-By LeN Economical Correspondent
(Lanka-e-News -18.June.2025, 11.20 PM) Once upon a time in Sri Lanka—roughly about the same era when bond scams, ghost apartments, and whisky diplomacy dominated the headlines—there existed a rather curious creature: the Casino License. It was rare, expensive-sounding, and—most importantly—terribly undervalued. Issued not through transparent bidding or economic rationale, but via dark corridors, smoky backrooms, and handshake politics. In other words, it was less a license and more a loyalty badge for political donors in Armani suits.
Now, in 2025, with a government led by the National People's Power (NPP) promising to clean up the Augean stables of corruption, one simple question arises: why on earth is Sri Lanka still selling golden tickets to casino operators for the price of a middle-class apartment in Rajagiriya?
Let’s put some numbers on the table—much like a blackjack dealer laying down a hot hand.
Sri Lanka currently has roughly half a dozen legal casinos, some flashy, some faded, some operating in regulatory limbo. The most prominent players include business tycoon Dhammika Perera—casino king, hotelier, slot-machine philosopher—and the blue-blooded conglomerate John Keells Holdings, which is now rumoured to be partnering with an international firm for a high-end gaming venture.
Yet, according to previous government records and whispered deals, the casino license fee in Sri Lanka has ranged from a laughable $1.5 million to $10 million. That’s not just peanuts. That’s stale monkey feed for an industry that globally generates hundreds of billions annually. Compare this with jurisdictions like Singapore or Macau, where licensing regimes are not only transparent and secure but also come with a whopping upfront cost—between $100 million to $500 million.
Sri Lanka, desperate for foreign reserves, crying out for fiscal space, and practically begging the IMF for debt restructuring, is sitting on a jackpot.
The solution is simple: Raise the license fee to $200 million per operator. Cap it at 10 licenses. Create a competitive and transparent process. And watch $2 billion flow into the Treasury faster than a roulette ball on a Friday night.
Under successive governments—Yahapalana, Gotabaya’s militarised technocracy, or the UNP’s constitutional chaos—the issuance of casino licenses was a textbook case in how not to do economic policy.
The process went something like this:
Applicant approaches a senior politician.
Large untraceable donation made.
Politician nudges the Gambling Regulatory Commission (GRC)—a body more spineless than regulatory.
License granted with little public scrutiny.
Treasury receives a modest sum.
Politician and official split the unofficial “facilitation fee.”
Taxpayers get nothing. Rinse and repeat.
It's a system that led not only to lost revenue but entrenched political favouritism in what should be a highly regulated sector. The GRC, ostensibly the watchdog, became more of a lapdog—occasionally barking, mostly sleeping.
Worse, the casino operators themselves weren’t entirely to blame. Many paid their dues—just not to the state. In some instances, license renewals happened over a glass of whisky and an envelope of US dollars rather than through formal applications or public tendering.
The NPP government now has a rare opportunity. It can reset the table. No more under-the-table deals. No more sweetheart licenses for cronies.
Instead, they should adopt a strategy successfully implemented by several countries in Asia and Europe. Here’s the blueprint:
Set the License Fee at $200 Million: Non-negotiable, upfront, transparent. This alone brings in $2 billion if ten licenses are issued.
Create a Global Tender: Let international operators apply. From Las Vegas to Manila, major players are looking for safe, attractive emerging markets. Colombo, Galle, Trincomalee, and the Port City are ideal.
Allocate by Region: Distribute licenses to ensure geographic spread—Colombo (3), South Coast (2), East Coast (2), Port City (2), Central Highlands or Kandy (1).
Publicly Disclose All Applications: Make the process tamper-proof. Publish every applicant's name, business background, compliance history, and financial proposal.
Ring-Fence Funds for Public Use: Allocate casino license revenue into a sovereign gaming fund. Spend on public hospitals, debt repayment, renewable energy, and rural education.
With proper licensing and regulation, casinos are not moral hazards. They’re economic engines. Tourism booms, jobs are created, hotels fill, convention centres thrive. And if you think casinos can only generate addiction and vice, just ask Singapore how it managed to become a gambling powerhouse without collapsing into sin and chaos.
Inevitably, some will cry foul.
“Casinos are unethical! They destroy families! Gambling is a vice!”
Yes, all true—to a degree. So is alcohol. So is tobacco. So is watching TikTok for seven hours straight. But vice doesn’t vanish because it’s unregulated. It simply goes underground. Sri Lanka already has underground gambling dens from Maradana to Mirihana—offering far worse odds and far more criminal entanglement than a licensed casino ever could.
Regulation is not moral surrender. It is moral pragmatism. Better to have 10 tightly monitored casinos than 100 shadow ones linked to drug networks and political mafias.
Moreover, with strict entry controls, digital surveillance, and responsible gaming measures, the state can ensure that only tourists and high-net-worth individuals participate. Tax revenue flows in. Organised crime stays out. Everybody wins—except the old political fixers.
Let’s talk turkey—or in this case, two whales.
Dhammika Perera, the Colombo billionaire who once styled himself as a one-man solution to the country’s woes, already runs gaming establishments. If he wants to continue, let him—but he’ll have to pay like everyone else.
John Keells, for its part, has the infrastructure, the hotels, the global partners. A well-structured licensing regime would allow them to partner with giants like MGM, Wynn, or Sands—and bring high-stakes tourists to the Indian Ocean.
Neither player needs under-the-table deals. They have the capital and clout to do it right. And with the right fee structure, they won’t mind paying $200 million if the legal framework gives them exclusive, long-term access and market certainty.
Sri Lanka’s $15 billion Port City Colombo has long been criticised as a white elephant—a glittering ghost town financed by Chinese debt and bureaucratic ambition. But here lies an opportunity.
Allocate two of the ten casino licenses exclusively for Port City use. That would instantly give teeth to the development and attract real investors, not just brochure tycoons. With proper branding and regional outreach, Colombo could become the “Singapore of South Asia” in gaming tourism.
Here’s the irony. The IMF, traditionally puritanical about state morality, would actually be thrilled with a windfall of $2 billion in upfront casino licensing revenue. It improves fiscal stability. It reduces the need for austerity. And it shows policy seriousness.
Indeed, one of the best ways for the NPP to fund its social justice agenda—free healthcare, public transport reform, rural economic revival—is to tap unconventional but legitimate revenue streams.
Casino license revenue ticks all the boxes: one-time capital inflow, no inflationary risk, no public debt. Even the accountants would applaud.
Sri Lanka stands at the crossroads—again. This time, the gamble is real. But unlike the political games of the past, this gamble involves genuine return on investment.
A $200 million casino license fee is not just an economic proposal. It is a test of political will. Can the NPP government break with tradition and build a new, clean framework for high-value investment?
The stakes are high. But the rewards—if played correctly—could be massive. Sri Lanka doesn’t need to bet on luck. Just logic.
And for once, it might just hit the jackpot.
-By LeN Economical Correspondent
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by (2025-06-18 19:15:47)
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