COLUMN: Bad Bunny vs. Trump: When the Super Bowl Becomes a Political Battleground

The midterm elections are getting further away

For Trump, immigration and the economy were the two pillars of his campaign for the November 2026 midterm elections. “We’re going to win on both fronts,” he had been repeating for months. But Bad Bunny changed everything. “Hispanics are leaving the Republican Party in droves,” acknowledges Rep. Maria Elvira Salazar, a Republican from Florida. “Claiming otherwise won’t change anything.” Polls confirm it: Latino support for Trump is crumbling, and his handling of immigration is facing increasing criticism. “They thought they could divide us,” says a pro-immigration activist. “But Bad Bunny has shown that we’re stronger together.” ” Worse for Trump: his own camp is divided. Some Republicans, like Salazar, are calling for a change of course. Others, like Kristi Noem, are doubling down and promising tougher crackdowns. “They don’t know what to do anymore,” says a Democratic strategist sarcastically. “And that’s exactly what we needed.”

I think of the panic gripping the Republicans. The fear gnawing at them. Their certainty crumbling. Because Trump, for his part, had calculated everything. He had planned it all. He had even organized a counter-concert, featuring Kid Rock and his friends, to protest against Bad Bunny. But there was one thing he hadn’t anticipated: that Bad Bunny would become a symbol. A symbol of resistance. A symbol of hope. A symbol of the America he hates—because it’s diverse, because it’s proud, because it refuses to bow down. And I think to myself: this is what Trump will never understand. Because he believes that everything can be bought. That everything can be controlled. That everything will submit. But Bad Bunny, for his part, has shown that some things cannot be bought. That some things cannot be controlled. That some things will not submit. Like dignity. Like pride. Like hope. And that is far more dangerous to Trump than a speech. Far more dangerous than a protest. Because that—that can’t be stifled. It can’t be crushed. It can’t be silenced.

Kid Rock vs. Bad Bunny: The Clash of the Two Americas

Faced with the threat of Bad Bunny, Trump supporters organized an alternative “All-American Halftime Show,” headlined by Kid Rock. “A true American show,” “not that Latino propaganda,” “a return to traditional values”: arguments are flying on social media. But the ratings speak for themselves: Bad Bunny’s show is shattering records, while Kid Rock’s is struggling to draw even a few thousand viewers. “They thought they could replace us,” smiles a Bad Bunny fan. “But no one can replace the truth.” Trump, for his part, is fuming. “An affront to America’s greatness,” “an insult to our values,” “a disgrace to our children”: his tweets are piling up, but they ring hollow. Because that night, America made its choice. It chose celebration. It chose diversity. It chose Bad Bunny.

I think about that counter-performance. About that desperate attempt by Trump and his supporters. About that desire to replace Bad Bunny with Kid Rock. As if one culture could be replaced by another. As if hope could be replaced by nostalgia. As if the future could be replaced by the past. And I tell myself: that’s the real tragedy of Trump. He doesn’t understand that America has changed. That it’s no longer the America of his dreams. That it’s no longer white, monolingual, and inward-looking. That it has become a melting pot. That it has become multicultural. That it has become proud of its many faces. And Bad Bunny—he embodies that America. An America that dances. That sings. That lives. That refuses to be boxed in by Trump’s labels. That refuses to be defined by its fear. That refuses to be divided by its hatred. And that is much more than a show. It’s a revolution. A revolution that says: we are here. We are legitimate. We are America. And you—you are nothing more than the shadow of a past that will never return.

When Every Detail Becomes a Weapon

Bad Bunny didn’t give a speech. He didn’t insult Trump. He didn’t even mention his name. Yet his performance was a manifesto. The stage, transformed into a Puerto Rican landscape. The dancers, dressed in bright colors, evoking resistance. The references to Minneapolis, where two citizens were killed by ICE. “Together, we are America,” was written on the balloon he held aloft at the end. “The only thing more powerful than hate is love,” he had declared at the Grammy Awards. That night, he demonstrated it. He danced it. He sang it. And Trump, for his part, could do nothing. “They tried to silence us,” said a protester. “But tonight, we’re the ones who spoke.” A message that goes far beyond the Super Bowl. A message that resonates in the streets, in schools, in homes. A message that says: we are not your enemies. We are your future.

I think of these symbols. These colors. These dances. These words written on a balloon. “Together, we are America.” ”
And I tell myself: this is what Trump will never tolerate. Because he only sees divisions. He only sees walls. He only sees borders. But Bad Bunny—he sees bridges. He sees connections. He sees everything that unites us. Everything that brings us together. Everything that makes us, despite our differences, despite our backgrounds, despite our languages, one and the same nation. A nation that isn’t defined by fear. A nation that isn’t defined by hate. A nation that is defined by hope. By solidarity. By love. And that is far stronger than all of Trump’s laws. Far stronger than all his threats. Far stronger than all his walls. Because that can’t be decreed. It can’t be imposed. It’s lived. It’s shared. It’s embodied. And that night, Bad Bunny embodied it. He carried it. He offered it to the world. And that is a victory that will never fade.

A President Who Loses Control

Trump didn’t wait for the show to end to react. “Terrible,” “ridiculous,” “an insult to America”: the epithets are pouring in on Truth Social. “No one understands a word he’s saying,” he scoffs, as if singing in Spanish were an insult to the nation. “They want to destroy our country,” he adds, echoing the themes of his campaign. But his words ring hollow. Because that night, America understood. It understood that Bad Bunny wasn’t just speaking to Latinos. He was speaking to everyone who believes in an open America. A diverse America. A generous America. “He’s afraid,” says a political analyst. “Because he knows that Bad Bunny represents everything he doesn’t control. Everything he doesn’t understand. Everything he’ll never be able to silence.” And that is a far more stinging defeat than any criticism.

I look at these tweets from Trump. These insults. This rage. This fear. And I think to myself: this is what a man becomes when he loses control. When he realizes the world no longer turns the way he wants it to. When he realizes people aren’t listening to him anymore. When he realizes his lies no longer fly. Because Bad Bunny, for his part, doesn’t need to lie. He doesn’t need to divide. He doesn’t need to hate. He just needs to be himself. To be proud. To be authentic. To be a bearer of hope. And that is far more powerful than all of Trump’s rants. Far more powerful than all his threats. Far more powerful than all his walls. Because hope can’t be decreed. It can’t be bought. It can’t be controlled. It’s embodied. It’s lived. It’s shared. And that night, Bad Bunny shared it with millions of people. And that is a victory that will never fade.

When the Street Meets the Stage

Thousands of protesters have gathered around the stadium. “ICE out!” “No hate, no fear, immigrants are welcome here!”: the slogans echo, chanted by families, students, and activists. “We’re here to say that we won’t take this lying down,” says one protester. “Bad Bunny has given us a voice. Now we’re going to use it.” Organizers are handing out towels bearing political messages. “Together, we are America,” one reads. “Hate will not prevail.” This resistance isn’t limited to the Super Bowl. “This is just the beginning,” promises an activist. “We’re going to organize. We’re going to vote. We’re going to win.” Because that night, Bad Bunny showed that culture can be a weapon. That music can be a banner. That the stage can be a platform. And that, sometimes, all it takes is a performance to awaken a nation.

I think of those protesters. Of those determined faces. Of those voices rising up. Of those hands reaching out. And I tell myself: this is what Trump will never understand. Because he sees only force. He sees only repression. He sees only fear. But they see hope. They see solidarity. They see everything that can emerge when people decide to stand up. To fight. To reject injustice. And Bad Bunny—he handed them a microphone. He offered them a stage. He gave them a voice. And that is much more than a concert. It’s the beginning of a movement. A movement that says: We will not be silenced. We will not give in. We will not back down. Because we know one thing: America does not belong to Trump. It belongs to those who bring it to life. To those who make it sing. To those who make it dance. To those who, despite the walls, despite the threats, continue to believe in its values. In its diversity. In its future.

When Culture Becomes Resistance

The 2026 Super Bowl will go down in history. Not just for the game. But for what it stood for. A moment when America chose its path. The path of openness. The path of pride. The path of resistance. Bad Bunny, unwittingly, became the standard-bearer for that America. An America that doesn’t ask for permission. That doesn’t apologize. That simply is. “They thought they could divide us,” says an activist. “But tonight, we showed that we’re stronger together.” The Republicans, meanwhile, are in crisis. “We need to change course,” admits an elected official. “Otherwise, we’ll lose everything.” Because Bad Bunny did much more than put on a show. He showed that America isn’t a country. It’s an idea. An idea that’s growing. That’s spreading. That’s resisting. And that is a victory that won’t fade away.

I’m ending this article thinking about Bad Bunny. About his performance. About his smile. About his pride. And I tell myself: he’s made a difference. Not just for Latinos. Not just for immigrants. But for everyone who believes in a better America. A fairer America. A more open America. A more humane America. Because that night, he showed that culture can be a weapon. That music can be a banner. That the stage can be a platform. And that, sometimes, all it takes is one artist to remind a nation of who it is. What it can be. What it must be. So today, I choose to believe in this America. Not Trump’s America. Not the America of fear. Not the America of hate. But Bad Bunny’s America. The America of hope. The America of resistance. The America that, despite everything, continues to dance. To sing. To live. To say: We are here. We are legitimate. We are America. And that is a victory that will never fade.

The Super Bowl as a Symbol of a Country in Flux

The 2026 Super Bowl will go down as a turning point. A turning point for Bad Bunny. A turning point for Trump. A turning point for America. Because on that night, two visions of the country clashed. Trump’s vision: white, English-speaking, inward-looking, obsessed with its fears. Bad Bunny’s vision: diverse, multilingual, open, proud of its many heritages. “They thought they could silence us,” declares a protester. “But tonight, we spoke out. And the world heard us.” Trump, for his part, was nothing more than an old cry in the night. A cry of rage. A cry of fear. A cry of helplessness. So today, the choice is clear: either we look back, with Trump, toward an America that no longer exists. Or we look forward, with Bad Bunny, toward an America that is already here. That dances. That sings. That lives. And that, despite everything, keeps moving forward.

I don’t know what the future holds for Bad Bunny. I don’t know if Trump will keep screaming. But I know one thing: this Super Bowl changed something. It showed that America isn’t a country. It’s an idea. An idea that’s growing. That’s spreading. That’s resisting. So today, I choose to believe in that idea. I choose to believe in this America. The one that doesn’t give in. The one that doesn’t stay silent. The one that, despite the walls, despite the hatred, despite the Trumps, keeps moving forward. So yes, Bad Bunny made history. Not just Super Bowl history. But American history. And that is a victory that will never be erased.

Signed, Jacques Provost