The joyful audacity of Bad Bunny’s halftime performance put the colonizer class on notice and offered a roadmap for resistance through storytelling, shared experience, and self-determination. From the opening sequence with laborers on a sugar cane plantation to the flag presentation at the end, Benito Bowl was a cultural celebration grounded in shared experience and history. 

Like many, I tuned in simply to watch the genius unfold. And it was a masterful display wrapped in a simple 13-minute production that united the American diaspora like no other. 

The performance reflected our shared ancestral connection carried through the beat of drums and collective resistance to European exploitation. It’s a shared connection Benito carries through his music, honoring the flags of the many nation-states that make up the Americas. 

Bad Bunny’s performance was a brilliant recognition of not just Latino cultures, but the entirety of the Americas, including predominantly Black nations in the Caribbean. The final roll call and flag display had the energy of a mini-Carnival, with deep roots in celebrating freedom and colonial resistance. 

I couldn’t help but feel a little excitement when I spotted the Bajan flag in the final number. My paternal great-grandparents came to the U.S. in the late 1890s and early 1900s from Barbados and Cape Verde. They raised their children in a community alongside Black Americans and Puerto Ricans, settling in parts of Brooklyn, N.Y. 

Benito didn’t pander with generic statements like “we’re all immigrants,” opting instead to represent the fullness of the nations and cultures that make up the United States and the Americas. At a time of historic erasure, it gave us what we needed most—community care, family togetherness, and self-determination.

Even saying his full name and talking about the dreams and drive that got him to where he is today were relatable. 

No, most of us aren’t on the verge of being the highest-streamed artist in the world. But many of us have been taught to shrink ourselves to appease Eurocentric standards and the white gaze. 

I’m not a Bad Bunny superfan. But I listen when my peers and the young people in my life direct my attention to things worth engaging. And I spent a little time scrolling through the Bad Bunny syllabus curated by Professors Petra Rivera-Rideau and Vanessa Diaz. 

After taking time to engage and learn more about his latest project and work, I was impressed by the way he spoke about and cared for Puerto Rico. While he’s not the first Puerto Rican artist to put the island on the international radar, he refused to compromise. 

His performance also reminded me of the deep connection I felt as a child dancing during The Caribbean Culture Center’s “Dance of the White Dress.” The invocation of Puerto Rican Independence made me think of trips with my stepfather to the Puerto Rican Cultural Center in Chicago. A former Black Panther, my stepfather taught us about the interconnection between our fight as Black people in America and the broader colonial context, like in the case of Puerto Rico. 

And it also reminded me of my week traveling through Puerto Rico almost 10 years ago. In December 2017, mere months after Hurricanes Irma and Maria ravaged the island, I traveled with a mutual aid group. We spent the entire trip outside of San Juan in communities like Vieques, Humacao, and Loíza. 

I didn’t understand many of the words said to me without a colleague translating, but I understood the feeling of community. And by the time we got to Loíza, I was home. 

In Loíza, I sat with the artist Samuel Lind, who shared the story behind his painting Black Justice. It told the story of Adolfino Villanueva Osorio, a Black woman who was murdered by the police while standing her ground in defense of her family and land.