Bad Bunny's Super Bowl: Politics or Party?

Singing in Spanish to 100 million Americans. In today's political climate, few acts could be more provocative—or more perfectly timed.

Last Sunday, Puerto Rican rapper Bad Bunny took the Super Bowl halftime stage amid a storm of pre-show controversy. Right-wing commentators had branded him "divisive" and "provocative" for performing almost exclusively in Spanish and speaking out against ICE. Hours before kickoff, influencer Jake Paul called him "a fake American citizen performing who publicly hates America."

But the man who appeared on stage had a different energy entirely. "God bless America," he announced, launching into a 15-minute performance that felt less like culture war proxy battle and more like pure, unadulterated celebration.

From Sugar Cane Fields to Center Stage

The show opened in what looked like Puerto Rican sugar cane fields, worked by dancers in traditional jíbaro straw hats. Against this pastoral backdrop, Bad Bunny emerged looking decidedly modern—boxy white shirt patterned like an NFL jersey, football in hand, tie around his neck. The message was unmistakable: I'm here for business.

As he moved through a tropical hedge maze, he passed whimsical set pieces—coconut vendors, dominoes matches, construction sites staffed by attractive workers. Then came the spectacle: mass twerking, fleeting shots of male-on-male grinding, and Bad Bunny's trademark crotch thrust. If this inspires scandal, it'll be the healthy kind that gave us controversies around Elvis, Janet Jackson, and Prince—part of a hallowed tradition of Super Bowl halftime "crotchroversies."

What does it say about our current moment that sexy choreography feels... refreshing? Maybe it was the genuine smiles on everyone's faces, conveying sensuality without pornography. The dancing and costumes felt throwback to early 2000s MTV's airbrushed sultriness—intriguing rather than exploitative.

Puerto Rico as Cultural Powerhouse

Bad Bunny wasn't just entertaining viewers—he was educating them. The sheer volume of Puerto Rican references demolished any notion that the island is a minor player in American culture. Instead, we saw a domestic and global cultural powerhouse in action.

Daddy Yankee's "Gasolina" provided the archetypal reggaeton moment. Puerto Rican musicians' contributions to salsa music offered much-needed syncopation when Lady Gaga appeared to sing her normally plodding "Die With a Smile." Ricky Martin's square jaw and honeyed voice graced the stage. And Bad Bunny himself acknowledged the significance of his success by handing a Grammy to a young boy who might grow up to be the next generation's breakthrough artist.

When Party Becomes Statement

The performance's energy gradually shifted from celebration to declaration—yet smart stagecraft made this feel climactic rather than deflating. Exploding power lines evoked the electrical outages that have plagued Puerto Rico in recent years. Bad Bunny's demeanor changed too. Gone were the playful mugs and hammy gestures. Anger flickered across his face as he rapped "El Apagón" ("The Power Outage"), conveying the betrayal felt by Puerto Rico's "crisis generation" after political scandals, natural disasters, and ongoing gentrification.

That message was undeniably political. So was his culminating "God bless America," followed by listing countries throughout North and South America—asserting the transnational nature of the culture he represents. Surrounded by throngs of drummers, he closed by holding up a football reading "Together, We Are America." Pointed yet conciliatory. A unity slogan.

Some people were determined to find offense anyway. "Nobody understands a word this guy is saying," Donald Trump complained on Truth Social minutes after the performance, "and the dancing is disgusting."

The Real Culture War

The controversy reveals something deeper than language politics. Bad Bunny's performance succeeded precisely because it refused to choose between American patriotism and Latino pride. He didn't code-switch between identities—he presented them as inseparable.

This challenges both sides of our cultural divide. Conservatives who demand English-only performances must grapple with the reality that 41 million Americans speak Spanish at home. Progressives who view patriotic displays with suspicion must consider whether cultural inclusion might actually strengthen rather than weaken national identity.

The performance's success—trending worldwide, praised across political lines—suggests audiences hunger for complexity over culture war simplicity. Maybe we're tired of being told we must choose between celebration and statement, between American identity and multicultural reality.