The ban on sports betting does exactly what Prohibition did. It

James Surowiecki, the keen observer of markets and the ways of men, once proclaimed: “The ban on sports betting does exactly what Prohibition did. It makes criminals rich.” These words may seem practical and worldly, yet within them lies an ancient wisdom about the nature of law, desire, and power. For whenever authority forbids what the human heart continues to crave, it does not destroy the desire—it merely shifts it into the shadows, where those without honor thrive. Thus, what was meant to bring order often breeds corruption, and what was meant to protect the people often ends by enriching those who exploit them.

The tale of Prohibition in America stands as a monument to this truth. When the law banned the making and selling of alcohol in 1920, did men and women cease to drink? No. Instead, speakeasies flourished in every city, and the profits flowed not to honest merchants but to gangs and mobsters. Figures like Al Capone rose from obscurity to empires of blood, their coffers filled by the thirst of a people who would not abandon wine and whiskey. The law, rather than ending drink, ended only the honor of lawful trade, and placed wealth into the hands of the lawless.

So too with the ban on sports betting. Though governments forbade it, though officials declared it a vice, the passion of men for risk and chance could not be chained. Wagers simply moved into the hands of criminals and underground syndicates. Instead of safety, the people found themselves entangled with predators; instead of justice, corruption spread through courts, police, and politics. What Surowiecki names is no small matter—it is the eternal irony that misguided laws often strengthen the very forces they sought to destroy.

The ancients themselves knew this lesson. In Greece, when tyrants sought to ban assemblies, the people gathered in secret, their unity strengthened by the very attempt to crush it. In Rome, when emperors forbade certain cults, those sects grew stronger underground, clothed in mystery and fire. The harder authority tried to suffocate the human spirit, the more that spirit sought air in hidden places. So too with gambling, drink, and other pleasures: desire, once banned, does not wither—it adapts, and often grows more dangerous.

Yet Surowiecki’s words are not only a warning—they are a call to wisdom. He reminds us that if we wish to curb corruption, we must not blind ourselves to human nature. To forbid what cannot be eradicated is folly. Far wiser is it to regulate, to guide, to bring into the light what men will do in darkness. For when trade is lawful, wealth flows to communities; when trade is banned, wealth flows to criminals. The difference is not in the act itself, but in whether it is governed by justice or abandoned to lawlessness.

The lesson for us is clear: laws must serve both morality and reality. A leader who ignores the desires of the people does not abolish them; he drives them underground. And in the shadows, those desires grow teeth. Thus, in life as in governance, one must seek not merely to condemn but to understand, not merely to forbid but to channel. In this lies the balance between order and liberty, between justice and pragmatism.

Therefore, take this wisdom into your own heart. Do not waste your strength forbidding what cannot be destroyed. Instead, learn to guide it, discipline it, and shape it toward good ends. Whether in society, in family, or in your own soul, recognize that denial alone breeds rebellion. But understanding, structure, and honest discipline can transform danger into strength.

For in the end, Surowiecki’s words echo through all ages: to ban without wisdom is to feed the very evil you seek to starve. Only by bringing truth into the light can we starve corruption and enrich not the criminals, but the people.