
When Bad Bunny stepped onto the Super Bowl Halftime Show stage, this was not just a performance. This is what the Bad Bunny Super Bowl halftime show meant to me as an Indigenous woman living abroad.
It felt like a pulse.
A call back to memory.
A declaration that culture does not disappear just because we live far from where we began.
It was 4 a.m. I was in bed. I cried the first time I watched it.
Not because it was flashy. Because it was deliberate.
Every element meant something.
As an Indigenous woman living abroad and raising children far from my motherland, I felt something open in a visceral way. Not from spectacle. From recognition.
Bad Bunny did not walk out as a pop star. He walked out as a Puerto Rican man carrying generations with him. The rhythms. The visuals. The language. The everyday imagery of his people. These were not decorations. They were identity markers.¹
That is what made this performance revolutionary.
His Super Bowl LX halftime performance, viewed by over 135 million people, became a 14-minute assertion of Latinx culture, identity, and political resistance for millions of viewers, especially Puerto Ricans and the Latinx diaspora. There was so much meaning and relevance in such a short time.
He became the first artist to perform primarily in Spanish on the NFL’s biggest stage.² That matters.
Language carries memory. Language carries place. And when you live abroad, language becomes everything.
What struck me most was how clearly the performance centered on Puerto Rican life.
The sugarcane fields.
The pastel homes.
The street scenes.
The reggaeton and salsa rhythms.
These were references to labor history, colonial history, migration, resilience, and community.³
For many viewers, this was music. For those of us in diaspora, it was remembrance.
This was not accidental. It was intentional cultural storytelling on the world’s largest stage.
Here is what that performance did.
By performing fully in Puerto Rican Spanish without translating for a mainstream audience, he validated the language and identity of millions of Spanish speakers. He challenged the idea that English is the only acceptable language of American entertainment.
The imagery of the pava hat, references to colonial struggle, and historical visuals were quiet acts of resistance against the marginalization of Latin Americans and Puerto Ricans.
References to Puerto Rico’s power grid crisis, gentrification, and the island’s complex relationship with the United States brought visibility to issues many mainland viewers rarely confront.
Ending the performance holding a football that read “Together, We are America,” surrounded by flags from North and South American nations, he redefined what American identity can look like.
For many, this was a moment of radical healing. Music became a tool for hope, pride, and a sense of shared community and belonging for people often treated as “other.”
Through his styling and performance choices, he continued to push back against traditional machismo and openly supported LGBTQ+ and feminist visibility within the Latino culture.
This was not a halftime show.
It was cultural reclamation.
Diaspora is a strange experience. You carry your culture inside your chest. It’s heavy and you are always aware of it. You teach it to your children in kitchens and bedtime stories. You remind them who they are, so they never forget.
You live in a place that is not yours while trying not to lose the place that is.⁴
Watching this felt like seeing that inner work displayed for the world to witness.
It said something without saying it directly.
You are not invisible.
Your culture is not small.
Your history belongs here too.
Researchers say representation is not visibility. It is validation.⁵ When people see themselves portrayed with dignity, identity, and belonging strengthen.
That is exactly what happened here.
The controversy that followed only proved the point.⁶ Because what unsettles people often reveals how narrow their idea of belonging has been.
Who gets to define what “American” looks like?
Bad Bunny’s answer was clear. America is multilingual. Multiracial. Multicultural. Deeply shaped by Caribbean, Latin American, and Indigenous histories long before borders were drawn.⁷
Living in Denmark, I am constantly practicing remembrance with my children. As a mom, I teach them who they are. I teach them that they come from somewhere powerful and deeply rooted. That they carry ancestors with them even when they cannot see the land those ancestors walked.
Representation is not about fame.
It is about reclaiming space.
Moments like this tell every child of the diaspora that their story is part of the main narrative. When people ask about the Bad Bunny Super Bowl halftime show meaning, this is what I will always return to.

If you felt chills. If you felt tears. If something stirred in you and you could not explain why, it is because this was not a show.
It was a ceremony.
A love letter to people who have survived displacement, colonization, migration, and erasure and are still dancing anyway.
And maybe that is the lesson for those of us far from home.
Keep dancing.
Because dancing is how we remember.
