The NFL gives us a halftime show as a kind of identity atonement for the fact that it remains one of the most powerful and problematic institutions in American life. It is a tightly controlled space where certain stories about America are allowed to surface precisely because they can be absorbed and merchandised. The NFL is not stepping outside power by hosting culture; it is using culture to exercise power.

I felt this most acutely during Bad Bunny’s performance. As a show, it was joyful, expansive, and affirming. As a Latina immigrant myself who has been carrying a boulder on her chest for the past year, it felt good to see ourselves centered and unmissable. In a year defined by militarization dressed up as “order,” that joy was a form of self-defense. But once the pyro smoke cleared, I was left with a familiar, unsettling feeling.

The Latino Assignment: The Proof of Progress

The aftermath and praise reminded me of a script I know too well: Latinos are only ever allowed to tell the story of gratefulness. We are invited to the stage to prove that the nation is still “welcoming.” Our presence is used to show that the American fabric can stretch without breaking. In this space, we are allowed to be colorful, global, and full of life, but our stay is conditional on our gratitude.

This is the “guest” contract. The instinct to soften, to reassure, and to frame joy as legitimacy is something almost every immigrant learns early. We are permitted to celebrate our culture, but we are forbidden from interrogating the structure hosting it. When we move beyond appreciation into demand, we risk violating the terms of our admission. It leaves us in a cycle of begging for a seat at the table, a move that only reinforces the importance of the table itself.

The Black Assignment: The Moral Diagnostic

Black cultural storytelling occupies a different position inside American institutions—one no less constrained, but differently assigned. The United States has a long-standing comfort with Black pain as a catalyst for its own perceived growth. This is the role of the moral diagnostic. From sorrow songs to civil rights footage, Black expression is often asked to name what is broken so the nation can reassure itself that it is capable of reflection.

We saw this during Kendrick Lamar’s Super Bowl performance. Emerging from the reputational wreckage of the Kaepernick era, the NFL needed the aesthetic of a “reckoning” to signal its own evolution. Kendrick’s performance was heavy and unflinching, sitting in discomfort without rushing to heal it. But it was powerful precisely because it was legible: it framed the relationship to the nation as unresolved and burdened, but crucially, as already acknowledged. The story being told was not this is happening now, but this has always been happening.

The Architecture of Containment

Both performances were sincere. Both mattered. But they were permitted to matter in different ways: Latino culture is invited to tell a story about America becoming whole; Black culture is invited to tell a story about America never having been whole to begin with.

This is where race becomes the organizing logic of emotional role assignment. The NFL brand depends on a specific mythology: that America is fractured, but reconcilable. Therefore, the halftime show doesn’t ask what culture needs to hear; it asks which version of America can be safely told.

This is narrative containment. It is the pressure-release valve that allows the league to wear the clothes of the radical and hum the tunes of the marginalized without ever actually sharing power. It transforms systemic critique into a high-definition aesthetic. By the time the lights go down, the sting of the message has been neutralized by the scale of the spectacle.

So I can’t be happy about this?

We can, and should, celebrate the brilliance of these artists. We can feel the weight lift from our chests for thirteen minutes. But as we work toward tangible change, we must recognize that visibility is not the same as leverage. Yes, let us focus on joy and love, but those are individual emotions. The damage being done to us is not an individual problem; it is a systemic one. We need to be able to sit in the discomfort of these two truths unfolding at the same time and continue to ask for better. 

We are not guests in the house we helped build.