On a brisk Sunday night in late September, an announcement exploded MAGA brains. No, it wasn’t Congress finally releasing the Epstein files — they blocked that, again. It wasn’t even the looming U.S. government shutdown. It was something far more sinister… a bunny. Or rather, a Bad Bunny.
That’s right, folks. The announcement that “El Conejo Malo” would perform at the most red-white-and-blue, eagle-screeching, wing-devouring American spectacle of the year — the Super Bowl — sent shockwaves through the Trump cult. Because Bad Bunny isn’t American… right?
Except he is. Puerto Ricans have been U.S. citizens since 1917. They carry American passports, serve in the military, and pay taxes — yet they can’t vote for president nor have voting representation in Congress. So, when a Puerto Rican artist takes centre stage at the Super Bowl, it’s way more than a performance — it’s a spotlight on a contradiction: a country that prides itself on freedom and inclusion, while still holding colonial control over millions of citizens who are denied full democratic rights.
Bad Bunny’s presence at the Super Bowl forces that paradox into focus.
What’s in a language? What does it say about belonging? Would you call a French-speaking Québécois less Canadian, or someone who only speaks English more so? Some people treat language as a test of loyalty — but it shouldn’t be. Language is a reflection of culture, history, and identity. In a country built by immigrants, multilingualism isn’t a threat; it’s a truth.
El Conejo Malo es puertorriqueño, pero también es American citizen. Y habla tanto Inglés como Español. Pero nada de eso importa, porque él no es el tipo correcto de americano. No es blanco, su primer idioma es español — igual que el mío.
¿Cuál es la relevancia de un idioma? ¿Cuánto poder existe en rehusarse a seguir estereotipos? ¿Qué poder hay en desafiar una narrativa colonialista y fascista impuesta por aquellos en privilegio?
Por supuesto que esto enojó a los conservadores. Sus mentes están haciendo overtime para siquiera procesar que Estados Unidos es — y siempre ha sido — un país de inmigrantes.
El Super Bowl no tiene como requisito presentar a un artista estadounidense. Paul McCartney, U2, e incluso Shakira, son solo algunos ejemplos de artistas internacionales que han encabezado el show de medio tiempo. Pero solo ahora se ha convertido en un problema. ¿Por qué? Porque Bad Bunny no encaja en la fantasía blanca de lo que “América” debería ser.
Bad Bunny ya ha demostrado ser una figura controversial en estos tiempos de autoritarismo. En 2025, canceló todas sus fechas de tour en EE.UU. porque le preocupaban las redadas de ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) cerca de los conciertos. Dijo que no quería que sus fans — especialmente aquellos con estatus migratorio precario — se sintieran inseguros.
Back in 2020, Bad Bunny showed up on national TV wearing a shirt that said “Mataron a Alexa, no a un hombre con falda.” It was his way of honouring a trans woman murdered in Puerto Rico and calling out the toxic masculinity behind it. In 2024, he backed Kamala Harris for president, standing with pro-immigrant and progressive causes.
La resistencia no debería caer únicamente en los artistas, pero son ellos quienes muchas veces lideran partes esenciales de la lucha. Desde la música, desde el escenario, desde el idioma.
You might be wondering why I’m writing this in Spanish. And the answer is: porque puedo.
Bad Bunny appeared on Saturday Night Live (SNL) and addressed the controversy, saying:
“Más que un logro mío es un logro de todos demostrando que nuestra huella y nuestra aportación en este país nadie nunca la podrá sacar ni borrar… and if you didn’t understand what I just said, you’ve got four months to learn.”
Escribir en español no es solo una elección — es resistencia. Es decirle al lector: si quieres entenderme, aprende mi idioma. Por siglos, nos han dicho que el inglés es superior. Hoy, decimos lo contrario, hoy decimos if you guys want to understand, I hereby invite you to learn.
When someone asked me how this article could be relevant to Canadians — why it mattered when it was the U.S. being, unsurprisingly, xenophobic — I felt profound sadness. I told them it had already spread. That rejection of immigrants? It’s here. It’s growing.
I see it every time people stare at me and my sister when we speak Spanish in public.
I see it in the comment sections of immigrant-related news — and I mean Canadian blogs, Canadian posts.
I wish it weren’t as relevant as it is.
But it is.
I don’t particularly like Bad Bunny’s music, but when I see him on stage, I see more than an artist. Veo a alguien que habla como yo, que piensa como yo, que no pide permiso para existir. And that, to me, es una revolución worth celebrating.
English English English
On a brisk Sunday night in late September, there was an announcement that exploded MAGA brains. No, it wasn’t Congress finally releasing the Epstein files — they blocked that, again. It wasn’t even the looming U.S. government shutdown. It was something far more sinister… a bunny. Or rather, a Bad Bunny.
That’s right, folks. The announcement that “El Conejo Malo” would perform at the most red-white-and-blue, eagle-screeching, wing-devouring American spectacle of the year — the Super Bowl — sent shockwaves through the Trump cult. Because Bad Bunny isn’t American… right?
Except he is. Puerto Ricans have been U.S. citizens since 1917. They carry American passports, serve in the military, and pay taxes — yet they can’t vote for president nor have voting representation in Congress. So, when a Puerto Rican artist takes center stage at the Super Bowl, it’s way more than just a performance — it’s a spotlight on a contradiction: a country that prides itself on freedom and inclusion, while still holding colonial control over millions of citizens who are denied full democratic rights.
Bad Bunny’s presence at the Super Bowl forces that paradox into focus.
What’s in a language? What does it say about belonging? Would you call a French-speaking Québécois less Canadian, or someone who only speaks English more so? Some people treat language as a test of loyalty — but it shouldn’t be. Language is a reflection of culture, history, and identity. And in a country built by immigrants, multilingualism isn’t a threat; it’s a truth.
El Conejo Malo is Puerto Rican, but he’s also an American citizen. And he speaks both English and Spanish. But none of that matters, because he’s not the right kind of American. He’s not white, his first language is Spanish — just like mine.
What is the relevance of a language? How much power exists in refusing to follow stereotypes? What power is there in challenging a colonialist and fascist narrative imposed by those in privilege?
Of course this angered conservatives. Their minds are working overtime just to process that the United States is — and always has been — a country of immigrants.
The Super Bowl doesn’t require an American artist to headline. Paul McCartney, U2, and even Shakira, are just a few examples of international artists who’ve led the halftime show. But only now has it become a problem. Why? Because Bad Bunny doesn’t fit the white fantasy of what “America” should be.
Bad Bunny has already proven to be a controversial figure in these authoritarian times. In 2025, he canceled all his U.S. tour dates because he was concerned about ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) raids near concert venues. He said he didn’t want his fans — especially those with precarious immigration status — to feel unsafe.
Back in 2020, Bad Bunny showed up on national TV wearing a shirt that said “They killed Alexa, not a man in a skirt.” It was his way of honouring a trans woman murdered in Puerto Rico — and calling out the toxic masculinity behind it. In 2024, he backed Kamala Harris for president, standing with pro-immigrant and progressive causes.
Resistance shouldn’t fall solely on artists, but they’re often the ones who lead essential parts of the fight. From music, from the stage, from language.
You might be wondering why I’m writing this in Spanish. And the answer is: because I can.
Bad Bunny appeared on Saturday Night Live (SNL) and addressed the controversy, saying: “More than a personal achievement, it’s a collective one — showing that our footprint and our contribution in this country can never be erased or removed… and if you didn’t understand what I just said, you’ve got four months to learn.”
Writing in Spanish isn’t just a choice — it’s resistance. It’s telling the reader: if you want to understand me, learn my language. For centuries, we’ve been told that English is superior. Today, we say the opposite. Today, we say: if you guys want to understand, I hereby invite you to learn.
When someone asked me how this article could be relevant to Canadians — why it mattered when it was the U.S. being, unsurprisingly, xenophobic — I felt a profound sadness. I told them it had already spread. That rejection of immigrants? It’s here. It’s growing.
I see it every time people stare at me and my sister when we speak Spanish in public. I see it in the comment sections of immigrant-related news — and I mean Canadian blogs, Canadian posts.
I wish it weren’t as relevant as it is. But it is.
I don’t particularly like Bad Bunny’s music, but when I see him on that stage, I see more than an artist. I see someone who speaks like me, who thinks like me, who doesn’t ask permission to exist. And that, to me, is a revolution worth celebrating.
