The question mark in the headline is a well-known fact in the business community. All underground casinos in Ukraine operate strictly under police protection. Why Interior Minister Arsen Avakov isn't shutting down gambling parlors and casinos is discussed in the newspaper Express.
"Casinos and gambling parlors disguised as lotteries—stop! The Ministry of Internal Affairs will shut down all gambling (lottery) parlors and clubs across the country," Arsen Avakov made such a bold statement two years ago. He then reported that the "one-armed bandits" had been defeated, according to the newspaper Express.
However, today every Ukrainian can easily see that the minister lied. Why?
For several months after Avakov's announcement, gambling parlors were indeed officially closed, and some even moved out of their rented premises. However, most remained closed for only a short time: only certain members were allowed inside, and only after a phone call to the administrator's number.
Today, gaming parlors—albeit under a different name—operate throughout Ukraine and are called "State Lotteries." They're easy to find. I counted at least six in one district of the city alone.
I approach the door of the "lottery." All the windows are plastered with advertising. The first thing that catches my eye is the opening hours. "We're open 24 hours. Maintenance break from 7:00 AM to 9:00 AM."
"So what? Someone wanted to try their luck at three in the morning? Why deny them that? The state lottery has you covered: go buy it, win it."
I go inside. A girl in a short black skirt and white shirt meets me at the door:
"How can I help you?" the worker asks politely.
“I want to buy my husband some instant lottery tickets as a gift,” I say.
“We don’t have such lotteries,” the girl answers just as politely.
- But the sign says: "lotteries."
"Well, yes. We're a lottery, but a little different," the woman says, a little nervously now. At that moment, a heavily built man quickly approaches her, also introducing himself as an employee.
"You can buy paper lottery tickets that you have to scratch off at the store across the street," the security guard says.
"Do you have slot machines here? I like to play too. Where can I buy tokens?" I ask. At this point, I notice that people are smoking in the establishment. Almost everyone.
Accompanied by the lottery workers, I go to the ticket office – to a booth with a barred window.
"We don't have tokens that you insert into the machine. We have a lottery. It's just like this: you pay, we issue a receipt, you insert it into the terminal, and play," the cashier says.
However, the gameplay principle remains the same, no different from slot machines. You pay a certain number of clicks on a button (depending on the game type), sit down at the monitor, press the button, and wait for the symbols on the screen to match. If the symbols match, your account is credited. If not, you lose, and you're immediately offered the chance to buy another ticket.
Despite the high minimum bet, there are plenty of customers here. Both men and women press the buttons in search of luck. The age of the customers ranges from 30 to 50. Based on their social status, they can be divided into two categories: those who haven't yet lost and seem quite wealthy, and those who have already spent all their money and have eaten a long time ago.
On Sunday afternoon, I counted nine customers in the salon. After ten o'clock that evening, when I went to another establishment, I saw only two empty seats.
About the seats. The venue usually has two rooms. The first one has 10 monitors. I was not allowed into the second room of the "state lottery," citing that while there were empty seats in the first room, the second one was closed. This wasn't true, though, as people (presumably VIP clients) were also exiting it.
Even experienced players admit that "state lotteries" are just slot machines. I meet a neighbor who was treated for so-called gambling addiction several years ago. He says it helped, and he can't play the machines anymore. However, he knows all about the new "lotteries."
"Well, yeah. They changed the name, took away the chips, and replaced the machines with monitors. But the gameplay remains the same," says former player Andrey. "It's a super-profitable business. What idiot would shut it down? Over the years, since I've been playing, I've noticed that all these machines are programmed so that only 4-5 percent of all visitors win. So imagine the money circulating there! As soon as a newbie comes in, after two or three losses, they're guaranteed to win. They get hooked, start playing more often, and then lose everything, right down to their apartment and car..."
Who's protecting this highly profitable but illegal business? I call the head office of the "state lotteries." They refuse to explain what documents they operate under or why they're called state-owned. Then I call the police, who tell me they HAVE NO RIGHT to inspect the activities of "state lotteries."
"The activities of these establishments are being investigated by the National Police's Economic Protection Directorate," the police said. Incidentally, they couldn't even tell me whether anyone had filed complaints against these salons.
And the Economic Protection Department responded briefly: “It’s easier to give us a slap on the wrist than to prove that these ‘lotteries’ are illegal.”
The most interesting thing is that these "state lotteries" are not state-owned at all. As I was told, they use the word "state" because they are guided by Ukrainian law on state lotteries. And according to publicly available information, the owner of the company, the operator of all these salons, is a Cypriot company. How clever. It's like saying, for example, that I have a "state-owned husband" because we married under Ukrainian marriage law.
But that's not all. Most of these establishments have been operating since 2014 without any legally required licenses. Why? They say, "Their licenses have expired, but they have the right to operate until new legislation is passed." I heard this explanation, not even from representatives of these pseudo-state lotteries. These are the words of Mykhailo Tesla, Deputy Head of the Department for Economic Protection of the Lviv Oblast State Emergency Service. He is one of Minister Avakov's subordinates, who is supposed to ensure that such establishments no longer operate. But the reality is quite different.
Let me explain: today, the only salons and casinos operating in the country are those that pay the police for protection—in cash, tax-free. The police "expose" all others and, from time to time, solemnly report their actions.
So, Arsen Avakov either lied to the Ukrainians or was left looking like a fool himself... I don't even want to think that he simply took all the casinos and salons under his control.
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Olya Pilishchuk, Photo by Yaroslav Stanchak; published in the newspaper Express
Translation: Argument
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