Days after Bad Bunny delivered one of the most emotionally resonant and socially significant halftime shows in Super Bowl history, debate rages on. While obsessive fans and curious newcomers parse through the production’s Easter eggs, vitriol from the White House and conservative media continues attacking immigrants and Puerto Rico’s anti-colonial plight. This was all expected. But one source of criticism never ceases to disappoint: fellow Latines dismissing the value of representation and expecting a popstar to perform a revolutionary miracle.
Rockists waging a one-sided war against reggaeton spewed played-out critiques about sexually-charged lyrics and Benito’s polemic baritone not speaking for Latin American music. Sorry, but a Gustavo Cerati quote and 15-minute guitar solo wouldn’t have either. Meanwhile, nitpickers rushed to denounce the omission of Belize, Trinidad and Tobago, and Suriname from the show’s Pan-American roll call, despite all three flags waving on the field. They seem to have mistaken a nod to the continental shout-outs of Rubén Blades’ “Plástico” for a collective reading of Eduardo Galeano’s Open Veins of Latin America.
Silliest of all are the Instagram anarchists who pegged political messaging as hollow when broadcast from the glitziest stage in the land, despite Bad Bunny’s performance being watched live by a record 135 million people. It’s not exactly breaking news that the Super Bowl is the height of capitalist excess: a globally televised sporting event adorned in high-budget commercials and fashionable celebrities, with a fun concert sandwiched in the middle. But Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio is an artist, not a revolutionary leader, and his job is to spread a message—be it of love, dissent, or perreo—rather than throw molotov cocktails.
Art and social movements have gone hand in hand throughout history. Mexican muralists like Diego Rivera and José Clemente Orozco mobilized labor solidarity at the top of the 20th century, while the controversy from Mon Laferte’s pivot into reggaeton on 2019’s “Plata Tá Tá” brought international awareness to Chile’s Estallido Social. Bad Bunny singing atop sparking electrical poles that symbolized Puerto Rico’s energy crisis and sharing a drink with diaspora legend Toñita underscored overarching themes of memory, resistance, and community joy.
Hope is a scarce commodity in 2026, and as government officials and billionaire oligarchs try to silence Latines and remove us from our country—naturally born or adopted—handing the mic to our generation’s biggest star is nothing short of life-saving. Should this make Bad Bunny or the surrounding discourse impervious to criticism? Of course not. His decision to wear head-to-toe Zara contradicts the Latin American-made motifs in his storytelling, especially when even Lady Gaga wore the Dominican brand Luar. Plus, hyperbole calling Benito “the new punk” is pretty obnoxious.
Ultimately, a show is just a show, and trying to reduce Caribbean pride and Latin American unity to a college thesis will alienate more people than it enlightens. That’s not to say it shouldn’t be discussed, but a celebration of Bad Bunny’s achievements doesn’t mean we’re holding out for a hero. Benito reminded the gringo haters, as well as every Latine watching from around the globe: “Seguimos aquí.”
He did a hell of a job, and now it’s time we do ours.
