A split-scene illustration contrasts an early LGBTQ+ protest march filled with activists carrying liberation signs and demanding equal rights against a modern Pride parade featuring rainbow flags, corporate sponsorships, and celebratory crowds, highlighting the movement’s evolution from political resistance to mainstream cultural celebration while emphasizing the continuing struggle for transgender equality. (Image generated by ChatGPT using DALL·E, 2026.)
Every June, millions of people gather for Pride celebrations across the United States. Streets are filled with rainbow flags, corporate logos, political candidates, and festival-like atmospheres. For many participants, Pride is a joyful affirmation of LGBTQ+ identity and a celebration of the progress that has been achieved over the past half century.
Yet Pride was not created as a celebration.
Pride was born from protest.
The first Pride marches emerged in the aftermath of the Stonewall uprising of 1969, when LGBTQ+ people fought back against routine police harassment and discrimination. Early Pride events were acts of political resistance. Participants marched because they faced criminalization, employment discrimination, housing discrimination, family rejection, and social exclusion. Pride was a demand for change, not a celebration of acceptance (TIME, 2020).
Over time, however, Pride changed.
By the late 1990s and early 2000s, LGBTQ+ organizations were increasingly integrated into mainstream political and corporate institutions. Large corporations began sponsoring Pride events. Politicians who once avoided association with LGBTQ+ causes now sought visibility in Pride parades. Pride organizations became larger, more professionalized, and increasingly dependent upon corporate sponsorship and institutional partnerships.
This transformation brought benefits. Greater visibility helped normalize LGBTQ+ identities, and corporate sponsorships provided resources that allowed Pride events to grow dramatically. Yet there was also a cost.
As Pride became more institutionalized, its activist character began to fade. Events that once centered political demands increasingly emphasized entertainment, marketing, and celebration. What had begun as a protest movement gradually evolved into a cultural festival. Many activists have argued that the commercialization of Pride diluted its political message and encouraged the public to believe that the struggle for LGBTQ+ equality had largely been won (Cornell University, 2022).
That perception grew even stronger after marriage equality became law nationwide. For many Americans, the legalization of same-sex marriage represented the culmination of the modern LGBTQ+ civil rights movement. The dominant narrative became one of victory rather than continued struggle.
But for many transgender people, the struggle was far from over.
The tensions between mainstream LGBTQ+ organizations and transgender activists became particularly visible during the debate surrounding the Employment Non-Discrimination Act (ENDA). Throughout the 1990s and 2000s, transgender activists fought for legislation that would prohibit workplace discrimination based on both sexual orientation and gender identity. However, many political leaders and advocacy organizations believed that including gender identity protections would make the legislation more difficult to pass.
In 2007, a version of ENDA was advanced that prohibited discrimination based on sexual orientation but excluded gender identity protections. Supporters of the strategy argued that political realities required compromise. They believed Congress was not prepared to pass a fully inclusive bill and that securing protections for gay, lesbian, and bisexual workers was better than securing no protections at all (Washington Blade, 2017; HRC, 2007).
For many transgender activists, however, this was not a strategic compromise. It was a betrayal.
The message they received was that transgender equality could be postponed because it was politically inconvenient. As a result, transgender activists increasingly relied upon their own organizations and advocacy networks rather than established LGBTQ+ institutions. These groups spent years educating the public, documenting discrimination, challenging exclusionary policies, and building a movement focused specifically on transgender rights.
Over the following decade, public awareness of transgender people increased dramatically. Media coverage expanded. Public opinion shifted. Gender identity became a more visible topic in American political discourse. As transgender rights gained national attention, major LGBTQ+ organizations—including the Human Rights Campaign—became increasingly active advocates for transgender equality.
Many welcomed this support. Additional resources and national visibility strengthened the fight against discrimination. Yet for some transgender activists, the shift was difficult to forget.
From their perspective, transgender organizations had spent years fighting battles that larger LGBTQ+ organizations had either ignored or treated as secondary concerns. Only after transgender rights became more politically visible and socially recognized did many of those larger organizations fully embrace transgender advocacy. The criticism was not that these organizations eventually supported transgender rights. The criticism was that they had not shown the same commitment when doing so carried greater political risk.
This history reflects a broader problem within modern Pride and LGBTQ+ politics. As movements become institutionalized, they often shift from challenging power to managing relationships with power. Organizations become concerned with political access, public relations, donor relationships, and legislative strategy. The result can be a form of respectability politics that prioritizes achievable victories while leaving more controversial or vulnerable communities behind.
Today, transgender people remain the primary targets of legislative attacks on LGBTQ+ rights in the United States. Hundreds of bills have been introduced in recent years targeting transgender healthcare, participation in public life, and legal recognition (Human Rights Campaign, 2026). Yet many Pride events continue to project an image of completed victory rather than ongoing struggle.
Celebration has an important place. LGBTQ+ people deserve joy. They deserve visibility. They deserve to recognize how far the movement has come.
But Pride should never forget why it exists.
Pride was created because LGBTQ+ people were denied equal rights. It was created because marginalized communities demanded justice from institutions that refused to recognize their humanity. If Pride becomes only a celebration, it risks forgetting the very activism that made those celebrations possible.
The history of transgender activism during the ENDA era serves as a reminder that progress is rarely as complete as it appears. Rights can be delayed. Communities can be sidelined. Movements can become comfortable.
The challenge for Pride today is not whether it should celebrate victories.
The challenge is whether it still remembers how to fight.
References
Cornell University. (2022, June 15). Is Pride too commercialized? https://lgbt.cornell.edu/news/pride-too-commercialized-0
Human Rights Campaign. (2007, November 7). U.S. House takes historic step by passing the Employment Non-Discrimination Act. https://www.hrc.org/press-releases/u-s-house-takes-historic-step-by-passing-the-employment-non-discrimination
Human Rights Campaign. (2026). Fighting anti-trans politics. https://www.hrc.org/our-work/stories/fighting-anti-trans-politics
TIME. (2020, June 18). What’s changed—and what hasn’t—in 50 years of Pride parades. https://time.com/5858086/pride-parades-history/
Washington Blade. (2017, November 6). 10 years later, firestorm over gay-only ENDA vote still remembered. https://www.washingtonblade.com/2017/11/06/10-years-later-firestorm-over-gay-only-enda-vote-still-remembered/
Bad Bunny, the Super Bowl, and the Politics of Identity
By Katherine Walter
On February 11, 2026
In cultural politics
SANTA CLARA, CALIFORNIA – FEBRUARY 08: Bad Bunny performs onstage during the Apple Music Super Bowl LX Halftime Show at Levi’s Stadium on February 08, 2026 in Santa Clara, California. (Photo by Thearon W. Henderson/Getty Images)
The 2026 Super Bowl halftime show, headlined by Bad Bunny, quickly became one of the most culturally and politically charged performances in recent memory. Announced months in advance as the featured performer, Bad Bunny’s selection already signaled a shift in the NFL’s cultural positioning, reflecting the growing influence of Latino audiences in American media (CBS News, 2026). When he ultimately took the stage, performing largely in Spanish and centering Puerto Rican identity, the symbolism was unmistakable.
The performance was widely interpreted not just as entertainment, but as cultural assertion. Spanish-language lyrics dominated the set, and the staging highlighted themes of Latino pride, resilience, and collective identity. El País (2026) described the show as a “protest dance,” suggesting that the performance functioned as a statement of presence in a political climate often marked by contentious immigration debates and nationalist rhetoric. Rather than presenting overt political slogans, the symbolism operated through visibility: Latino culture on the largest televised stage in the United States.
To me, that is what made the performance powerful. It was not aggressive. It did not attack policy. It celebrated identity. The choice to foreground Spanish was not exclusionary—it was reflective of the lived reality of millions of Americans. In a country where Spanish is the second most spoken language, hearing it dominate the halftime stage felt less like disruption and more like acknowledgment. Representation, in this case, became a form of quiet resistance.
President Donald Trump responded sharply. According to ABC News (2026), Trump called the halftime show a “slap in the face to our country.” Reuters (2026) reported that he described the performance as “absolutely terrible,” while People (2026) noted his criticism that “nobody understands a word this guy is saying.” His reaction framed the performance not as a cultural celebration but as a deviation from traditional American norms.
The criticism did not stop with the President. Entertainment Weekly (2026) reported that House Republicans called for an investigation into the halftime show, citing concerns over its choreography and presentation. The backlash extended beyond language into broader anxieties about morality, cultural standards, and national identity. Meanwhile, reactions were far from uniformly negative. The Guardian (2026) documented widespread praise from artists and public figures who described the performance as joyful and affirming, with some viewers saying it made them feel “proudly American.”
That divide reveals something significant. The controversy was not really about music or choreography. It was about competing visions of America. One vision views national identity as rooted in linguistic and cultural uniformity. The other sees American identity as evolving, multilingual, and shaped by migration and diversity. Bad Bunny’s performance fell squarely into the latter camp.
In my view, the halftime show reflected the America that already exists rather than the one some political leaders nostalgically imagine. A multilingual performance on the Super Bowl stage does not diminish American identity—it expands it. Cultural confidence means embracing diversity, not fearing it. The polarized reaction to the show underscores how entertainment events have become symbolic arenas where broader political tensions play out.
Ultimately, the 2026 Super Bowl halftime show was more than a concert. It was a cultural mirror. Whether one saw it as celebratory or confrontational depended largely on how one defines Americanness itself. The performance—and the reaction from President Trump—demonstrates that debates over language, culture, and belonging remain central to American political life.
References
ABC News. (2026). Trump calls Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show a “slap in the face to our country.” https://abcnews.go.com/US/trump-calls-bad-bunnys-super-bowl-halftime-show/story?id=129980124
CBS News. (2026). Bad Bunny will headline the 2026 Super Bowl halftime show. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/bad-bunny-2026-super-bowl-halftime-show/
El País. (2026, February 8). Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl: The protest dance of Latinos in the US. https://english.elpais.com/culture/2026-02-08/bad-bunnys-super-bowl-the-protest-dance-of-latinos-in-the-us.html
Entertainment Weekly. (2026). House Republicans call to investigate Bad Bunny Super Bowl halftime show over “widespread twerking, grinding, pelvic thrusts.” https://ew.com/house-republicans-call-for-investigation-of-bad-bunny-super-bowl-halftime-show-11904174
People. (2026). Trump lashes out at Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime show: “Nobody understands a word this guy is saying.” https://people.com/super-bowl-2026-trump-lashes-out-bad-bunny-halftime-show-11902396
Reuters. (2026, February 9). Trump says Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl halftime was “absolutely terrible.” https://www.reuters.com/world/us/trump-says-bad-bunnys-super-bowl-halftime-show-was-absolutely-terrible-2026-02-09/
The Guardian. (2026, February 9). “Made me feel proudly American”: Stars react to Bad Bunny’s Super Bowl show. https://www.theguardian.com/music/2026/feb/09/reactions-bad-bunny-super-bowl-halftime-show