When the Center Shifts: Bad Bunny and the Politics of Cultural Power, by Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D. April 30, 2026

When the Center Shifts: Bad Bunny and the Politics of Cultural Power

by

Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

April 30, 2026

Bad Bunny’s Apple Music Super Bowl LX Halftime Show performance

united music fans around the world, according to real-time listening data from Apple Music and Shazam.

What does it mean for Latinas and Latinos to “win” the culture war? Not perform it. Not survive it. Not even just contest it. But win it—at a time when immigrants are under renewed political attack, when curriculum battles rage across states like Texas, and when the very meaning of belonging is once again being contested.

The answer came into sharp, unmistakable focus in that unforgettable cultural moment when Bad Bunny took center stage in a spectacle as massive and symbolically loaded as the Super Bowl.

What unfolded was not simply a performance—it was a cultural intervention at scale. An estimated 128.2 million viewers watched live in the United States alone, with the performance generating over 4.1 billion views globally within 24 hours across broadcast, streaming, and social media platforms (Brown, 2026; PR Newswire, 2026). This was not marginal visibility. This was mass presence—a re-centering of language, sound, and identity before one of the largest audiences in the world, without translation, dilution, or apology.

And it was deeply personal.

You could feel it—not as branding, not as choreography, but as conviction. This was not an artist accommodating an audience. This was an artist bringing his full world with him, insisting that the audience meet him there. Spanish was not a flourish; it was the foundation. Puerto Rico was not a reference; it was the frame. The performance did not ask for inclusion. It assumed presence.

That is what winning looks like.

But this moment also reveals something deeper. For generations, Latina/os have been cast through a narrow and racialized script—criminal, foreign, disposable. These narratives were not accidental; they were produced through institutions that controlled what stories could be told and how. Film, television, journalism, and publishing have long functioned as gatekeeping structures that shape public perception and, in turn, public policy. When a community is consistently misrepresented, it becomes easier to marginalize it politically, economically, and socially.

Culture, in this sense, governs. It shapes what feels legitimate, who is perceived as belonging, and which policies are seen as reasonable or necessary. It prepares the ground on which law and policy take hold.

This is why moments like Bad Bunny’s matter so profoundly. They do not simply “represent” Latina/os; they reconfigure the terms of representation itself. They shift the center. They expand what is legible, audible, and possible. They interrupt the long-standing assumption that Latina/o/x/e identity must be translated, softened, or made palatable to be accepted. More than visibility, this is a form of epistemic power—the authority to define reality rather than be defined by it.

But we must be clear: this kind of moment does not emerge out of nowhere. It is the result of years of refusal, experimentation, and risk. It is built on the insistence that one’s language, one’s rhythms, one’s histories are not obstacles to success—but the very source of it.

That insistence is political.

If we understand culture as a site of power, then “winning” the culture war requires more than visibility. It requires control over the production of meaning. It means moving from being objects of representation to being authors of narrative. It means asking not only who is on the screen, but who is behind the camera, who is writing the script, who is financing the project, and who ultimately decides what stories get told.

And this is where the analysis must turn to structure.

Latinas/os cannot rely on institutions that have historically excluded them to suddenly tell their stories with nuance and care. Change requires pressure—organized, sustained, strategic. It requires building alternative platforms while also demanding accountability from existing ones. It requires recognizing that culture industries respond to economic and reputational forces, and leveraging that reality to push for transformation. This is the work of building cultural sovereignty—not just inclusion within existing systems, but the capacity to shape them.

And this is where the analysis must also turn inward.

As a people, this requires more than visibility—it demands a deeper reckoning with who we are and how we show up for one another. Our diversity is not incidental; it is foundational. We are Indigenous, Afro-Latina/o, Afro-Indigenous, Caribbean, Central and South American, immigrant and U.S.-born, multilingual, multiracial, and multigenerational. 

We also name ourselves in ways that reflect history, place, and struggle: Mexican, Mexican American, Chicana/o, Tejana/o, Cuban, Puerto Rican, Nuyorican, Guatemalan, Salvadoran, Brazilian, and more. We are also gender diverse, encompassing women, men, nonbinary, queer, and trans communities whose experiences and leadership have long been central to our survival and resistance.

These identities are not interchangeable, nor are they reducible to a single narrative. They carry distinct histories of migration, colonization, dispossession, resilience, and creativity. This is not a complexity to be managed or simplified for public consumption—it is a source of intellectual, cultural, and political strength. And yet, it is too often flattened, sanitized, or erased in ways that limit how we are seen—and how we come to see ourselves.

We are American.

We are not uninteresting. We have never been.

At the same time, we must confront a harder truth: there is no path to transforming cultural power without transforming ourselves. Colorism, anti-Blackness, and the persistent marginalization of Indigenous, Afro-Latina/o, and Afro-Indigenous voices are not peripheral issues—they are central to how power operates within our own communities. 

Consider, for example, how lighter-skinned Latina/os continue to dominate media representation, while Afro-Latina/o and Indigenous voices remain underrepresented or erased. Left unaddressed, these dynamics replicate the very logics of exclusion we seek to dismantle. A politics of representation that elevates only the most palatable, light-skinned, or culturally assimilated among us is not transformation—it is tokenization, fostering an illusion of inclusion.

If we are serious about reshaping the narrative, then we must be equally serious about building a cultural and political project that is explicitly anti-racist, anti-colonial, decolonial, and accountable to those most historically erased—particularly within our own ranks.

Winning, then, is not simply about being seen. It is about who among us gets seen, and how.

Bad Bunny’s rise—and moments like that Super Bowl performance—also remind us of something else: the power of imagination. When communities are consistently erased or distorted, their ability to imagine themselves differently is constrained. Cultural production—music, art, storytelling—is not ornamental. It is foundational. It shapes what people believe is possible, who belongs, and what futures can be envisioned.

That is why these moments resonate so deeply. They do not just entertain; they expand the horizon of the imaginable.

And yet, even as we celebrate them, we must resist the temptation to treat them as endpoints. They are not. They are openings—evidence of what becomes possible when the rules are broken, when the center shifts, when the story is reclaimed.

This brings us directly to Texas.

In Texas, where battles over education, curriculum, immigration, and public life continue to intensify, the stakes of this cultural struggle are especially clear. The fight over curriculum—what is taught, whose histories are included, whose knowledge is valued—is inseparable from the broader struggle over narrative power. Whether in the revision of social studies standards, attacks on ethnic studies, or policies that reshape access to higher education, we see again and again how narrative frames policy, and policy structures possibility.

This is why the question of “winning” matters.

Latinas/os will not win the culture war by asking to be included in someone else’s story. We will not win by translating ourselves into frameworks that were never designed for us. And we will not win by mistaking visibility for power.

We win by reshaping the story itself—by insisting that our languages, our histories, our cultures, and our communities are not peripheral, but central. We win by building and controlling the platforms through which meaning is produced. We win by confronting internal inequities even as we challenge external ones. And we win by refusing to separate culture from the broader structures of power that govern our lives.

What Bad Bunny showed us on that stage was not just performance.

Todd Rosenberg/Getty Images

It was posture.

A posture of refusal. Of affirmation. Of unapologetic presence.

And perhaps most importantly, a posture that said:

We are not asking to be part of the story.

We are here to rewrite it.

And we can rewrite it—centered in our own stories and in solidarity with broader struggles for justice that extend beyond us.

In doing so, we help open space for a future that is more just, more truthful, and more fully shared.

Because the story that comes next should belong to us all.

References

Brown, M. (2026, February 10). Super Bowl LX viewership second highest all-time; Bad Bunny has 128.2M viewers. Forbes. https://www.forbes.com/sites/maurybrown/2026/02/10/super-bowl-lx-viewership-second-highest-all-time-bad-bunny-has-1282m-viewers/

PR Newswire. (2026, February 10). Bad Bunny sets global viewership record for most-watched Apple Music Super Bowl halftime show performance of all time, reaching 4.157 billion views. https://www.prnewswire.com/news-releases/bad-bunny-sets-global-viewership-record-for-most-watched-apple-music-super-bowl-halftime-show-performance-of-all-time-reaching-4-157-billion-views-302701639.html 

Exposing the Backlash in Forward Kentucky: Kimberly Kennedy on the White Supremacist Roots and Real Costs of Anti-DEI Legislation

Friends,

In her powerful two-part series for Forward Kentucky, former multicultural educator Kimberly Kennedy offers a searing and well-informed critique of the anti-DEI movement that has taken root in Kentucky and across the nation. She begins by methodically dismantling the false narratives being circulated by legislators—debunking myths about tuition hikes, so-called liberal indoctrination, and the alleged divisiveness of DEI efforts. 

Drawing from her own experiences, Kennedy defends DEI not as a partisan agenda, but as a basic commitment to equity, accurate historical education, and democratic learning spaces where all students belong. 

In the second installment also posted below, she courageously connects the dots between this wave of legislation and its origins in white nationalist ideology—naming institutions like the Claremont Institute that are engineering this backlash and feeding ready-made bills to lawmakers in conservative strongholds, including Kentucky and Texas.

Like what we’ve seen with Texas’ SB 17, Kennedy makes clear that these measures are not about cost-savings or academic integrity—they are about narrative control and cultural erasure. 

The ultimate harm isn’t just the silencing of marginalized communities or the gutting of student support systems; it’s the long-term degradation of our public universities and our democratic capacity as a society. Kennedy’s work is both a warning and a moral call to action: to defend truth-telling in education, to resist the rollback of civil rights gains, and to reject the normalization of white supremacist logic under the guise of “neutral” policy.

I wholeheartedly agree that the white supremacist vision for America is not only

dangerous but utterly obsolete—out of step with the multiracial, multiethnic, and gender-diverse pluralist democracy we are poised to become. I urge everyone to listen to this powerful conversation on Red, Wine, and Blue featuring Jasmine Crockett and Heather Cox Richardson. Among many important insights, they emphasize the urgency of civic engagement and call on everyday Americans to consider running for office, especially in this moment of constitutional crisis, as Representative Crockett compellingly argues.

Sí se puede! Yes we can!

-Angela Valenzuela


What anti-DEI politicos get wrong. Part 1 – the myths

The attacks on DEI programs come from a base of half-truths, mis-truths, and outright lies. In this two-part series, Kimberly Kennedy lays out what our politicians get wrong about DEI.


Kimberly Kennedy, February 22, 2024




As a former multicultural educator, my antenna went up when I heard about anti-DEI legislation proposed in Kentucky: SB 93 for K-12, plus SB 6 and HB 9 for higher education. In short, DEI refers to programs addressing Diversity (people from the rainbow of sub-cultures), Equity (fairness, equal opportunity, and justice), and Inclusion (belonging and feeling valued). As I look at each of these concepts, I can’t imagine having a problem with any of them. So I set out to investigate the objections, and here’s what I found. (Although I focus primarily upon higher education, many of the principles apply to K–12 as well.) Kentucky legislators were heard repeating the following myths:

Myth: DEI programs raise the cost of tuition.

First, tuition is set by the Kentucky Council on Postsecondary Education. Their web site illuminates the issue well: “[S]tate cuts to higher education over the last decade have shifted a larger portion of college costs to students and their families.”

Further, tuition cost is impacted by a multitude of factors, like increased operating costs and a shift in the burden of higher costs to families, who are encouraged to take on student-loan debt. There are also capital projects, including facilities to accommodate increased student population, as well as increased research and program offerings (including DEI), which respond to the needs of a changing society and technological advancements and make Kentucky’s universities competitive.

Naturally, there is an interest in faculty salaries. At the University of Kentucky, for example, top salaries are not for DEI employees, but for top administrators and athletic coaches, ranging from $400K to $1.7Mil. Salaries for DEI faculty range from $50–105K, with a few outliers being more — but still below $400K. Most importantly, all staff appear to wear multiple hats, with their DEI role being one. This suggests that cutting DEI programs may have little if any impact on faculty and salaries, thus little effect on tuition cost.

Myth: Public universities are bastions of liberal indoctrination.

Although this makes a great conservative rallying point, this assumption has been debunked by research. As conservative Matthew Woessner of Penn State observes, “[Our] results do not paint a picture of conservative students under siege.”

One explanation for this myth stems from the erroneous idea that the term “liberal” in Liberal Arts Education means the same as the word “liberal” which is opposite from a “conservative” political ideology, and thus should be attacked. But “liberal” in academia comes from the Latin “liberalis,” which means “relating to freedom,” as in thought.

This myth also assumes that 1) all professors are progressive, and 2) aren’t “professional[s] capable of divorcing their own political ideologies from their work,” says Dr. Kelly Wilz, University of Wisconsin professor.

Most important, it doesn’t accurately reflect what occurs in a classroom. (Perhaps some legislators should revisit one.) Educators present information and then, as Dr. Wilz explains, “get [students] to think critically ... not ... tell them what to think. My job is to teach them to question the validity of sources, to learn how to conduct research, and ... to question authority, even if that ‘authority’ is me.”

And what about the students? Dr. Wilz asserts, “[This] presumes that students are so gullible and incapable of free thought, professors can shape their minds.”

Myth: DEI stifles free speech.

Dr. Wilz articulates that, in a classroom, all voices are welcome – but not all ideas have merit. Students are expected to defend their positions with evidence; if they cannot, they may sense pushback from other students “because they have not survived the challenge of scrutiny. The resistance I see is from people who can’t take that scrutiny and who can’t defend their ideas,” she says.

That is Democracy with a capital “D” in action.

In contrast, anti-DEI legislation threatens to illegalize a wide swath of speech in favor of a conservative worldview – hardly democratic. Legislators can’t claim to support Free Speech while banning speech they disagree with.

“Legislators can’t claim to support Free Speech while banning speech they disagree with.”

– from the comments

Myth: DEI programs cause division.

The argument here is that diversity programs focus upon our differences and thus divide us, sometimes causing reverse discrimination of white heteronormatives. But there is not substantive evidence of this – just a boatload of conservative rhetoric plus an anecdote here and there.

In fact, a 2023 Pew research poll of employees in a traditional work environment found that 56% felt DEI initiatives were a good thing – not divisive.

My experience has also been completely opposite of the myth. People who learn about cultural differences experience empathy, which produces insights and better understanding of the sub-group, thus leading to respect and improved relationships. Think about how you respond differently to a person on the autism spectrum once you learn more about it.

The most basic form of Diversity Training (DT) is teaching an accurate, unvarnished history of American sub-cultures. Kathryn Wiley, a white professor from Howard University, eloquently explains her reaction to learning a more detailed African-American history: “[M]y entire understanding of this country changed. ... I gained significant respect and reverence for communities of color. ... It made me more committed to our democratic ideals and to building community. ... It made me feel a healthy sense of responsibility to those different from myself.” Wiley indicates that if others could have this experience, they would have a renewed sense of civic responsibility.

Which brings me to Rebekah Keith, the white UK student who gave testimony to the legislature about feeling discriminated against: Her testimony was remarkable evidence of the need for DT; for had she experienced it, she would likely be able to demonstrate the insights and understanding necessary for the job that requires “relatability to non-whites.”

In conclusion: Legislators, where is your evidence of harm caused by DEI? (A handful of anecdotes does not a pattern make.)
Looking ahead: the broader white supremacist conspiracy



Many conservatives have bought into the anti-DEI rhetoric popularized via conservative media outlets without realizing its origins in white supremacist ideology. I’ll examine that in the next installment.

----------------------------------Continue with Part 2 here------------------------------

"Corruption of My Mexican Identity," by Dan Acosta, Ph.D.

There is a lot to appreciate from this story by a former member of the University of Texas at Austin faculty, Dr. Dan Acosta, who also previously served as Dean Emeritus of Pharmacy at the University of Cincinnati. He offers a powerful narrative that resonates deeply with struggles faced by Mexican Americans. In my own research, I describe the systemic erasure of our identities as "subtractive schooling," a deliberate process that undermines our cultural heritage, as well as individual and community power.

Dan Acosta, Ph.D.

In Dr. Acosta’s story, I sense profound pain and frustration rooted in a long history of prejudice and discrimination. The inability to speak Spanish, or not speaking it “correctly,” reflects the success of assimilationist policies designed to strip away cultural ties. The stakes are high for those in power—especially as manifest throughout ongoing battles within the State Board of Education over culturally relevant curriculum and Ethnic Studies programs.

The irony here is striking. Current anti-diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) policies seek to suppress initiatives that promote these very principles. Albeit with a few exceptions, the tragedy here is that DEI efforts have rarely been abundant in any meaningful way, as Dr. Acosta’s experiences illustrate. On the contrary, his story reveals a history of exclusion to which I can relate as one who has fought for her own place in higher education despite my Stanford Ph.D. and credentials.

Anti-affirmative action and DEI opposition appear to be preemptive strikes in an environment where people of color might otherwise gain access to higher education and subsequently assume their rightful places at the table in culture and society. These policies send a clear message: These opportunities are reserved primarily for white people. So wrong-headed. So sad.

So much talent has been wasted. It is truly a shame. Thanks, Dr. Acosta, for your story. We need more of these so folks out there don't believe the lies about the academy getting overtaken by "woke" students and faculty of color. Rather a more sinister agenda is at play.

—Angela Valenzuela

Corruption of My Mexican Identity

By Dan Acosta | Summer/Autumn 2024 | Rise Up Review, Resistance is Fertile

Now that I am retired one of my weekly tasks is to read what is happening at the Society of Toxicology, the largest professional group for toxicologists of all types--academic, government, and industrial- in the world. As the first elected Hispanic president of the organization, I like to keep up to date with issues facing the society. One current topic is to increase membership and to bring in more diverse scientists into the discipline, especially non-toxicologists who want to learn more about toxicology. Without getting too much into the weeds about the issue, I was struck by a comment made by a past president who strongly objected to the possibility that standards would be lowered to allow more people of diversity (i.e. people of color) become members of SOT. He did not want a "dumbing down of the society with unqualified individuals". He was alluding to affirmative action and "DEI" issues that have become hot political topics in America. It got me thinking about my life and qualifications as one of those people of diversity that SOT wants to have as some of its members.

As a first-generation Mexican American, my mother and grandparents emigrated to El Paso from Mexico; her parents wanted to create a new life for themselves by escaping the discord and troubled times in Mexico during its revolution in the early 1900s. Nana Cuca often told me stories of what it was like to live in Mexico and recounted her vivid memories of some of the revolutionaries like Pancho Villa. My paternal grandfather also came from Mexico; he later married his wife who was born in Presidio, Texas. My father was born in Valentine, Texas. He stopped going to school after the sixth grade so he could work with his father who was a hired hand on a ranch near Marfa. My parents never completed high school.   

When I was very young especially before I started grade school in 1951, my mother was often asked about my heritage. I later learned that they really wanted to know if I was white and not a Mexican. Nana Cuca used to brag that our family tree had strong Portuguese ties and that the lighter skin colors of her ancestors were passed on to her daughters--my mother and her sister, Babe. Although as a young boy I looked like a chubby white kid with fat cheeks, my Mexican heritage became more apparent as I grew older. My light brown hair started to become darker and by the time I began high school my hair had turned black, and my facial features were more Mexican-like.

I refused to speak Spanish at home and at school; my parents and family spoke to me in Spanish and did not force me to respond in Spanish. Many of my teachers wanted to help me because of my eagerness to learn and my desire to become the best student in their classes. I wanted to acquire at all costs those American traits or characteristics of my white classmates who were most successful in the classroom. Because of my skin tone and hair color when I started grade school, I did not experience the discrimination and hatred that my brown-colored friends and classmates often encountered. This Americanization process corrupted my Mexican identity at a very young age, and it has taken me a lifetime to confront my mistake. As I progressed through college, the army, graduate school, and my academic career, I was no longer that smart little Mexican boy. I now faced subtle discriminations and at times overt racist remarks from highly educated individuals.

I eventually graduated as one of the top students in my high school class, and later on I graduated top of my pharmacy class at the University of Texas in 1968. I received one of the few highly competitive national fellowships awarded to graduate students to attend a school of their own choosing. I earned a doctorate in toxicology at the University of Kansas and accepted a position as an assistant professor at the University of Texas in 1974.

However, I was rudely introduced to the role of DEI and affirmative action in hiring more people of color at Texas. Pointedly, I was told several times by my supervisors that the only reason I was hired was because the college needed to hire more Hispanics and Blacks. During my 22 years at Texas, I helped develop one of the first graduate programs in toxicology in the state and mentored over 50 undergraduate, graduate, and postdoctoral fellows in my research program. I later became dean of pharmacy at the University of Cincinnati Medical Center, where I established one of the first councils on diversity at the university. In the final phase of my career, I accepted a position as Deputy Director for Research at FDA's major research center--The National Center for Toxicological Research. Although I had what many called "a successful career", I paid the price of never becoming fluent in Spanish and having to live with the shame and embarrassment of not being able to converse in Spanish with my family and many of my former classmates and friends.

I also experienced many times during my career what are now known as "microaggressions" or thinly veiled putdowns of my accomplishments and successes. For example, when I was elected president of the Society of Toxicology, some of my colleagues suggested that I won the election because I was a person of diversity. I grew up in Texas where this attitude was quite common; it did not really bother me. I just laughed it off.  

In the past, it was all right to ask where you were born or what was your family ancestry. It was out of curiosity because many Americans have relatives who were not born in the US. People were interested in knowing more about you, especially if you recently moved into the neighborhood, were a new employee, or a new customer in a local store. But in today's America asking that question is fraught with anxiety and possibly danger for a person of color who is asked that question. As a Mexican American who has lived in one of those states that border Mexico, I have observed the tension when one is accused of being an undocumented immigrant and not an American citizen. And as America has become more polarized, there are many reports of violence against people of color because it is thought that they are not truly American or to be more blunt-not white enough.   

Today, affirmative action and DEI policies that were supposedly lauded and supported by institutions of higher education, corporate America, and local, state, and federal agencies and departments have come under attack by many white Americans who believe that they are the ones who have suffered from discrimination. State legislators, especially in red states like Texas, Florida, and several others, have passed laws to abolish or limit the use of offices that help students and employees of diversity navigate organizational obstacles. White students and employees are not denied assistance as some of them like to suggest. 

Where are those colleges that thought that it was right to limit the admission of students of color to keep their classes filled with mostly white students? Where are those corporations and institutions that thought it was right to employ mostly white men and restrict the hiring of women and people of color in the workplace? The answer is that they never left and are ready to go back to the pre-affirmative action era. 

When I left the UT College of Pharmacy in 1996, there were two Mexican American Ph.D. professors on the faculty. When I returned to Austin for my retirement years, there was only one full-time professor; no progress has been made in the 50 years since I joined the faculty as one of those two Mexican American professors in 1974. There has been some improvement for people of color and women in the classroom and workplace, but the Supreme Court has now declared that it has seen enough of this intrusion into the lives of white men. American universities must turn a blind eye to matters of race and gender in student admissions. It will happen very soon in the workplace, but that does not mean that we should stop trying to admit more students of color and to hire more faculty of diversity. My biggest regret was that I did not speak up sooner about what I faced as a student and professor during my career in Texas and elsewhere. 

It took me a lifetime to realize that my generation has failed in maintaining America's faith in our inalienable rights of life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. I write this story to reach out to the young people of the country with the hope that they will restore and secure those rights for all. If they don't, who will?

***

Dan Acosta is a first-generation Mexican American, whose mother and grandparents emigrated from Mexico. He is a former professor, research scientist, and administrator, who retired in 2019 at age 74. He writes about his experiences as a Mexican boy trying to succeed in white America. His stories have appeared in The Acentos Review, Sky Island Journal, Somos en Escrito, The Rush, Toasted Cheese, Latin@Literatures, Midway Journal, and The Manifest Station.