Summary
The Paralympics are still framed through a “hero” narrative that risks distancing rather than including, making everyday lives of people with disabilities invisible.
We need to change language and storytelling to recognize disability as part of normal life—not something valued only when it is extraordinary.
Every time the Paralympics come around, the country lights up. Stories of athletes with disabilities take center stage in the media, on social platforms, and in everyday conversations.
It’s a powerful moment, because sport has the ability to shift our collective perspective.
And yet, once again, there’s a feeling of a missed opportunity. The dominant narrative is still that of “heroes.” Extraordinary athletes, of course—but too often turned into symbols of extreme resilience, examples so “exceptional” that they seem to belong to another world, far from the everyday lives of people with disabilities.
A narrative that, instead of including, risks creating even more distance. Celebrating achievements is right. It’s necessary. But when the story flattens into heroism, something subtle happens: disability is accepted only when it is spectacular—when it wins, when it overcomes every limit in extraordinary ways.
And everything else? It disappears.
Ordinary lives disappear. Complexities disappear. Rights that are not guaranteed disappear. Everyday barriers disappear.
The idea that a person with a disability can simply exist—work, love, fail, choose—without having to be an inspiration at all times, disappears.
The Paralympics could have been, and still could be, a space to truly broaden the way we look at disability in Italy.
Not just sports performance, but accessibility, inclusion, autonomy, participation. Instead, too often, we choose the easier path: the emotional, simplified, reassuring one. The one that moves us—but doesn’t change anything.
The words we use shape the way we think. And therefore, the way we act.
Saying “despite the disability” suggests that disability is something to defeat, always and at all costs. Saying “confined to a wheelchair” conveys limitation and imprisonment, instead of autonomy and a tool for mobility. Talking about “superheroes” risks making invisible all those people with disabilities who do not want—and should not have—to be extraordinary to be recognized.
Changing language is not a matter of form. It’s a matter of power.
Because language shapes collective imagination, and collective imagination shapes society. The Paralympics are not just a sporting event. They are a cultural mirror.
The question is not whether we are capable of feeling emotional. We are very good at that.
The question is: are we ready to truly change the way we look at people with disabilities?
Change starts here: with the words we choose, the stories we tell—and those we don’t.
article by Anita Pallara