By Gregory Ball
Before a single note rang off, I knew the backlash was already trending.
The NFL and Roc Nation had just announced that Bad Bunny would headline the Super Bowl LX halftime show at Levi’s Stadium next February, and MAGA world (not known for their measured response) immediately lost it. Donald Trump called the choice “ridiculous.” Conservative influencers accused the league of being “anti-American.” (An accusation that seems all the more ridiculous given that, as a Puerto Rican, he is absolutely an American citizen.) Turning Point USA promised its own “Christian American artist” halftime broadcast to “restore tradition.”
Within days, an online petition demanding that the NFL “replace Bad Bunny with a real American performer” had passed 30,000 signatures — complete with suggestions like Garth Brooks and George Strait. Commissioner Roger Goodell has held the line so far: “He’s one of the leading and most popular entertainers in the world.”
If this feels familiar, that’s because it is. We have heard this tune of discontent before. Each time America’s biggest stage opens to someone who doesn’t fit the country’s throwback picture of itself, the outrage machine starts popping. The noise isn’t about music. It’s not about culture. It’s not even about America. It’s about ownership. This chorus of anger is about who gets to define what American culture looks and sounds like in 2026.
The Fear Beneath the Noise
Pew Research Center estimates that nearly one in five U.S. adults now identifies as Hispanic, the fastest-growing segment of the country’s population and, increasingly, of the NFL’s fan base. But studies show that Latino sports fans remain an “overlooked market,” even as leagues court their dollars.
Last year’s Super Bowl halftime show, led by Kendrick Lamar, which pulled 133.5 million viewers, was the most-watched performance in the event’s history. Representation, clearly, doesn’t tank ratings. It drives them.
The modern Super Bowl halftime show, as we know it, really began when Michael Jackson moonwalked across the Rose Bowl stage in 1993 and transformed an intermission into a global broadcast event. Before that, the halftime slot was filler — college marching bands, Disney tie-ins, with the New Kids On The Block and aging pop medleys. Jackson’s performance (a response to the upstart Fox network seeking to hijack the audience by running a live episode of “In Living Color”) the year before changed the business model. The NFL realized it wasn’t just entertaining the stadium; it was selling an image of America to the world.
For the next decade, that image leaned heavily white and rock-driven — Travis Tritt, U2, Phil Collins, The Blues Brothers — a reflection of who the NFL thought its audience was. Black artists appeared, but rarely in starring roles. And any sliver of hope of that changing was stalled in 2004 with Janet Jackson’s and Justin Timberlake’s performance, which became infamous for reasons that had nothing to do with music. It would take a while for the league to meaningfully diversify again.
But then the energy shifted and made some notable waves. Beyoncé’s set in 2013 reframed halftime as a moment of Black excellence and precision. In 2020, Shakira and Jennifer Lopez made it multilingual, performing mostly in Spanish to an audience of 103 million — the first time two Latina women had headlined together. It was also Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl Halftime show debut. Two years later, Dr. Dre curated a lineup of hip-hop icons — Snoop Dogg, Kendrick Lamar, Mary J. Blige, Eminem, and 50 Cent — an unapologetic snapshot of West Coast music that earned the highest approval ratings in the broadcast’s history at that point. The stage that once mirrored a narrow idea of America now reflects a chapter of its reality: Black, brown, bilingual, and global, even as parts of the country still struggle to see that as patriotic.
So why the fury this time? Because we are in a moment where some see anything not affirming the business-as-usual view as a threat. Because Bad Bunny isn’t an English-language crossover act asking for permission. He’s an American who is 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 nation losing control of its reflection.
Belonging Is Good Business
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 (2020-22), 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.
Benito has even been a star in the world of WWE. Bad Bunny’s WWE appearances attracted millions of viewers, with his Backlash 2023 match in Puerto Rico drawing over 1.6 million social media interactions and helping WWE earn its highest gate for an event in the territory. His WrestleMania debut reached a global audience, joining over 1 billion social media impressions for that weekend, and positioned Bad Bunny as one of the most-watched crossover celebrities in WWE history. This guy makes an impact wherever he shows up. And for a league trying to grow its audience internationally, it’s a smart move to get in the Bad Bunny business.
The numbers speak louder than any pundit. Belonging isn’t just moral; it’s market logic. Companies that foster it outperform their peers because they unlock innovation and loyalty.
For the NFL, it’s simple math. A bilingual, multi-cultural 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.
Belonging Is Good for Your Life
Like much of social media, I was immediately getting my two-step ready after the announcement.
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 art 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 work 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. They invest in each other.
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.
Growing up in the city, I learned that belonging isn’t something you declare — it’s something you practice.
The Mirror Moment
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. And listen to the cheers that drown out the outrage.
Belonging isn’t a threat to America. It’s the proof that America is still possible.