Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl performance wasn’t just a show—it was a cultural earthquake. For Puerto Ricans like me, it felt like a mirror reflecting our struggles, our pride, and our unyielding spirit. As I watched him sing almost entirely in Spanish to 125 million viewers, I couldn’t help but think of the countless times someone has dismissed my Puerto Rican Spanish as unintelligible. Sound familiar? Like Bad Bunny, I’ve bagged groceries in a supermarket, a shared experience that ties us to a humble past—one that many of us, regardless of where we are now, can relate to.
But here’s where it gets personal: Bad Bunny’s rise isn’t just about music; it’s about representation. Born Benito Martínez Ocasio, he’s gone from packing groceries to headlining the Super Bowl halftime show, all while staying true to his roots. His performance on Sunday wasn’t just entertainment—it was a statement. As he moved through a set designed to evoke Puerto Rico’s sugarcane fields, a rural home, and the iconic El Morro fort, he wasn’t just singing for himself. He was singing for us. And this is the part most people miss: his success isn’t just about his talent; it’s about the intimate connection he maintains with the island, as scholars Vanessa Díaz and Petra R. Rivera Rideau point out in their book P FKN R: How Bad Bunny Became the Global Voice of Puerto Rican Resistance.
But not everyone sees him as a hero. Some Puerto Ricans find his music or image polarizing. Yet, for many of us, his lyrics, rhythms, and unapologetic identity resonate deeply. They capture the tension of growing up in a place with its own culture and history, yet legally tied to the most powerful nation on Earth. It’s a duality that’s hard to explain—unless you’ve lived it.
Take his song Ser Bichote from his debut album, for example. When he sings, ‘Schools are closing while puntos open. So what do I do? Tell me, I’m asking you,’ he’s not just making music—he’s holding a mirror to our reality. ‘Puntos,’ the slang for drug-dealing spots, are a stark reminder of the challenges we face. It’s a reference that might go over the heads of non-Puerto Ricans, but for us, it’s a punch to the gut.
And this is where it gets controversial: Bad Bunny’s music isn’t just about romance or party anthems. Songs like BOKeTE and LA MuDANZA weave in commentary on Puerto Rico’s crumbling infrastructure and the historical persecution of the independence movement. When he sings, ‘People were killed here for waving the flag, that’s why I carry it everywhere,’ he’s not just making a statement—he’s challenging us to remember. Is he a musician or a revolutionary? Or both? Let’s discuss in the comments.
Growing up in San Lorenzo, a small town in southeastern Puerto Rico, I can relate to his story. Like him, I grew up far from the hustle of San Juan, even though it was just a 45-minute drive away. Trips to the city were events—waking up early, dressing nicely, planning what we’d eat for lunch. Plaza Las Américas, the massive shopping mall, was our go-to spot, a place so vast you could get lost in it. And like Bad Bunny, I learned English as an adult, speaking it with a non-native accent despite being a U.S. citizen by birthright. According to the latest U.S. census, only 22% of Puerto Ricans feel they speak English ‘very well’—a statistic that speaks volumes about our linguistic identity.
Bad Bunny’s impact goes beyond music. He’s revitalized reggaeton, a genre with roots in Panama and New York but globalized by Puerto Rican artists. For years, reggaeton was marginalized, associated with underground clubs and raided by police. But artists like Daddy Yankee, Tego Calderón, and Don Omar—whom Bad Bunny honored during his performance—helped bring it into the mainstream. Now, Bad Bunny is blending reggaeton with salsa, merengue, bomba, and plena, creating a bridge across generations. As Prof. Albert Laguna noted, he’s become an artist appreciated far beyond the reggaeton audience.
But here’s the real question: Is Bad Bunny’s success a triumph for Puerto Rico, or is it just another example of cultural appropriation by the mainstream? His Grammy-winning album Debí Tirar Más Fotos, entirely in Spanish, sparked what producer MAG called a ‘cultural movement.’ Yet, some argue that his global fame comes at the cost of diluting our culture. What do you think? Is he a champion of Puerto Rican identity, or is he selling it to the highest bidder?
One thing is undeniable: Bad Bunny has opened the door to the world wider than ever. In a place with limited political power—where Puerto Ricans can’t vote in presidential elections and have no voting power in Congress—culture is our primary currency. And on Sunday, we saw that currency being celebrated on one of the biggest stages in the world. Whether you love him or hate him, Bad Bunny has forced the world to listen. And that, my friends, is something worth talking about.
