COLUMN: Trump vs. Bad Bunny: The Culture War Dividing America

The Art of Saying Without Saying

Bad Bunny didn’t give a political speech. He didn’t insult Trump. He didn’t even mention his name. Yet his performance was a manifesto—a manifesto through music, images, and symbols. The stage, transformed into a Puerto Rican landscape; the dancers dressed in bright colors; the subtle references to resistance and Latino pride: it was all there. Even the presence of Lady Gaga and Ricky Martin—two icons committed to minority rights—sent a strong message. And then there was that moment, toward the end of the show, when Bad Bunny handed his Grammy to a child in the audience. A simple gesture, yet one heavy with meaning: the passing of the torch. It was a way of saying that the future belongs to those who dare to be proud of who they are. Trump, on the other hand, saw it as nothing more than an “insult.” A “slap in the face.” Because for him, America can only be great if it is white, English-speaking, and subject to his narrow vision. But Bad Bunny showed that it could be so much more than that.

I remember this line from Bad Bunny during an interview: “I don’t do politics. I make music. But my music is political.”
And that’s the genius of it. The genius of not falling into the trap. Of not responding to Trump on his own terms. Of not letting himself be drawn into his war of words, tweets, and hatred. Bad Bunny has chosen a different battle—one of symbols, of images, of words that won’t fade away. And that’s far more powerful than all of Trump’s tirades. Because when Trump insults, he divides. When Bad Bunny sings, he unites. When Trump shouts, he isolates. When Bad Bunny dances, he brings people together. So yes, Trump can scream that it’s “terrible .”
He can whine that “nobody understands.”
But the truth is, millions of people have understood. They’ve understood that Bad Bunny isn’t just an artist. He’s a mirror. A mirror that reflects back to Trump the image of an America he no longer recognizes. That he no longer controls. That he’ll never understand.

When Hate Becomes a Strategy

As soon as Bad Bunny’s performance at the Super Bowl was announced, Trump supporters launched an unprecedented hate campaign. “A crazy choice,” “an artist who hates America,” “a threat to our values”: insults rained down on social media, amplified by conservative outlets like Fox News. Some even boycotted the game, choosing instead to watch a counter-event organized by the MAGA movement, headlined by Kid Rock. But the main argument, repeated ad nauseam, was: “He sings in Spanish. No one understands him.” ” As if America were a monolingual country. As if millions of citizens didn’t speak Spanish at home, didn’t dream in Spanish, didn’t live in Spanish. Yet the numbers don’t lie: Bad Bunny’s performance was one of the most-watched in Super Bowl history, with over 130 million viewers. Proof that the America they want to ignore exists. That it’s there. That it’s strong. That it’s the majority. And that is unbearable for Trump and his supporters.

There’s something deeply sad about seeing these people railing against Bad Bunny. As if they were afraid. Afraid of Spanish. Afraid of Latinos. Afraid of this America that no longer resembles them. Afraid of losing their privilege. Their power. Their illusion of superiority. So they scream. They boycott. They hurl insults. As if, by denying Bad Bunny’s existence, they could deny the existence of millions of people. But they can’t. Because Bad Bunny is just the tip of the iceberg. Behind him are generations. Families. Dreams. A culture. A history. And no wall, no law, no tweet can erase that. So yes, they can keep shouting. They can keep hating. But deep down, they know they’ve already lost. Because Bad Bunny’s America is the America of tomorrow. And Trump’s America is the America of yesterday.

Two visions of the country clash

The 2026 Super Bowl was much more than just a game. It was a symbol. On one side, Bad Bunny, with his flamboyant performance, his proudly embraced language, and his references to resistance and unity. On the other, Trump, with his angry tweets, his insults, and his categorical refusal to recognize the legitimacy of a culture that isn’t his own. Two visions of America clash. Trump’s: white, English-speaking, inward-looking, obsessed with its fears. Bad Bunny’s: multicultural, multilingual, open, proud of its diverse heritages. The numbers speak for themselves: more than 130 million viewers chose Bad Bunny. More than 130 million chose that America. The one that dances. The one that sings. The one that lives. Meanwhile, Trump was alone. Alone with his hatred. Alone with his rage. Alone with his inability to understand that the country he claims to love has changed. That it no longer belongs to him. That it never belonged to him.

I often think about what the Super Bowl represents. That moment once a year when America comes together. Not for politics. Not for divisions. But for sports. For music. For the show. And this year, it came together around Bad Bunny. Around his joy. Around his pride. Around his language. And Trump, for his part, couldn’t stand it. Because that gathering was a defeat. A symbolic defeat, but a defeat nonetheless. A defeat for his America. The one that excludes. The one that divides. The one that is afraid. So he shouted. He hurled insults. He tried to discredit. But it was too late. Because Bad Bunny had already won. Not in politics. Not in debates. But in symbols. In images. In emotions. And that is far more powerful than all the tweets in the world.

When Culture Resists

In the face of Trump’s attacks, artists have rallied together. Lady Gaga, who joined Bad Bunny on stage, hailed it as “a historic moment for Latino representation.” Ricky Martin, another guest at the show, reminded the audience that “music knows no borders.” Even figures like Lin-Manuel Miranda and Jennifer Lopez expressed their support for Bad Bunny, highlighting the importance of his performance for young Latinos. This solidarity shows one thing: culture itself does not bow down. It does not remain silent. It resists. And in the face of a Trump who wants to impose his vision of America through tweets and laws, it responds with melodies, dances, and colors. Quite simply, with life itself.

I remember this quote from Victor Hugo: “We resist the invasion of armies; we do not resist the invasion of ideas.” ”
And that’s exactly it. Trump can build walls. He can send in ICE. He can tweet his hatred. But he can’t stop the music. He can’t stop the dreams. He can’t stop this generation that, thanks to artists like Bad Bunny, finally dares to say: we are here. We are legitimate. We are America. So yes, artists are mobilizing. They’re sticking together. They’re resisting. Because they know one thing: culture is the last bastion. The last place where we can still say no. Where we can still say: we exist. And that is something Trump will never be able to take away from them.

When the Press Becomes a Battleground

The media played a key role in this controversy. Some outlets, such as Fox News, amplified Trump’s rage, portraying the selection of Bad Bunny as a “provocation” and an “attack on American values.” Others, such as Rolling Stone and The New York Times, hailed it as a historic performance, a moment of pride for Latino communities. But beyond the divisions, one thing is certain: the media provided a platform for this debate. A platform that allowed millions of people to see, hear, and understand. That allowed Bad Bunny to carry his message far beyond the stadium. And that showed, once again, that culture is not merely entertainment. It is a struggle. A struggle for representation. For legitimacy. For the right to exist.

I remember a time when the media were mirrors. When they reflected the world as it was. Today, they have become weapons. Weapons in a culture war. A war in which Trump and his supporters want to impose their vision. Their America. Their truth. But there are also those who resist. Those who show the other America. Bad Bunny’s America. The America of millions of people who, every day, fight to be seen. To be heard. To be recognized. So yes, the media is divided. Yes, they are divisive. But it’s also thanks to them that moments like the one at the Super Bowl exist. That artists like Bad Bunny can spread their message. That millions of people can finally say to themselves: we are not alone. We are not invisible. We are America. And that is a victory. A victory that will not fade away.

Culture as a Weapon of Resistance

In the face of Trump and his narrow vision of America, there is only one possible response: keep creating. Keep singing. Keep dancing. Keep existing. Bad Bunny has shown us: culture is a weapon. A peaceful weapon, but a formidable one. A weapon that unites. That inspires. That gives hope. So today, the message is clear: we must support the artists who dare. We must amplify the voices that resist. We must show that America is not Trump’s America. That it is so much greater. So much more beautiful. So much stronger. And that, as long as there are people like Bad Bunny to carry it forward, it will not bow down.

I’ll end this article with a thought for all these artists. For all these dreamers. For all these resisters. Those who, like Bad Bunny, dare to say no. Those who, despite the threats, despite the insults, continue to create. Continue to sing. Continue to dance. Because they know one thing: culture is the last refuge. The last place where we can still be free. Where we can still be ourselves. So yes, Trump can scream. He can threaten. He can try to crush everything. But he won’t win. Because as long as there are melodies to carry hope, stages to carry light, and artists to carry the resistance, he’ll always be one war behind. Always one revolution behind. So today, I choose to fight. Not with weapons. Not with laws. But with words. With notes. With colors. Because that’s how we win. Not by crushing. But by lifting up. Not by dividing. But by uniting. Not by hating. But by loving.

The Super Bowl as a Symbol of a Country in Motion

The 2026 Super Bowl will go down in history. Not just for the game itself, but for what it represented: a moment when America chose its path—the path of openness, of pride, and 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. And 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