The Super Bowl Halftime Show Was A Humiliation Ritual

 

A lot of Americans tune into the Super Bowl expecting one of the few remaining moments of shared national culture something familiar, grounded in our own traditions, language, and history. It’s one of those rare events where the country, for a few hours, is watching the same thing and participating in something that still feels distinctly American. That’s why this year’s halftime show rubbed so many people the wrong way.

Football isn’t a global sport that just happens to be popular here. It was developed in the United States in the late 19th century, shaped by Americans, and it has remained overwhelmingly domestic in both its fan base and its cultural meaning. The NFL is one of the last mass institutions that hasn’t been fully internationalized, and the Super Bowl has long symbolized that. It’s not just entertainment it’s a cultural touchstone.

This year, however, the halftime show felt disconnected from that shared experience. The performance by Bad Bunny was conducted almost entirely in Spanish and centered on Puerto Rican culture rather than the broader American culture the event is supposed to represent. Visuals included multiple foreign flags alongside a single American flag, and the messaging on screen leaned heavily into modern political slogans. When you factor in the performer’s recent “F ICE” remarks at the Grammys, it’s hard not to see the performance as making a political point one that frames borders, sovereignty, and assimilation as something morally suspect.

For many viewers, the issue wasn’t exposure to another culture. Americans are not hostile to diversity, and Puerto Rico is, of course, part of the United States. The problem was context and tone. The Super Bowl halftime show is supposed to bring people together in a shared civic moment. Instead, a large portion of the audience was effectively told that their own language and cultural expectations were secondary, even outdated.

That message wasn’t subtle. Months earlier, Bad Bunny openly told Americans that if they didn’t understand his Spanish, they had “four months to learn.” In other words, the responsibility wasn’t on the performer to meet the audience where it is, but on the audience to adapt or be excluded during their own national event. That same attitude carried over onto the field.

Even mainstream coverage acknowledged the intent. The Miami Herald praised the show for turning the stadium into a Puerto Rican sugarcane field and described it as a sweeping celebration of Puerto Rican life. That confirmation matters, because it reinforces that the goal wasn’t inclusion within American culture, but the elevation of a separate identity in a space traditionally meant to reflect a shared national one.

This moment didn’t happen in isolation. Across the country, Americans are constantly told that wanting secure borders and enforcing existing immigration laws is cruel or hateful. Celebrities, politicians, activists, and much of the media insist that national sovereignty is something to feel ashamed of. Illegal immigration is defended, deportations are blocked by activist judges, and Americans are scolded for expecting their laws to be respected. Meanwhile, foreign flags are waved in American cities as symbols of defiance rather than gratitude.

Seen in that broader context, the halftime show felt symbolic. English the national language was sidelined. American imagery took a back seat. A traditional American event became a platform for messaging that many Americans have been told, repeatedly, they’re not allowed to disagree with. The implication was clear: defending national identity and sovereignty is something to be overcome, not preserved.

That’s why so many people walked away feeling insulted rather than entertained. It wasn’t about music taste or personal dislike of an artist. It was about watching one of the last unifying cultural moments in the country used to reinforce the idea that American culture itself is something disposable or even shameful.

For a lot of Americans, that’s not progress. It feels like erasure. And yes, it feels humiliating.