Tokyo 2020 was more than a sporting spectacle — it became a crucible for confronting Japan’s deep-rooted discomfort with disability. In a country where institutions for people with disabilities were historically seen as acceptable forms of social separation, the Games offered an unprecedented opportunity to challenge dominant ableist norms and reconfigure the physical and symbolic spaces of tourism.

The government explicitly positioned Tokyo 2020 as a driver of social change. National campaigns invoked values of "unity in diversity," while Paralympic branding adorned streets and stations across the city. But beneath the polished rhetoric was a more radical aim: to make visible the persistent exclusion of Persons with Disabilities (PwD) from public life, especially leisure and tourism.

Our findings reveal a pattern: while Japan had previously emphasised physical infrastructure upgrades — installing lifts, tactile tiles, and accessible signage — it had largely neglected the attitudinal dimension of access. The Games sought to rebalance this, using co-branded campaigns, informational guides, and representational shifts (e.g., inclusive mascots and media) to foreground PwD as valued members of society.

This section argues that mega-events, when consciously configured, can spark structural and symbolic interventions that begin to normalise inclusion. But crucially, these gains remain fragile without long-term cultural change and institutional reinforcement.

Despite visible improvements to the built environment, our research reveals a more persistent — and insidious — barrier to accessible tourism: attitudes.

Japan’s investment in barrier-free infrastructure ahead of Tokyo 2020 was substantial. Elevators were installed in major train stations, textured pathways were laid for the visually impaired, and step-free access was introduced at key tourist sites. But as many of our interviewees noted, these physical interventions often fail to function as intended — not because of design flaws alone, but because of the behaviours and assumptions surrounding them.

Wheelchair users frequently reported elevators being occupied by able-bodied passengers with suitcases or strollers, unaware that these facilities were primarily intended to support mobility-impaired individuals. Others noted that signage was inconsistent, assistance unreliable, and information largely unavailable in English. These ‘soft’ failures, rooted in a lack of awareness or empathy, often rendered ‘accessible’ spaces functionally inaccessible.

This disconnect — between what infrastructure provides and how it is used — is what we term the “disability-attitude gap.” It's a gap between technical compliance and social legitimacy; between installing ramps and removing stigma.

In short, you can build accessibility into a city’s physical fabric, but unless you also address the social narratives, cultural assumptions, and behavioural norms that surround disability, exclusion will persist — subtly, silently, and systemically.

Mega-events, particularly the Olympic and Paralympic Games, offer a rare opportunity to disrupt entrenched norms — and Tokyo 2020 was no exception. Under global scrutiny and immense domestic pressure, Japan positioned the Games not just as a celebration of athleticism, but as a mechanism for social change. For Persons with Disabilities (PwD), this meant unprecedented visibility, investment, and — critically — political will.

Using the lens of field configuring events (FCEs), Tokyo 2020 functioned as both mirror and megaphone: reflecting societal inequities while amplifying reform. Public agencies, private operators, and civil society stakeholders were mobilised to make the built environment more navigable and the cultural environment more inclusive. For instance, Tokyo's “Barrier-Free” programme introduced both infrastructural upgrades and awareness campaigns — with government-backed posters promoting unity in diversity plastered across stations and tourist zones.

Importantly, these interventions were co-branded with the Tokyo 2020 identity, signalling a clear institutional commitment to inclusivity. Organising committees and tourism agencies understood that accessibility was not a fringe issue — it was central to hosting a Games in line with global norms like the UN Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities and the UN Sustainable Development Goals.

Crucially, the Paralympics were not treated as a symbolic afterthought. Their integration into Tokyo’s promotional and infrastructural agenda enabled a reframing of disability from a deficit to a domain of diversity and dignity. As one policymaker noted: “For once, disability was not hidden. It was everywhere — on posters, in speeches, in the streets.”

While physical accessibility dominated much of the planning narrative around Tokyo 2020, the deeper challenge lay in confronting an invisible barrier: societal attitudes. Japan’s disability-attitude gap — the disconnect between improved infrastructure and persistent stigma — was repeatedly exposed during the Games cycle.

Despite the installation of elevators, tactile paving, and step-free access, interviews with Persons with Disabilities (PwD) revealed that negative perceptions often undermined these gains. Many PwD still felt unwelcome, stared at, or pitied in public spaces. These microaggressions reflect a broader cultural discomfort — what some called a “polite exclusion” — where difference is neither violently rejected nor fully embraced.

Tokyo 2020 attempted to counter this through a coordinated set of communication strategies. Government pamphlets linked Paralympic participation with human rights. City-wide posters promoted messages like “Celebrate Diversity” and “Be Better, Together.” The Paralympic mascot and anthem were intentionally inclusive, embedding PwD into national narratives of pride and identity. Yet, attitudinal shifts proved slower and less uniform than physical transformations.

Critically, interviewees highlighted a tension: while the capital advanced toward a more inclusive future, rural areas and smaller cities lagged behind. This urban-rural divide meant that PwD travelling beyond Tokyo faced renewed barriers — physical and social alike.

What Tokyo 2020 achieved, then, was a recalibration of public discourse. It seeded new norms, reframed disability, and catalysed a shift in what is considered “normal” in tourism, transport, and everyday life. But unless these shifts are institutionalised and extended beyond the Games, they risk becoming ephemeral — a fleeting moment of enlightenment rather than a lasting legacy.

Tokyo 2020 revealed how mega-events can serve as catalytic platforms to advance accessible tourism, but also highlighted the limitations of surface-level change. Despite significant infrastructural upgrades, a persistent "disability-attitude gap" — characterised by ignorance, discomfort, and stigma toward Persons with Disabilities (PwD) — continues to shape tourist and resident experiences alike. Addressing this divide is critical not just for ethical or legal compliance, but also for realising the economic and social potential of inclusive tourism.

This study reframes mega-events not just as showcases for national pride or vehicles for urban transformation, but as powerful field-configuring events (FCEs) capable of disrupting entrenched systems of exclusion. Tokyo 2020 was not only a test case in adaptive transport and accessible infrastructure; it became a mirror reflecting societal discomfort with disability and a canvas upon which new norms were publicly debated, trialled, and institutionalised.

The conceptual model developed here identifies two interlinked levers for change: (1) physical transformation of the built environment, and (2) social transformation of attitudes, norms, and institutional behaviours. These must be pursued in tandem to achieve full participation in tourism for PwD. For future host cities and event organisers, this requires a shift from compliance-driven “tick-box” accessibility toward holistic inclusion embedded across planning, delivery, and legacy.

Managerially, the implications are clear:

• Training for service staff, architects, and planners must include attitudinal awareness, not just technical specifications.

• Host city contracts and tourism masterplans should mandate national information campaigns to shift societal perceptions of disability.

• Evaluation metrics for mega-events must go beyond physical audits to assess changes in public attitudes and PwD participation.

Finally, Tokyo 2020 signals a broader transformation: from events that are merely visited, to events that question who gets to visit, who belongs, and how tourism itself can evolve into a more just and inclusive system.