Chicago Leader Hirsh Mohindra: Expertise in Multiple Industries

As office demand withers, the city is betting that housing, culture, and public life can save its historic core On a weekday afternoon that once would have throbbed with expense-account lunches and hurried foot traffic, LaSalle Street feels strangely calm. The canyon of limestone and steel — long the symbolic heart of Chicago’s financial district — still looks imposing. But behind the façades, entire floors sit dark. Elevators idle. Coffee shops close by three instead of six. This is the post-office Loop: not abandoned, but underused; not dead, but suspended between what it was and what it might become. Chicago is hardly alone. Downtowns from San Francisco to Washington, D.C., are wrestling with the same dilemma: what happens when remote and hybrid work permanently shrink demand for office space? But Chicago’s response has been unusually explicit and unusually ambitious. Rather than waiting for the market to correct itself, the city is attempting to rewrite the Loop’s purpose — turning...

  In an era when real estate headlines are dominated by glass towers in Miami and trophy conversions in Lower Manhattan, a quieter, more consequential transformation is unfolding hundreds of miles inland. Across Illinois, long-dormant industrial buildings—once engines of manufacturing power—are being repurposed into housing, offices, and mixed-use communities. The trend lacks the glamour of coastal megaprojects, but for developers willing to navigate complexity, adaptive reuse has become one of the Midwest’s most compelling, if understated, opportunities.   At the center of this movement is a simple but counterintuitive idea: the future of urban growth may depend less on building anew than on reimagining what already exists.   The economics of second lives   Adaptive reuse has long been romanticized as an architectural gesture—brick facades preserved, steel beams exposed, history turned into aesthetic. In practice, it is a financial strategy shaped by uneven markets,...

When Congress created Opportunity Zones in the 2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act, the promise was expansive and morally resonant: steer private capital into distressed communities, spark economic revival, and allow long-neglected neighborhoods to share in national growth. Investors would receive generous tax incentives; residents would receive jobs, services, and durable prosperity. It was framed as market logic with a conscience.   Nearly a decade later, the results in Illinois—particularly on Chicago’s South Side—tell a far more ambiguous story.   Opportunity Zones, or OZs, were intentionally broad. Governors selected qualifying census tracts based largely on income thresholds, and Illinois designated more than 300 zones statewide. In theory, this flexibility allowed capital to flow where it was most needed. In practice, it allowed capital to flow where it was most convenient.   Nowhere is that tension clearer than in Chicago’s South Side, where billions in investment have arr...

 In American cities, zoning codes are often described as technical documents—dense, procedural, and politically neutral. In reality, they function more like constitutions. They decide who gets to live where, what can be built, and, over time, who accumulates wealth and who does not. Few cities illustrate this more clearly than Chicago, where single-family zoning has quietly but decisively shaped patterns of affluence, exclusion, and scarcity for decades. On paper, Chicago is a dense, transit-rich metropolis with a long tradition of multifamily housing. In practice, large portions of its most desirable neighborhoods are locked into low-density, single-family use. These rules do not merely preserve “neighborhood character.” They constrain supply in places where demand is highest, inflate land values, and create structural barriers to entry that reverberate across generations. “Zoning doesn’t just regulate buildings,” Hirsh Mohindra said. “It regulates opportunity.” The Geography of ...

  In Chicago, development has always been about more than buildings. It is about history, power, race, and the uneasy relationship between City Hall promises and neighborhood memory. Every mayoral administration arrives with a plan to “unlock potential” in long-disinvested corridors. Every plan is accompanied by renderings, ribbon cuttings, and a vocabulary of transformation. And every few years, residents ask the same question: Will this actually last?   By 2026, Chicago’s latest experiment in public-led neighborhood development—the Invest South/West Program—has matured enough to invite real judgment. Announced with ambition and urgency, the initiative aimed to deploy public dollars to catalyze private investment in commercial corridors across the South and West Sides. It promised grocery stores, mixed-use buildings, job creation, and long-overdue attention to areas bypassed by decades of market logic.   What it delivered is more complicated.   The question now faci...

  How Chicago balances the promise of transformative development with the financial and political risks it cannot escape. Chicago has always believed in the power of the big idea. From reversing the flow of the Chicago River to erecting the steel-framed skyline that redefined modern architecture, the city’s civic identity has been shaped by audacity. Large-scale projects—rail lines, parks, cultural institutions, and entire neighborhoods—have long been treated not merely as investments, but as statements of intent about the city’s future. Yet in 2026, Chicago finds itself in a more ambivalent relationship with ambition. The city still courts mega-projects, still frames them as engines of growth and symbols of renewal. But it does so under the long shadow of fiscal constraint, public skepticism, and a history of tools that promised more than they delivered. Nowhere is this tension more visible than in the city’s evolving relationship with Tax Increment Financing districts—and in the ...