Bad Bunny performs during the halftime show for Super Bowl LX at Levi’s Stadium on February 8, 2026.
(Stan Grossfeld / The Boston Globe via Getty Images)
The past year has felt relentlessly grim. Reports of abuses—from the kidnapping of 5-year-olds to the deaths of nurses—have cast a long shadow. But during the Super Bowl halftime show on February 8, 2026, Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio, known as Bad Bunny, offered a powerful antidote: a vibrant celebration of life, love, and labor, delivered in a language that some would rather not understand.
A Two-Step Political Statement
Bad Bunny’s performance wasn’t just entertainment; it was a calculated political move. Just a week prior, after winning the Grammy for album of the year, he used his acceptance speech to deliver a pointed message: “Before I say thanks to God, I’m going to say: ICE out!”—a statement met with enthusiastic applause. This Grammy moment set the stage for the Super Bowl halftime show, amplifying the growing opposition to ICE across the country.
Bringing Puerto Rico to the World Stage
The halftime show itself was a dazzling display of Puerto Rican culture. In a moment defined by hardship, Bad Bunny presented an alternative vision: a world where workers are valued, the devastation of hurricanes isn’t forgotten, and community thrives. His music, sung entirely in Spanish, and the elaborate set design transported the audience to the Caribbean, offering a stark contrast to the prevailing sense of despair.
The reaction was immediate. At a viewing party, initial curiosity about the controversy surrounding Bad Bunny’s selection quickly gave way to enthusiastic participation. Within 30 seconds, people were on their feet, dancing and captivated by the performance. The arrival of Ricky Martin as a surprise guest sent a wave of excitement through the crowd, culminating in a standing ovation.
More Than Just Music
The performance resonated deeply, sparking conversations during the fourth quarter about its layers of meaning. For many, the most impactful moment was when Bad Bunny rapidly named every country in the Americas—a bold statement against ethnocentrism and American exceptionalism. He had previously stated, “We’re not savage, we’re not animals, we’re not aliens. We are humans, and we are Americans,” a sentiment that sparked debate about inclusivity. His listing of nations, pointedly including Cuba and Venezuela, served as a rebuke to policies targeting countries throughout the region, even going so far as to target fishing boats and blast them from the sky.
Bad Bunny’s performance is already inspiring analysis and interpretation, including the symbolic gesture of presenting a Grammy to a young child seemingly watching from a staged living room in Puerto Rico. This moment resonated particularly strongly in light of the January abduction of 5-year-old Liam Ramos from Minnesota by ICE, who was then sent to a detention center in Texas. While the child on stage wasn’t Ramos, the gesture spoke to the power of Bad Bunny’s message and the anxieties of the moment.
A Response to Repression
The reaction from some corners was predictable. Reports indicated a “racist temper tantrum” from former President Trump, perhaps provoked by a billboard visible during the performance that read, “The only thing more powerful than hate is love.” For this administration, simply acknowledging the cultural significance of Puerto Rico, speaking its language, and celebrating its traditions has become a political act.
The performance echoed a recent Bad Bunny concert in Chile, where he led the crowd in a rendition of “El Derecho de Vivir en la Paz” by Víctor Jara, a Chilean folk singer who was brutally persecuted during the Pinochet dictatorship. Jara’s hands were mutilated by Pinochet’s forces before his execution, a chilling reminder of the cost of dissent. The song, meaning “The Right to Live in Peace,” resonated deeply with the audience.
Pinochet’s regime famously attempted to erase Chile’s vibrant cultural expression by painting over revolutionary murals. Bad Bunny’s performance, therefore, was an act of defiance—a reclaiming of cultural power and a testament to the enduring spirit of artistic resistance. It was, in essence, the revenge of the muralistas, and it arrived not a moment too soon.
