The Tell-Tale Project
Many cities make grand plans for big projects that will “save them.” Think of Shreveport, Louisiana’s Interstate 49 connector, a highway expansion project that just won’t die. Or maybe you’ve seen this in your own place, as your community spends years planning for a development that never breaks ground. These “zombie projects” haunt our places for decades, discouraging other, more incremental investments in and around the land in question.
It’s really quite spooky. As we discussed this phenomenon, it reminded us of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Tell-Tale Heart,” and we couldn’t get the image out of our heads. What follows is a short adaptation of the story — one that really illustrates the damage these “zombie projects” can do to a place.
If your community is suffering the consequences of a “zombie project,” tell us about it in the comments.
The Tell-Tale Project
It’s true — cities have their reasons, grand plans they cling to, towering dreams they swear will save them. Yet, these big projects sit unfinished, stalled year after year, festering beneath the surface. I hear it, the beating heart of the massive plan, buried deep in the city’s neglected veins. A project so large, so ambitious, that its very existence terrifies the smaller, more humble efforts trying to take root.
It wasn’t always this way. Once, the people had ideas — small, incremental improvements. Safer streets, more green spaces, modest housing changes. The kind of efforts that, bit by bit, could have transformed the city. But the officials, oh, they had something bigger in mind. A massive infrastructure project, so grand in scale that it would swallow up all the others. "Just wait," they said. "Once this is done, the city will thrive!" But the years dragged on. The big project stalled. Deadlines passed. Costs ballooned.
Still, it sits — unfinished, like a monument to failure. And with it, that dreadful pulse — thump-thump, thump-thump — the beating heart of this great, lumbering dream, casting a long shadow over everything else. The smaller projects, the bottom-up efforts — they could never compete. Every time a neighborhood tried to organize, tried to plant a seed of change, they were told, "Not yet. Not until the big project is done."
But the big project would never be done.
I walked the streets and saw the toll it took. Crumbling roads, broken sidewalks, homes in disrepair. The people stopped trying. The energy for small-scale improvements was gone. Each initiative was smothered by the weight of the massive, looming plan. And still, I could hear it. Thump-thump, thump-thump. The heart of the unfinished project, a deafening beat beneath the city’s surface, silencing the smaller ideas before they even had a chance.
It was maddening! The heart of the big project — this thing that would never die — kept beating, louder and louder, drowning out the voices of those who wanted to do something real. They could have fixed the streets, planted trees and built homes. But no. They were paralyzed by the size of the heart, convinced that nothing else mattered until this one, massive thing was done.
But it will never be done. And still, the heart of the project beats on, scaring off every other effort, trapping the city in a dream too big to ever come true.
This story was produced with the help of artificial intelligence. If you’re the sort who enjoys the process of such things, check out the ChatGPT prompt here. We found it particularly encouraging that it was this simple to get GPT to write a story that so accurately captures the Strong Towns take on this subject. That’s a good sign that our movement (your movement) is making a meaningful impact on how the general public thinks about city building.
