Joel Giambra's magnanimous offer to allow the Seneca Nation to build a second casino in Niagara Falls, so long as Buffalo gets a cut of the revenue, is a bit like you telling Mike Tyson it's OK to act like a jerk.
Or Saddam Hussein issuing a statement from his plush hiding place, indicating that he'd be happy to allow weapons inspectors into Iraq.
Or Niagara Falls Mayor Irene Elia informing the Niagara River that it may continue coursing over that big drop-off on the city's southwest corner.
The Erie County Executive's benevolence is a nice gesture, to be sure, but one that amounts to -- to borrow a Yiddish word that any good Polish-American of a certain age might use -- bupkiss.
Nothing.
Actually, less than nothing in this case, since the Seneca Nation is free to open at least one more gambling den, by the terms of its compact with New York State, pretty much anywhere it damn well pleases.
The deal that led to the opening of the Seneca Niagara Casino gave the Nation the ability to open one casino in Niagara Falls, one in Buffalo and one on unspecified tribal land in Western New York.
While one interpretation of the compact holds that the third site would be on the Seneca Reservation south of Buffalo, the language isn't so clear. Unspecified tribal land is unspecified tribal land, whether it's located on the Seneca Reservation or in downtown Niagara Falls -- and any additional land the Senecas acquire here, like, say, the former Splash Park property, becomes tribal land.
Unfortunately for the growing list of local political types already slobbering over the prospect of a second Falls casino, the fact that the Senecas can build one doesn't mean they will. And if one thing is clear from the machinations of the past few years, it's that the tribal leadership doesn't appreciate anyone -- whether they're local elected officials, Albany bureaucrats or Buffalo developers -- trying to tell them what to do.
Elia learned that lesson in a painful fashion during the botched negotiations over the city-owned ramp that the Seneca Gaming Corp. wanted to repair and lease from the city until they built their own. Getting millions to rent out a decaying facility, then getting it back with needed repairs the city is unable or unwilling to perform apparently wasn't good enough for Herroner, though. So the city's stuck with a parking ramp in which no one who knows any better wants to park, as well as a political firestorm swirling around her ham-handed plan to install wholly unneeded meters.
Not that any of that stopped Elia from blathering on about the possibility of a second casino on a radio talk show last week, as if she had any say in the matter one way or the other. Niagara County Legislator Dennis Virtuoso chimed in Friday, announcing that he'll sponsor a resolution at that august body's July 15 meeting, vowing to help the Seneca Gaming Corp. find a spot for a second casino in the Falls.
While Seneca leaders will surely be grateful for the expert assistance, Virtuoso's offer comes off as little more than grandstanding. But, facing a primary challenge from former Pine Avenue Business Association honcho Beth Mazza, every bit of free publicity helps, regardless of its relevance.
The desire of both city and county officials to appear as though they have anything to do with present or future casinos is understandable, particularly since both groups were completely ignored during negotiations between the Seneca Nation and New York State.
The county won't get a penny of eventual shared revenues. Since they've already infamously peed away more than $40 million in tobacco-settlement money, they're clearly eager to find another source of undeserved cash.
Giambra's generosity also smacks of pure political expediency. Holding a comfortable edge in his bid for a second term, his refusal to turn over the Buffalo Convention Center, the Seneca's preferred Buffalo site, is understandable. Unlike Niagara Falls, where there was no significant opposition to a Seneca-run casino, "No Buffalo Casino" bumper stickers and signs are commonplace in that city.
With his late-entering Democratic challenger, Dan Ward, scrambling to find a central issue for his campaign, Giambra would be a fool to give him one by trying to ram a casino into Buffalo. So rather than risk electoral backlash in his home territory, he branched out and told Niagara Falls that he'll let the locals pick up the tab for infrastructure and public safety that would come with a second casino, so long as they send a cut back to Buffalo.
Giambra's willingness to give Buffalo someone else's money carries more than a touch of irony, given his punitive attitude toward the city. While Buffalo's plunge into the financial abyss finally resulted in Albany's imposition of a financial control board, Giambra stood by his snottily named "No Handout, No Bailout" policy.
That stance conveniently ignores one of the biggest reasons Buffalo wound up with a control board in the first place. Back in Giambra's days as a Democrat working in the Buffalo comptroller's office, his boss bailed out then-floundering Erie County with an enormous handout -- the city's share of a "temporary" 1-percent sales-tax increase. Then-mayor Jimmy Griffin's gift went a long way toward building the county's massive surplus, on which Giambra now campaigns, while sending Buffalo on the path to becoming a ward of the state.
Now he's trying to work an issue over which he has little control, other than retaining the Erie County-owned Buffalo Convention Center, into his peculiar brand of regionalism. To date, that vision has included merging the community colleges and tourism agencies of Erie and Niagara counties, without bothering to consult anyone up here about either matter.
"We could become partners, instead of predators," Giambra told the Buffalo News last week.
With partners like that, who needs predators?
| Niagara Falls Reporter | www.niagarafallsreporter.com | June 24 2003 |