cardroom rules. His directives redefined traditional games, restricted third-party player systems, and handed California’s gambling market back to tribal casinos. The result was exactly what his donors wanted: the tribes kept their monopoly on house-banked casino games, while local cardrooms were pushed toward insolvency.
At the time, LCCN documented the stakes. California’s cardrooms directly supported more than 32,000 jobs statewide, generated $500 million in state and local taxes, and created over $2.3 billion in economic activity in Los Angeles County alone. Cities like Commerce, Bell Gardens, and Hawaiian Gardens relied on those funds to pay for police, fire, parks, and senior programs. Becerra’s “reforms” put all of that at risk—an act of political payback disguised as law enforcement.
Now, five years later, Rob Bonta is using the same deck.
According to the California Secretary of State’s “Powersearch” website, for his 2022 Attorney General campaign Bonta accepted over $317,000 in tribal contributions, with sizable checks from Agua Caliente, Pechanga, San Manuel/Yaamava’, Yocha Dehe, and others.
According to the California Secretary of State’s “Powersearch” website, for his 2022 Attorney General campaign Bonta accepted over $317,000 in tribal contributions, with sizable checks from Agua Caliente, Pechanga, San Manuel/Yaamava’, Yocha Dehe, and others.
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Within months, his Bureau of Gambling Control unveiled a sweeping proposal to eliminate blackjack-style games from California cardrooms. The draft rules ban any game where the target count is 21, prohibit the standard “bust” rule, and force a player-dealer rotation every 40 minutes. They also forbid the use of “blackjack” or “21” in game names. On paper, the regulations appear technical. In practice, they erase the core cardroom games that attract customers—and make those businesses viable.
Bonta’s own Department of Justice impact study, conducted by Berkeley Economic Advising and Research, confirms the damage. The report forecasts nearly $464 million in annual losses to cardrooms and third-party proposition player companies, with more than 350 jobs lost each year for a decade. The same analysis notes an expected $232 million annual gain for tribal casinos, which would inherit the market share cardrooms are forced to abandon.
To the average Californian, it looks like a simple equation: campaign donations in, casino profits out.
And the donations are still flowing. Public filings show that for his 2026 re-election run, Bonta has already accepted $130,000 in new tribal casino contributions – with months to collect more to go – the same donors, the same pattern, and the same conflict. It’s an unmistakable continuation of California’s pay-to-play system: tribal money fuels campaign coffers, and the Bureau of Gambling Control responds with rules that protect those donors’ monopolies.
According to the California Secretary of State’s “Powersearch” website, for his ongoing 2026 Attorney General campaign Bonta has so far accepted over $130,000 in tribal contributions, with sizable checks from Agua Caliente, Pechanga, San Manuel/Yaamava’, Yocha Dehe, and others.
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The economic consequences for local governments are staggering. The Gardens Casino in Hawaiian Gardens contributes nearly 80 percent of the city’s general-fund revenue. The Commerce Casino supplies roughly half of Commerce’s budget. Bonta’s proposed rules would gut both operations overnight, forcing layoffs in police, recreation, and community services.
The parallels with Becerra’s tenure are impossible to ignore. In 2021, Becerra collected hundreds of thousands from tribes and then rewrote gambling regulations to benefit them. In 2024, State Senator Josh Newman—another tribal-funded legislator—pushed through Senate Bill 549, the so-called Tribal Nations Access to Justice Act, giving tribes the right to sue cardrooms directly. That measure allowed deep-pocketed casinos to use state courts to harass competitors with endless litigation.
According to the California Secretary of State’s “Powersearch” website, Newman has so far accepted over $128,000 in tribal contributions, with sizable checks from Agua Caliente, Pechanga, San Manuel/Yaamava’, Yocha Dehe, and others.
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The result was chaos. Dozens of cardrooms faced lawsuits, including some that had already closed. The Gardens Casino and Commerce Casino were targeted first, jeopardizing millions in city revenue.
Last month, a Sacramento County Superior Court judge tossed the tribal lawsuits, ruling that SB 549 was pre-empted by federal Indian-gaming law. The decision was a rare win for cardrooms—and for the cities that depend on them. But even as the dust settled, Bonta’s Bureau moved ahead with its “blackjack ban,” giving the tribes a second chance to achieve through regulation what they lost in court.
For critics, it’s a simple story of influence: tribal casino money fuels campaign war chests; the attorney general repays those donors with regulations that crush their competitors.
For communities like Hawaiian Gardens, Commerce, and Bell Gardens, the stakes are painfully real. Without their cardrooms, these cities would face budget crises, staff layoffs, and cuts to essential services. The fallout would ripple through the region, wiping out union jobs and small-business contracts that depend on casino traffic.
Tribal leaders argue that cardrooms have long skirted state law by operating “banked games” through third-party dealers, violating the tribes’ exclusive gaming compacts. But even state regulators acknowledge that cardrooms have been legally operating under the same structure for decades, reviewed and approved by the Department of Justice itself.
The truth is more political than legal.
From Becerra to Bonta, California’s attorneys general have treated tribal contributions as a reliable campaign ATM. Each cycle, the checks get bigger, the rules get tighter, and the working-class cities that depend on cardrooms lose a little more ground.
It’s a stacked deck—and Sacramento keeps dealing the same hand.
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