For decades, resistance to mega-events like the Olympics was confined to the host city. Community groups, activists, and residents would protest evictions, rising rents, or broken promises — but these efforts remained isolated, fragmented, and often easily dismissed by organisers as ‘local opposition.’

That’s no longer the case.

Today, resistance has gone global. Groups like NOlympics LA, Non aux JO Paris, and Olympics Watch operate as part of a transnational movement, sharing resources, strategies, and lessons learned from past Games. They use digital platforms to connect activists in Tokyo, Rio, Paris, and Los Angeles, creating a powerful knowledge network that transcends borders.

Consider the recent Paris 2024 protests. French activists have not only mobilised against local issues like gentrification and securitisation, but they’ve collaborated with counterparts from previous host cities — learning from Rio’s housing rights campaigns, Tokyo’s health protests, and LA’s community organisers. The result? Resistance that is faster, more strategic, and harder to suppress.

This global knowledge transfer makes every new mega-event a contested space before the first stone is laid. Organisers face opponents equipped with experience, evidence, and international solidarity. If they fail to engage meaningfully with these concerns, resistance will only strengthen.

Popular images of resistance — marches, barricades, chants — tell only part of the story. Our research reveals that much of the opposition to mega-events operates beneath the surface, embedded in daily routines, language, humour, and digital spaces.

Sociologist Michel de Certeau coined the term “resistance of the everyday” to describe these subtle acts. And across Olympic host cities, we see this playing out in unexpected ways. In London, residents still joke that they live in a “legacy zone” — an ironic reminder that many of the promised benefits from the 2012 Games never arrived. In Rio, art installations and graffiti critique displacement long after the Games have ended. On social media, memes and viral videos amplify local frustrations, reaching global audiences within hours.

This micro-resistance is hard to measure but impossible to ignore. It chips away at the legitimacy of mega-events, fuels public scepticism, and erodes the carefully constructed narratives of unity and pride. Crucially, it signals unresolved tensions that can flare into open opposition if ignored.

For organisers and policymakers, understanding these everyday, often invisible, forms of resistance is vital. Dismissing them as insignificant overlooks the social undercurrents that determine whether a mega-event unites or divides a city.

Resistance to mega-events is not confined to the dramatic moments that grab headlines — a protest march during the opening ceremony or public outrage over last-minute budget overruns. Instead, opposition unfolds across the entire event lifecycle, from the early whispers of a potential bid to the long tail of unmet legacy promises.

Consider the pattern. In the bidding phase, resistance often focuses on transparency, public consultation, and democratic legitimacy. When residents of Boston, Hamburg, and Budapest were asked — or demanded the right to be asked — whether they wanted to host the Olympics, they said no, forcing organisers to withdraw. In Paris, opposition to the 2024 Games surfaced years before construction began, fuelled by concerns over housing, surveillance, and public spending.

During the planning and delivery phases, resistance intensifies, often in response to tangible impacts: displacement, environmental damage, or security measures. In Tokyo, protests erupted over the prioritisation of the Games during the COVID-19 pandemic, while in Rio, favela residents resisted evictions and infrastructure projects that deepened inequality.

But resistance doesn’t end when the flame is extinguished. In legacy phases, communities contest broken promises, missed opportunities, and lingering social divisions. Years after London 2012, debates continue over who really benefited — with many local residents feeling sidelined by regeneration that favoured elites.

For organisers, recognising that resistance is not a one-off event but an evolving, multi-stage phenomenon is essential. It demands ongoing engagement, not short-term crisis management.

One of the most dangerous misconceptions surrounding mega-event resistance is the assumption that all opposition is the same — or equally justified. In reality, resistance is fragmented, complex, and often fuelled by competing agendas, making it both harder to engage with and easier to dismiss entirely.

Our research shows that within any resistance movement, there are multiple voices: community activists fighting evictions, environmental groups raising sustainability concerns, digital campaigners critiquing governance, and even political actors exploiting discontent for personal or partisan gain. Their claims range from deeply legitimate — such as protecting vulnerable residents from displacement — to more opportunistic or ideologically driven forms of opposition that may have little to do with the event itself.

Take Los Angeles 2028. Within the NOlympics LA movement, concerns about housing rights and gentrification are grounded in long-standing community struggles. But alongside these are groups leveraging anti-Olympic sentiment for broader anti-globalisation campaigns that sometimes overlook the specific local realities.

For event organisers, recognising this diversity is crucial. Painting all resistance as illegitimate ignores genuine grievances and fuels further distrust. But failing to critically assess claims risks being paralysed by unproductive or exaggerated opposition. The challenge is to engage selectively — distinguishing between constructive, credible concerns and less grounded forms of resistance.

Understanding this complexity moves the conversation beyond simplistic binaries of “for” or “against” mega-events — and towards a more strategic, balanced approach to dialogue.

Too often, organisers and policymakers view resistance as a threat — an obstacle to be neutralised, avoided, or dismissed. But our research suggests a different perspective: resistance, when engaged with seriously, can drive improvement, accountability, and even innovation in how mega-events are conceived and delivered.

Take Paris 2024. Community opposition to the Games’ potential impact on housing and public space has already pushed organisers to revise plans, strengthen social protections, and commit to more transparent governance. Whether these commitments deliver meaningful change remains to be seen — but the influence of resistance is undeniable.

History shows the same pattern. In Tokyo, while pandemic-related protests highlighted deep frustrations, they also sparked overdue debates about public health, event safety, and democratic decision-making. In London, resistance to 2012’s gentrification pressures led to new policies — albeit imperfect — aimed at safeguarding affordable housing and community access to Olympic sites.