Bad Bunny's Halftime Show and Our Collective Joy Hangover

For at least a few minutes on Sunday night, millions caught a glimpse of the immense joy, spirituality, and complexity that represents the blessing of being Puerto Rican. Two days after Bad Bunny made his headlining debut at the Super Bowl LX Halftime Show, I remain overjoyed by his passionate and loyal expression of identity and culture. The diaspora is lit! As the eldest daughter of a Nigerian father fútbol fan who was constantly woken up Saturday mornings to hear Dad screaming, “Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal,” during the Spanish-language broadcast, I declare myself a proud and humble witness.

I kept sending texts to friends: It was incredible. Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio introduced himself with his full name, and indeed the performance was an affectionate personal embrace of Puerto Rico’s history and global reach. It was so personal and spirit-stirring, it could not help but become a universal altar call to anyone that empire has robbed, mistreated, depleted, and taken for granted—but could ultimately not disappear. Nunca. Puerto Rico is still here. Its identity threatened but lasting. Its sovereignty displaced but not forgotten. Its people? Everywhere their culture is. ‘Seguimos aquí.’

I recognized many of the signs and symbols Bad Bunny employed throughout the set design from my own travel and study: The summertime coco frio stands you find Uptown and in the Bronx; the piragua vendor in Cartagena, Colombia; the leaning sugarcane stalks and plantation culture of Southern Louisiana; the domino-playing uncles of Bridgetown, Barbados, or Flatbush in Brooklyn; and the dance cultures of Oaxaca City, Boyle Heights, and pre-gentrified Puerto Rican Williamsburg. Lucky are we who recognize ourselves, our families, our neighborhoods, and our journeys in his salute toward a collective cultural experience. The story was his and Puerto Rico’s, and as children of indigenous lands and the diaspora, he invited us all to locate ourselves within it.

When I saw Ricky Martin, the sound I made was one of instant recognition, awe, and understanding. Yes, Ricky! Remind these hoes who the eff was here! Yes, Ricky! Show the reach of your time, story, and place. When I visited Puerto Rico as an eighteen-year-old, it was Señor Ricky Muthaeffing Martin whose full-body billboard greeted me upon arrival in San Juan (mind you, he was a child of Menudo fame, and starred in General Hospital.) Do not talk to me about Ricky Martin!

I remember his 1999 Grammy’s debut that caused a similar out-of-body experience in my childhood living room, and in the news coverage that followed, when he sang “La Copa De La Vida.” (Please. Watch that performance right now.) The mark that Martin made is unquestionable, but what it cost him to become the global icon he is—well, I’m realizing I should read his 2011 memoir. Hearing him perform “Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii,” was a soaring declaration of hope and grief, of finding power in powerless times. A plea, a manifesto, a prayer. Still here, his participation said to me (and still fine! Ricky!!).

I hope you’ll make time to hear from Puerto Rican viewers who, if they’re like my friends, are still picking themselves up off the floor. I’m moved by their outpouring of emotion and celebration—the connectivity I’ve witnessed, the intergenerational pride, the unbridled happiness. From reflections (a breakdown of key references), and reactions (a granddaughter calling her abuela in tears, overcome by the show in juxtaposition to the erosion of civil rights in the U.S.), to the various markers and symbols that further define this cultural syllabus.

Never lost on me is the ultimate dichotomy of allowing the tools of empire (mass media, the entertainment business, the NFL corporation) to profit from the eyes and attention of so many who do not benefit from these institutions. I stopped watching football around the time CTE and the devastating effects of repeated concussions became public knowledge, and when it became clear Colin Kaepernick’s kneeling protest would cost him his career.

I understand and mostly agree with the criticism people express about engaging with the NFL, even for 13 minutes once a year. An Instagram user who goes by Comrade Libre posted a video on Monday, saying “…culture in and of itself is not going to liberate us.“ He continued, “We need a culture of revolution that moves us toward tangible actions instead of falling for these colonial tricks to pacify us using our own culture.”

It’s hard to reconcile the heartwarming experience of seeing a culture lovingly represented on a stage so big, with the participants being framed as chess pieces in their own demise. From Booker T. Washington to Jay Z, Black Americans have already demonstrated (willfully or not) that capitalism does not defeat a racialized socio-political culture. How can you chisel away at empire when the most prominent figures of cultures known for their collective resistance are made out to be mascots of the very system they’re an exception to? On the other side of the coin of American military dominance is the Hollywood machine and all that goes with it. They’re a packaged deal, always have been.

I can tell you for certain, divestment doesn’t begin at the 50-yard line. And how can it? When Kaepernick began his protests in 2016, he was walking in the shadows of Muhammad Ali, who at the time of his 1968 Esquire cover photo session where he mimics the Christian martyr, Saint Sebastian, he had already been stripped of his heavyweight medals for refusing to be drafted to fight in Vietnam.

Ali was banned from being able to fight anywhere in the U.S. for years, the duration of his prime boxing age. Kaepernick wasn’t stripped of a license to play, but he sued the NFL for collusion when no one hired him as a free agent in the 2017 season. In 2019, he agreed to a private settlement and withdrew the suit. We shouldn’t be entertaining the NFL, and we shouldn’t be watching the NFL entertain us. But as long as these spaces remain heralded for their reach and who they’re willing to platform, despite what we know about them, people seeking connection and visibility will continue to show up. Turning the TV off can only work toward resistance when there are tangible steps and guidance connected to a movement. We’re all implicated here. We all want to be seen.

My biggest takeaway of the performance was Bad Bunny reminding global viewers of who really comprises the Americas. I saw this as part of an ongoing struggle to urge U.S. viewers to situate themselves inside a container that includes them, but isn’t necessarily about them. I saw creators from Ecuador, Jamaica, and Haiti post videos about how happy they were to see their flags represented in a conversation about the true definition of Latin culture. It is Indigenous, African, and Spanish, layered, beautiful, and like nothing else. His roll call was not just a geography lesson. It was yet another invitation for us all to include ourselves in authoring the reality that awaits once the show is over. ⭑

The featured photograph is by the Colombian artist Ruby Rumié. I saw an exhibition of her work at Nohra Haime Gallery while visiting Cartagena in 2024. Rumié makes art across several disciplines, with a tendency toward hyperrealism. Her subjects are often the residents of Getsemani, a historical area of Cartagena des Indias.

I thought of being in Cartagena while trying to come down from the halftime show (I’m still lit). I hope as you look at these stunning women from a rich and layered history in Afro Colombia, you also see the women of New Orleans, Veracruz, Harlem, Oakland, Kingston, Miami, Paris, and Santo Domingo. Bad Bunny can’t do all the work! And if you ballin like that, click through to support Rumié’s practice.

Curious findings!

Last week I wrote about African enslaved people being the involuntary foundation of the industry and infrastructure that would become the U.S. It was a smaller pool of participants than week one of this newsletter, but 80% indicated you had a solid grounding in the historical events that led to the building of this country. No one admitted to not knowing much about the Middle Passage and the trade that accompanied it (and yet I see soooo many myths about seeds in the hair of the enslaved!).

Don’t be shy—the polls are anonymous and will vary. I’m learning about your interests as an audience separate from the social algo. Tap in!