Bad Bunny Just Wants to Stay Home. So Do I.

New York Times

2 days ago

On July 11, Bad Bunny kicked off his three-month residency at the Coliseo de Puerto Rico. The first nine shows were reserved for locals, but starting this weekend they are open to anyone, and hundreds of thousands of people from around the world will begin pouring into our archipelago. It's the kind of extended run usually reserved for Las Vegas — not a bankrupt U.S. colony reeling from hurricanes, blackouts and political dysfunction. But that's precisely the point.
What's unfolding in San Juan this summer is more than a run of shows. It's a reminder that you don't have to assimilate, or leave home to find success, and that staying in Puerto Rico does not have to mean sacrifice. We can do more here than just endure — we can thrive. And we can do it without destroying our natural resources or courting tax exiles, but by investing in our most renewable resource: our cultural genius.
Bad Bunny, or Benito, as he is affectionately known here at home, rose to fame in 2016, which happened to be the same year Congress imposed an unelected fiscal control board to oversee local finances. His music has become the soundtrack of both our trauma and our resistance, echoing through hurricanes, earthquakes, blackouts, mass protests that toppled a governor and the rise of new political coalitions.
He's become our global ambassador, spotlighting both our challenges and the richness of our culture. It's a heavy burden for a 31-year-old who just wanted to make music. But, true to his stage name, he carries it with roguish charm. His lyrics, always sung in Spanish, blend the harsh realities of blackouts, potholes, colonialism, corruption and displacement with the emotional weight of love, the pleasures of lust and the messy beauty of community and family. In doing so he has created a new kind of protest music, one that grieves, celebrates and grooves all at once.
His latest album, 'Debí Tomar Más Fotos,' or 'I Should Have Taken More Pictures,' is a love letter and a lament for a Puerto Rico slipping through our fingers: betrayed by its leaders; its neighborhoods displaced for luxury developments; its land sold to outsiders, subdivided by Airbnb and crypto schemes and repackaged as paradise for others.
The album and concert series 'No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí' ('I Don't Want to Leave Here') express both a desire to stay and build, and a fear that doing so may not be possible. Its message has resonated far beyond Puerto Rico. On social media, people from places as near as Cuba and as far as Gaza have paired clips of the title track with images of homelands they were forced to leave. The posts capture a collective longing — not just for what was lost, but also for what might have been. Like them, Puerto Ricans face an agonizing decision: stay and fight, or leave and risk never finding their way back.
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