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At every turn of his spectacular Super Bowl halftime show, Bad Bunny countered death-dealing hatred with unabashed joy. He sang in his native tongue, and in all the glory of his unmistakable Puerto Rican accent. From tall, sugarcane fields tended by jíbaros in pavas to the bustling streets outside the marqueta and barbershop, there was dancing and singing from performers across generations and nationalities. In the middle of the show, we witnessed an actual wedding and fell in love with a little boy who held Benito’s Grammy tight to his chest as Bad Bunny whispered in his ear: Cree siempre en ti (“Always believe in yourself”). Echoing Kendrick Lamar on top of an ’87 Buick GNX in last year’s show, Benito stood on the cab of an old truck and paid tribute to reggaeton legends like Daddy Yankee, Don Omar, and Tego Calderón, who first gave the genre an international stage. He climbed electric poles and sang “El Apagón” (“The Blackout”), reminding the world of how Puerto Ricans flourish even as their power grids falter.
As the performance came to a close, Benito led a crowd of dancers and musicians waving flags toward the end zone. My eyes filled with tears as the song “Café con Ron” ended and Bad Bunny declared “God Bless America” before listing nearly every country in the Americas, saving the United States and Canada for last. The performance culminated with the star holding a football toward the camera inscribed with a unifying message: “Together, we are America.”
It can’t be overlooked that, in a society that profits from partisanship and polarization, Bad Bunny decisively refused to reflect the United States’ hatred, racism, capitalist greed, or xenophobia back onto itself. There were no middle fingers, no malice, no “F--- Donald Trump” chants. Because it isn’t about them; it’s about us—Black, brown, and other minoritized communities who refuse to let the present powers and principalities diminish or detract from our love, our joy, our flourishing, our shared future. Through this performance, Bad Bunny proclaimed an epiphany made manifest, as José Humphreys writes, “through reggaeton beats, through barrio histories, and through those whom the empire has overlooked.” This revelation, though, was not a mirror to reflect; it was a lens to see through. Bad Bunny came to Santa Clara with glass molded in the fires of unwavering joy amid Puerto Rico’s ongoing struggle under imperial oppression. Line by line, beat by beat, step by step, he bent the magnificent lights of Puerto Rico through a television lens and revealed a beautiful world before us.
That’s love—pure, unashamed, and unapologetic. It is a love for his country, his people, his language, his history. The moral, political, and spiritual clarity of this beloved vision transcends linguistic barriers. Moments after the show, athletes such as J.J. Watt, Budda Baker, and Pat McAfee expressed all shared versions of the same general sentiment: They may not have understood the words, but they got the message. And those, like Emmanuel Acho, who were still looking for a literal message only needed to look up at the scoreboard: “The only thing more powerful than hate is love.”
As Christians, we know this is gospel truth (John 13:34-35). We also know that the message of revolutionary love always comes with a holy invitation to participate. From one of the largest stages in the world, Bad Bunny issued a rallying cry to join the movement—la revolución—against oppression, erasure, and empire. He showed us, even for just a brief prophetic moment, what this world rooted in love and liberation can be.
How do we take up this call? By singing and dancing along.
The authoritarian powers and principalities of our moment are hellbent on silencing us. They assault pastors preaching at detention centers, arrestreporters covering protests, and kill citizens filming them too closely. They redact the names of powerful abusers in the Epstein files while leaving victims vulnerable and without justice. When a reporter asks a difficult question, the president points at her and says, “Quiet, piggy.” When a global phenomenon takes the Super Bowl stage, Turning Point USA creates a competing “All-American Halftime Show” headlined by country artists singing songs like “Real American.”
But the seed of fascism’s failure—planted from its genesis—is nurtured by the sweet sounds of protest. The percussive reggaeton beat is its sunlight, and the joyful anthem “Debí Tirar Más Fotos” its rain. The love shared for our communities through potlucks and parades provides the soil with an abundance of life-giving nutrients. We tend this sapling day after day through laughter and joy, singing and dancing, weddings and parties. This faithful practice of gardening can’t be done alone. It takes a community willing to become neighbors across their many differences.
This is why MAGA is so afraid of Bad Bunny: Its inevitable downfall is abundantly manifest in him. A brown American named Benito rapping in Puerto Rican slang has brought America (all of America) together in ways that MAGA never will. Standing on the Grammy stage last week, he captivated the nation with his statement: “ICE out…We’re not savage. We’re not animals. We’re not aliens. We are humans, and we are Americans.” A week later, with his mother’s surname, Ocasio, on his back, he demonstrated these truths in all their beauty and glory for the world to see and dance along. He moved with the perfect love that casts out fear (1 John 4:1
. It was an emancipatory force—shaping the eyes of our nation to see the humanity of our neighbors—and an invitation to join in the dance.
GOD BLESS BAD BUNNY’S AMERICA
Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio gave us a revelation.At every turn of his spectacular Super Bowl halftime show, Bad Bunny countered death-dealing hatred with unabashed joy. He sang in his native tongue, and in all the glory of his unmistakable Puerto Rican accent. From tall, sugarcane fields tended by jíbaros in pavas to the bustling streets outside the marqueta and barbershop, there was dancing and singing from performers across generations and nationalities. In the middle of the show, we witnessed an actual wedding and fell in love with a little boy who held Benito’s Grammy tight to his chest as Bad Bunny whispered in his ear: Cree siempre en ti (“Always believe in yourself”). Echoing Kendrick Lamar on top of an ’87 Buick GNX in last year’s show, Benito stood on the cab of an old truck and paid tribute to reggaeton legends like Daddy Yankee, Don Omar, and Tego Calderón, who first gave the genre an international stage. He climbed electric poles and sang “El Apagón” (“The Blackout”), reminding the world of how Puerto Ricans flourish even as their power grids falter.
As the performance came to a close, Benito led a crowd of dancers and musicians waving flags toward the end zone. My eyes filled with tears as the song “Café con Ron” ended and Bad Bunny declared “God Bless America” before listing nearly every country in the Americas, saving the United States and Canada for last. The performance culminated with the star holding a football toward the camera inscribed with a unifying message: “Together, we are America.”
It can’t be overlooked that, in a society that profits from partisanship and polarization, Bad Bunny decisively refused to reflect the United States’ hatred, racism, capitalist greed, or xenophobia back onto itself. There were no middle fingers, no malice, no “F--- Donald Trump” chants. Because it isn’t about them; it’s about us—Black, brown, and other minoritized communities who refuse to let the present powers and principalities diminish or detract from our love, our joy, our flourishing, our shared future. Through this performance, Bad Bunny proclaimed an epiphany made manifest, as José Humphreys writes, “through reggaeton beats, through barrio histories, and through those whom the empire has overlooked.” This revelation, though, was not a mirror to reflect; it was a lens to see through. Bad Bunny came to Santa Clara with glass molded in the fires of unwavering joy amid Puerto Rico’s ongoing struggle under imperial oppression. Line by line, beat by beat, step by step, he bent the magnificent lights of Puerto Rico through a television lens and revealed a beautiful world before us.
That’s love—pure, unashamed, and unapologetic. It is a love for his country, his people, his language, his history. The moral, political, and spiritual clarity of this beloved vision transcends linguistic barriers. Moments after the show, athletes such as J.J. Watt, Budda Baker, and Pat McAfee expressed all shared versions of the same general sentiment: They may not have understood the words, but they got the message. And those, like Emmanuel Acho, who were still looking for a literal message only needed to look up at the scoreboard: “The only thing more powerful than hate is love.”
As Christians, we know this is gospel truth (John 13:34-35). We also know that the message of revolutionary love always comes with a holy invitation to participate. From one of the largest stages in the world, Bad Bunny issued a rallying cry to join the movement—la revolución—against oppression, erasure, and empire. He showed us, even for just a brief prophetic moment, what this world rooted in love and liberation can be.
How do we take up this call? By singing and dancing along.
The authoritarian powers and principalities of our moment are hellbent on silencing us. They assault pastors preaching at detention centers, arrestreporters covering protests, and kill citizens filming them too closely. They redact the names of powerful abusers in the Epstein files while leaving victims vulnerable and without justice. When a reporter asks a difficult question, the president points at her and says, “Quiet, piggy.” When a global phenomenon takes the Super Bowl stage, Turning Point USA creates a competing “All-American Halftime Show” headlined by country artists singing songs like “Real American.”
But the seed of fascism’s failure—planted from its genesis—is nurtured by the sweet sounds of protest. The percussive reggaeton beat is its sunlight, and the joyful anthem “Debí Tirar Más Fotos” its rain. The love shared for our communities through potlucks and parades provides the soil with an abundance of life-giving nutrients. We tend this sapling day after day through laughter and joy, singing and dancing, weddings and parties. This faithful practice of gardening can’t be done alone. It takes a community willing to become neighbors across their many differences.
This is why MAGA is so afraid of Bad Bunny: Its inevitable downfall is abundantly manifest in him. A brown American named Benito rapping in Puerto Rican slang has brought America (all of America) together in ways that MAGA never will. Standing on the Grammy stage last week, he captivated the nation with his statement: “ICE out…We’re not savage. We’re not animals. We’re not aliens. We are humans, and we are Americans.” A week later, with his mother’s surname, Ocasio, on his back, he demonstrated these truths in all their beauty and glory for the world to see and dance along. He moved with the perfect love that casts out fear (1 John 4:1
. It was an emancipatory force—shaping the eyes of our nation to see the humanity of our neighbors—and an invitation to join in the dance.
