Arnold Schwarzenegger girds for Indian War.

Today's California Indians procured power the old-fashioned way: They bought the best government that money could buy. In just a few years, revenues from their newly built casinos soared to $5 billion per year (2002), pushing them close to Las Vegas ($7.7 billion) in the race for America's gambling crown. By spending a significant chunk of this money on campaign donations, a handful of small tribes have grown into the Golden State's heaviest political donors and most potent power players.

Then, The Terminator arrived. "Their casinos make billions, yet they pay no taxes and virtually nothing to the state," pronounced Arnold Schwarzenegger in one of his campaign ads. "It's time the Indians pay their fair share. All the other major candidates take their money and pander to them." He stares into the camera. He shakes his head slowly back and forth. He squints hard. "I don't play that game."

That ad was the turning point in the new governor's candidacy, causing him to surge in the polls. California citizens had watched gaming tribes spend over $120 million to push their candidates and ballot initiatives in recent years. To put that number in perspective: It's more than what George W. Bush spent nationwide to be elected President. Meanwhile, additional untold untraceable millions were donated by individual tribal members flush with their casino payouts. Public disgust over jackpot politics finally came to a head, and Schwarzenegger--the first politician with the courage to speak up about the Indians--rode to a resounding recall victory.

The spectacle of pay-to-play casino politics has become so egregious in California, many believe it was a deciding issue in the recall. California tribes spent more on the recall than did any other special interest. They gave $8.2 million (in direct and indirect contributions) to Democratic Lieutenant Governor Cruz Bustamante, hoping to anoint him as ex-Governor Gray Davis' successor. They also bankrolled conservative Republican Tom McClintock for $2.5 million to help split votes away from their archenemy Schwarzenegger. A Superior Court judge eventually ruled that Bustamante illegally rerouted the Indian largesse through a side channel to avoid new spending limits, and ordered him to give the money back. By then, he had already spent it.

The high-heaven stink did not escape the public. It didn't help that Bustamante's lead campaign strategist, Richie Ross, worked for the Indian tribes, or that his younger brother Andrew was the general manager of an Indian casino near Fresno. Or that the Lt. Governor excused the Indians from his proposed $8 billion in "tough love" tax hikes to reduce the state's $38 billion deficit. "Everybody has to pay something," Bustamante proclaimed. Everybody except the Indians who gave him $8.2 million, apparently.

Governor Gray Davis, who received more than $1 million from the tribes for his 2002 re-election, had already flamed concerns about undue Indian influence when he suddenly endorsed the "Sacred Tribal Lands" bill in 2003. The bill, which Davis had vetoed the year before, would have given Indians the power to halt development within five miles of any reservation or "sacred tribal land"--a dream for shakedown artists. In San Diego County, which has 18 Indian reservations, this legislation would have virtually usurped county authority over any new construction. As Davis became more desperate, he also promised the tribes that if he was not recalled, he would allow them to pick two new members for the Gambling Control Commission--the group that is supposed to be the watchdog over their operations.

Even staunch Davis supporters were disgusted by his pandering. The governor could have extracted some form of revenue sharing when he negotiated the gambling compacts with California's Indians a few years ago, but instead he granted all of California gambling revenues exclusively to the 32,000 recognized tribal members in the state. Under Davis' compacts, the tribes were only required to place a total of $150 million each year into two state funds, one for non-gaming tribes, the other to mitigate the local effects on traffic, roads, police, etc., caused by tribal casinos.