Written by Thomas Maddox, a senior at the University of Cincinnati
Cincinnati just made a decision that almost no American city will ever get to make. The city sold a railroad built by past generations and created a financial engine expected to generate roughly $1.6 billion over time—an opportunity capable of shaping Cincinnati long after today’s politicians are gone.
The question now isn’t simply what we fix.
The question is what kind of city we choose to become.
For years, local politics has revolved around scarcity—how to patch potholes, maintain aging buildings, and stretch limited budgets a little further. The railway proceeds change that conversation. For the first time in a long time, Cincinnati has the chance to think in decades instead of election cycles.
That opportunity is bigger than partisan politics. It’s bigger than any mayor or council member. And it carries a risk cities rarely talk about openly: when sudden money appears, the instinct is to spend quickly rather than think carefully.
The railway trust should absolutely support core infrastructure. Roads matter. Public facilities matter. Reliable services matter. Every resident feels the difference when basic systems work—and when they don’t.
But this moment demands more than maintenance.
Because maintenance preserves a city. Vision defines one.
Across Ohio, cities are competing for talent, energy, and relevance. Young workers choose where to live based on quality of life, opportunity, and identity—not just job availability. Cities that stand still slowly fade, even when they are financially stable. Cities that build boldly create momentum that lasts for generations.
Cincinnati has a rare advantage: a financial resource capable of funding long-term investments without constantly raising taxes or chasing short-term grants. That should allow us to think bigger—not just about repairs, but about the civic backbone that will define how this city feels twenty or thirty years from now.
The temptation will be to divide the money into safe, politically agreeable pieces. Small projects. Incremental upgrades. Things no one can oppose because no one notices them.
That approach feels responsible. It also risks wasting the moment.
Cities become memorable when they decide to build something that signals confidence—something that tells residents and outsiders alike that this is a place moving forward. Chicago has Millennium Park. Indianapolis invested heavily in sports infrastructure. Pittsburgh reinvented itself through innovation corridors and waterfront redevelopment.
Cincinnati doesn’t need to copy anyone else. But it does need one bold, unmistakable project that signals ambition.
Imagine a public-facing civic tower—perhaps the tallest in Ohio—not a corporate monument, but a space designed for people. Shops. Gathering areas. Entertainment. Workspaces. Places that residents actually use rather than buildings we only hear about in press conferences or see on television. A landmark that becomes part of everyday life.
Yes, it would go viral—but not for virality’s sake. The goal wouldn’t be attention. The goal would be gravity. To bring people downtown. To attract visitors. To give young professionals and entrepreneurs a reason to build their lives here instead of leaving for somewhere that feels more alive.
That doesn’t mean reckless spending or vanity projects. It means asking a simple question before every major decision:
Will this still matter in fifty years?
If the answer is no, it probably doesn’t belong at the center of the railway strategy.
The smartest use of this money will blend two ideas that often feel opposed: practical infrastructure and ambitious identity-building. Fix what must be fixed—but also invest in civic assets that make people want to stay, build families, start businesses, and grow roots here.
The biggest risk isn’t making a bold decision. The biggest risk is drifting into small decisions that feel safe but leave no lasting legacy.
Cities are judged by what they build when they have the chance.
And chances like this are rare. Most cities spend decades trying to recover from financial mistakes or shrinking populations. Cincinnati has been handed something different—a clean opportunity to think long-term.
That requires discipline. The money should be managed with transparency and clear standards. Citizens should be able to see where it’s going and why. Projects should be evaluated not just for political appeal but for measurable long-term value.
But discipline doesn’t mean thinking small.
If we only use this moment to patch problems, we will look back in twenty years and realize we protected stability without creating momentum. Future generations won’t remember that we maintained what we already had. They’ll remember whether we built something worthy of the opportunity.
The railway sale created more than a fund. It created a test.
Do we view this as a cushion—or as a launchpad?
Cincinnati has spent decades balancing tradition and reinvention. We know how to preserve history. The challenge now is proving we can build the future with the same confidence.
Because cities don’t become legendary by playing defense.
They become legendary when someone decides to build something that lasts.
And this may be the moment when Cincinnati decides whether it wants to be merely stable—or unmistakable.