In recent years, Puerto Rican reggaetón and Latin trap star Bad Bunny (born Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio) has become not only a sensation in the music world, but an increasingly influential political figure as well. This shift is complex, touching on cultural, identity, and power dynamics, and today he can be read not just as a musician, but as a phenomenon within American and Latino communities—and within the resistance to them. Bad Bunny is now a symbol, too, an emblem of resistance.
The American Community Media held a press briefing on this compelling topic and personality—the phenomenon itself—with noted speakers: Julio Ricardo Varela, editor of The Latino Newsletter (formerly with Futuro Media and Latino Rebels); Antonio Mejías-Rentas, veteran entertainment journalist and former staffer at La Opinión and Boyle Heights Beat; and Frances Muntaner-Negron, award-winning filmmaker, writer, and scholar, a Columbia University professor and author of Boricua Pop: Puerto Ricans and the Latinization of American Culture.
Bad Bunny grew up in Puerto Rico, began his music career in the island’s underground trap/reggaetón scene, then became a global star with Spanish-language songs and a commanding artistic presence. The breakthrough came when he refused to “translate himself into English,” choosing not to succeed as an English-language pop star, but to bring the Spanish language and his own identity to the global stage. That is how he became a star, and how he elevated his language and culture. In doing so, he became a political symbol against American colonialism and racism.
With Bad Bunny, identity is present well beyond the music—Puerto Rican heritage, Spanish-language culture, the Latino community. Media coverage linked to Bad Bunny says he has become a “political icon” as well. For example, a 21-year-old Mexican American college student put it this way: “Bad Bunny helped me feel more comfortable with my Latino side.” Beyond musical statements—such as his 2022 song “El Apagón,” accompanied by a documentary-style video addressing Puerto Rico’s infrastructure crisis and power outages—political content also appears: gentrification, questions of identity, and criticism of local power.
He is a model for many because, for Spanish-speaking Latino communities living in the U.S., it is rare to see an artist who embraces Spanish, embraces his own culture, and does not “switch to English” to succeed. That is a powerful message toward identity and self-determination. Bad Bunny stands up for good causes not only with songs but with actions. In 2019, for example, he joined the mass protests in Puerto Rico calling for the governor’s resignation.
Bad Bunny’s activism extends beyond the stage. He has spoken out against sexual violence, performed in drag to honor transgender victims, and used interviews to challenge machismo within Latin culture. As veteran journalist Antonio Mejías-Rentas said, his politics are best understood through a Puerto Rican lens: “Bad Bunny is less a spokesperson for immigrants and more a champion of Puerto Rican identity and sovereignty.”
When he posted footage of ICE raids in Puerto Rico—calling the officers “sons of bitches”—he was speaking to more than U.S. immigration policy. It was a protest against colonial neglect and the unequal treatment of Puerto Ricans within the American system. His music videos and public statements form a continuous campaign for dignity and self-determination. Bad Bunny’s stance is an example for every American in the face of the spread of inhumanity and oppression. This is how you stand up to tyranny and oppression.
He also demonstrated the global success of Spanish-language music: with the message that you can go far with your own culture, he inspired many young people. But the movement around Bad Bunny has not been free of controversy—especially after he was named the headliner for the Super Bowl LX halftime show (February 8, 2026, Levi’s Stadium, Santa Clara). That, too, became a cultural battleground.
According to white nationalists, the NFL’s decision sends a political message: choosing a Spanish-language performer for prime time could reshape the image of “traditional American values.” As if Spanish speakers were not Americans. Racists tried to disguise this by claiming that Bad Bunny uses little or no English—“no songs in English,” as the argument goes—and on that basis he became a target.
It turned into a culture war, with petitions and pressure campaigns demanding an “All-American” performer—say, a country artist—on the grounds that a “Latino” artist supposedly reaches fewer American viewers. Right-wing groups—like Turning Point USA—also announced they would stage a separate halftime “counter-program.”
Bad Bunny’s selection to headline the iconic halftime show is a milestone in several respects: he is the first solo Latin artist to lead the show with Spanish-language music. He also reaches audiences the NFL sphere has not previously captured: Latino communities, Spanish speakers, people connected to Puerto Rico.
In his statement, he said, “This is for my people, my culture, and our history”—meaning it is not just a show, but a declaration of cultural identity. Critics say Bad Bunny’s performance carries too much political messaging, while the protest against him is politics itself. In far-right interpretations, a Spanish-language performance “doesn’t fit” classic American sports entertainment. His prior political stands—on migrants, on Puerto Rico—strike many as provocative.
Bad Bunny did not run from the controversy; he embraced it. According to media reports, when conservative outlets criticized him, he responded with humor on SNL: “You have four months to learn Spanish,” a deliberate clapback. Support in Latino communities strengthened: young people who rarely saw a global headliner reflecting them now “see themselves” in him. His choices—such as not concentrating solely on a mainland U.S. tour but maintaining strong presence in Puerto Rico—signal an embrace of identity. The message is especially strong that, because of ICE persecutions, he even canceled shows in America. He chose humanity over money.
Though attacks have come from Republican circles, it is unclear how much they will affect the show or the star; the NFL has simply called the choice of Bad Bunny a “deliberate decision.” The cultural shift—featuring Spanish-language music in the mainstream of a major sports event—remains contested: for many it is an affirmation of identity, for others a provocation. The star’s political status has become that of an “icon,” but this does not necessarily mean a political campaign; it is more an embrace of cultural identity. It is completely incomprehensible that this would bother anyone.
Bad Bunny’s story is more than a music success tale: it is the story of an artist who carries identity, language, and cultural heritage onto a world stage—and thus has become politically significant as well. His Super Bowl appearance is not merely entertainment, but a cultural statement: Spanish language, Latino communities, Puerto Rican roots. At the same time, it has triggered a strong backlash—particularly from the conservative side—that is part of the struggle over cultural hegemony.
How Bad Bunny emerges from this fight—as an icon or a contested figure—will affect not only his career, but the representation of Latino communities as well. When creativity, identity, and activism meet global entertainment, new dynamics are created—and Bad Bunny has moved to the forefront of them. His great advantage is his talent and the caliber of his production, but also its global character: he has helped globalize the Spanish language and identity within the world’s culture.
