On August 11, Michigan transportation officials pressed pause on a plan once billed as a historic opportunity to reconnect Detroit neighborhoods and address one of the city’s deepest wounds. The I-375 Reconnecting Communities Project, a half-billion-dollar effort to replace the sunken freeway with a surface boulevard, will not break ground this year as planned. The Michigan Department of Transportation cited surging costs, concerns about long-term durability, and sustained public opposition as reasons for the delay.
The decision halts a project that has been years in the making. Originally estimated at $300 million, the cost rose to $425 million last year with the inclusion of related I-75 interchange work. MDOT now says inflation in labor and materials has pushed the total above $500 million. Spokesperson Jocelyn Garza said that with the current freeway lasting more than 60 years, and new materials expected to last even longer, “it’s critical to ensure the design is right for Detroit’s future.”
MDOT Director Bradley C. Wieferich emphasized that point in the announcement. “We have one opportunity to get this project right. I-375 has been open for more than 60 years, and we expect the new I-375, whatever design it may be, to be in place much longer. Getting this right for the community and our stakeholders, while remaining good stewards of tax dollars, will remain our priority.”
Construction had been scheduled to begin before the end of the year, impacting neighborhoods from Eastern Market to Lafayette Park, Elmwood Park, and downtown. In 2022, then–U.S. Transportation Secretary Pete Buttigieg stood alongside Governor Gretchen Whitmer to announce more than $100 million in federal funding for the project, calling it part of a national effort to confront the consequences of highway construction that destroyed communities of color. “Sometimes, fixing the damn roads means facing the repercussions of how the roads were originally built, who was included in that process and who was not, who was empowered and who was displaced,” Buttigieg said at the time.
Those repercussions are not just a chapter in a history book—they remain a lived reality for Detroiters. When I-375 opened in 1964, it ripped through Black Bottom and Paradise Valley, erasing hundreds of Black-owned businesses, homes, churches, and cultural landmarks. More than 100,000 residents were displaced. These neighborhoods were once the epicenter of Black life in Detroit, home to a thriving music scene, bustling markets, and a strong network of community institutions. The freeway’s arrival dismantled the economic base and cultural heartbeat of a community that had taken decades to build.
The boulevard plan was pitched as a chance to undo some of that harm. Designs called for bike lanes, wider sidewalks, green space, and nearly 30 acres of land for redevelopment. Advocates envisioned reconnection between areas long divided by the trench-like freeway. But the vision has been met with skepticism over whether the benefits will truly reach those most harmed by the original construction.
Wayne County Executive Warren Evans has been one of the most forceful critics. Speaking to the Michigan Chronicle earlier this year, he made clear that the current plan falls short of its promises. “I think they need to reimagine it two or three more times. I’m not convinced that it makes a whole lot of sense. They marketed it as somehow ‘reparative’ – to do something for getting rid of Paradise Valley and Black Bottom. I haven’t seen that anywhere. It’s the biggest scam I’ve heard in a long time. Don’t tell me you’re doing something to benefit people who look like me, and then have no plan to do anything for people who look like me.”
His words reflect a broader sentiment among residents and advocacy groups who have been calling for more than surface-level change. Many have demanded that the project include enforceable commitments to affordable housing, priority for descendants of displaced families to return, and opportunities for Black-owned businesses in any new development. Without such safeguards, they argue, the boulevard could trigger a new wave of displacement in the name of progress.
Small business owners in Eastern Market and Greektown have raised separate but related concerns, warning that changes to traffic flow and access could harm commerce. Nearly 500 residents and business owners have signed letters urging a pause until the project can be redesigned to protect local economic interests and center equity in every decision.
The state’s decision to delay appears to be an acknowledgment that those concerns cannot be ignored. MDOT has pledged to reevaluate design alternatives and conduct additional public engagement before moving forward. Officials say they remain committed to safety improvements, pointing out that many of the corridor’s bridges have exceeded their service lives and need replacement, but acknowledge that the final design will shape Detroit for decades and must reflect the city’s priorities.
The I-375 debate is part of a national reckoning over mid-20th-century highway construction, which disproportionately targeted Black and low-income neighborhoods. Cities from Syracuse to New Orleans are reconsidering or dismantling urban freeways, with promises to restore walkability, reduce pollution, and reclaim land for public and private use. Detroit’s case stands out not only for the magnitude of displacement but also for the cultural weight of what was lost.
Public engagement sessions in recent years have shown both a strong desire for change and deep distrust in the process. Many residents who lived through the loss of Black Bottom and Paradise Valley, or whose families did, say the only way forward is through genuine restorative development—policies and investments that return wealth, ownership, and opportunity to those most harmed.
The concept of a surface boulevard is not itself in dispute for most. Supporters believe it could improve connectivity, make streets safer for pedestrians and cyclists, and open up valuable land for development. The fault line is over whether those benefits will be equitably shared, or whether they will flow to outside developers and newcomers at the expense of legacy residents.
By pressing pause, Michigan officials have created an opening to address that question head-on. For some, the delay offers a rare chance to reset the process and write equity into the project’s foundation. For others, it’s a frustrating setback to long-needed infrastructure upgrades and a reminder of how easily political and public pressure can stall major investments.
Either way, the road ahead for I-375 will be shaped as much by trust as by engineering. The boulevard’s ultimate design will say whether Detroit is ready to confront its past with more than words—and whether it will seize the opportunity to return some measure of what was taken.
Evans has been blunt about what that measure should be. “If the people who were displaced don’t benefit, we’ve failed,” he said earlier this year. “It’s that plain. We can’t keep talking about equity without putting it in writing and making it real.”
With construction off the calendar, the city and state now face a singular test. In the coming months, Detroit will decide whether this project becomes a national model for how to repair historical wrongs—or another smooth stretch of concrete laid over an old wound.
