But as Greg lays out, from Michael Jackson turning the halftime show into a full-on global event in 1993 to Kendrick Lamar holding a mirror up to America this past February, this isn’t just about music. It’s about ownership, and who gets to define what American culture looks and sounds like in 2026.
So why the fury this time? Because we are in a moment where some see anything not affirming the norm as a threat. Because Bad Bunny isn’t an English-language crossover act asking for permission. He’s Puerto Rican to the core of his soul, performing in Spanish, commanding global numbers on his own terms. He isn’t assimilating into the mainstream; he’s redefining it. For a certain slice of America still clinging to the fantasy of cultural purity, that’s terrifying.
When brown joy walks onto the biggest stage in the country, the noise isn’t about the beat. It’s the sound of a large segment of the nation believing that it is losing control of its reflection.
The NFL isn’t getting “woke” as its detractors say. It’s getting wise. Bad Bunny has been the most-streamed artist on Spotify for three consecutive years (2020–2022), and his World’s Hottest Tour became the highest-grossing tour by a Latin artist in history — $435 million across 43 shows. Following news of his halftime slot, his U.S. streams jumped 26 percent, according to Associated Press.
For the NFL, it’s simple math. A bilingual, bicultural audience means more screens, more streams, more ad revenue. But on another level, it’s an acknowledgment that the world is bigger than the short-sighted vision of a few.
Growing up in the city, I learned that belonging isn’t something you declare — it’s something you practice. My neighborhood, Fields Corner, was a mixtape of rhythm: bachata and reggaeton bleeding through open car windows, gospel from my neighbor’s porch, soca on Blue Hill Ave during Carnival, boom-bap courtesy of DJ Def Jeff at a Ripley Road Park jam. I’ve danced to salsa records without knowing the words at a block party. Hip-Hop was the passport for my musical world travels as well. It led me to jazz, salsa, and dancehall; all musical off-ramps that led me to understand how connection works when you step away from being in the center and allow yourself to take part in the love around you. Food, rhythm, and culture have always been the translators — the things that let us see the humanity in each other before we ever share a language.
That’s what belonging feels like when you let it.
Bad Bunny carries that same energy on a global scale. His residency in Puerto Rico drew hundreds of thousands to the island. He’s been outspoken about colonial politics and the island’s resilience after Hurricane Maria, yet still shows up on Billboard charts without softening his message. His art insists that activism and humanity can coexist on the world’s loudest stage.
All this noise about who gets to belong misses the simplest truth: connection is healthy. Research published in Harvard Business Review found that a strong sense of belonging can increase performance by 56 percent and cut turnover in half. The same logic holds outside the workplace. When people feel seen, they invest in their neighborhoods, their families, and their country.
The absence of belonging breeds fear. Fear breeds dehumanization. And once you stop seeing someone’s humanity, it becomes easy to justify their erasure — on a stage, at a border, in a voting booth, or at the end of the barrel of a gun.
When Bad Bunny steps under those stadium lights, he won’t just be performing hits. He’ll be holding up a mirror. What we’ll see isn’t an invasion of American culture — it is American culture: loud and beautiful.
Because the truth is, this country has always been remixed. The Super Bowl just happens to be the latest stage where that remix plays out in real time.
So before we turn the halftime show into another battleground, maybe we should take a breath. Watch the crowd move. Listen to the cheers that drown out the outrage.
Belonging isn’t a threat to America. It’s the proof that it’s still possible.
