Voices: Utah can’t host the next Olympics until it has a major cultural shift

In a few weeks, the world will welcome another Olympic Games. And ever since Utah secured the bid to host the 2034 Winter Olympics, one idea has been haunting me: Utah, as it currently exists, is structurally unprepared to represent the cultural breadth, pluralism and values of the United States on a global stage.

The Olympics are often discussed in terms of economics — tourism revenue, infrastructure investment and global visibility. But at their core, the Olympics are an exercise in cultural diplomacy. They are a country’s opportunity to present itself on a global stage, to tell a story about who it is, what it values, and how it understands community, identity and belonging.

When the United States hosts the Olympics, that responsibility does not fall on a single city or state alone. But make no mistake: Wherever the Games land becomes a symbolic stand-in for the nation. Utah will not just be hosting athletes. It will be representing America.

That is where my concern lies.

Culture is not created at the scale of mega-events. It is built on a micro level — in neighborhoods, in local art, in nightlife, in dissent, in experimentation, in the way communities make room for difference. Utah, for all its strengths, has long struggled with this kind of cultural multiplicity. The state’s identity is unusually centralized, shaped by a dominant value system that rewards conformity and politeness while leaving little room for visible counterculture.

As a result, Utah’s culture often functions as a macro identity — one that speaks for everyone, whether they recognize themselves in it or not. Internet jokes about “Utah curls,” Minky Couture blankets, soda shops and curated family life may seem harmless, but they point to something real: a state whose public-facing culture has narrowed into a single, highly specific aesthetic.

Outside Utah, this narrowing is even more pronounced. Popular media portrayals — from reality television to crime documentaries — have reinforced a singular narrative about who we are.

Even Utah’s counterculture often defines itself in opposition to this dominant identity while still orbiting it, shaped by the experience of growing up within it. Whether people embrace it or resist it, they remain tethered to the same cultural center of gravity.

So when Utah steps onto the Olympic stage, the question isn’t whether it has any culture. It’s whether it has enough cultural breadth to represent a country as large and diverse as the United States.

Start with infrastructure — not just stadiums, but cultural infrastructure. Olympic host cities — from Paris to Vancouver — have treated cultural infrastructure as seriously as athletic venues. They invested in artist housing, extended transit and built long-term support for cultural districts. But Utah has systematically limited cultural third spaces through zoning, ignoring the voices of local artists, censorship and policy. A city cannot perform cultural openness on a global stage if it does not allow it to exist locally.

Not to mention we lack nightlife, so much so that when we are fortunate enough to host a large and highly publicized event — people walk away thinking we are boring. We have some of the strictest alcohol laws in the country. Bars close early, drinks are regulated to the ounce and entire social ecosystems common in other host cities simply do not exist here. For many international visitors, this will not feel charming or quaint. It will feel alienating.

In moments like these, hosts often turn to performative inclusion — brief nods to Indigenous communities, carefully staged displays of diversity that appear during opening ceremonies and then disappear. Representation without power, without sustained investment, is not cultural diplomacy. It is decoration.

This matters because Utah’s demographics and policies already struggle to reflect the diversity of the country it will be representing. The state remains overwhelmingly white. For many residents, meaningful exposure to cultural difference happens elsewhere, not at home. That insularity is not something we can hide with fireworks and choreographed pageantry.

This is not an argument against the Games. It is an argument for honesty and urgency driven by a passion for the rich cultural landscape Utah could present to the world. If Utah wants to host the world, it must be willing to change — structurally, culturally, and politically.

That means investing in experimental and contemporary art, not just “family-friendly” programming. It means protecting existing cultural spaces and their artists from displacement. It means liberalizing policies that constrain nightlife and social life. It means treating artists, residents and marginalized communities as stakeholders, not obstacles.

Utah’s greatest strength has always been its ability to build community. The challenge before us is whether we are willing to expand our understanding of who that community includes — and what kinds of culture we allow to thrive within it.

Payton Rhyan is a cultural administrator, theatre practitioner and arts advocate whose work centers on strengthening rural arts ecosystems, preserving American folk traditions and advancing equitable cultural policy. Payton holds a master of arts in Performing Arts Administration from New York University with a concentration in cultural policy and diplomacy. She also has degrees from the University of Utah and Salt Lake Community College in technical theatre and management. She has worked for the Salt Lake County Mayor’s Office and for Salt Lake County Arts and Culture.

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