que se vayan ellos: postcolonialism in bad bunny’s new album

Quieren quitarme el río y también la playa
Quieren el barrio mío y que tus hijos se vayan
No, no suelte’ la bandera ni olvide’ el lelolai
Que no quiero que hagan contigo lo que le pasó a Hawái

It is a well-documented fact that certain forms of artistic expression have historically been condemned under the guise of vulgarity. Hip-hop in the United States, for example, has often been heralded as a symbol of a decaying civilisation. Critics point to its sexually explicit and, at times, misogynistic lyrics, as well as its exaggerated depictions of crime and violence. Many rappers have been accused of corrupting American youth with the “filthy” and suggestive nature of their art (as suggested in this essay, supported by a 1996 study by the american academy of pediatrics). In more recent times, a similar campaign has been waged against reggaetóneros across Latinoamérica, accused of idolising sex, drugs, and other so-called “unseemly” behaviors.

I don’t intend to suggest that the content of hip-hop or reggaetón songs is innocent or harmless. Critics have rightly pointed out the blatant misogyny and homotransphobia present in many lyrics, as well as the glorification of gang violence, drug use, and alcohol consumption, and the overwhelming promotion of machismo.

at the same time, it would be shortsighted to reduce the entire genres to these criticisms: both give voice to marginalised communities, draw heavily from pre-existent and folk music forms, and are largely created by and for non-white people. the fact that these genres face a disproportionate amount of criticism compared to others – and that often white artists involved in those genres receive far less backlash for similar lyrics – is no coincidence. The disparity is merely a reflection of the racism that pervades our society. only when this discrepancy is accepted we can move towards a more balanced criticism of their contents.

In light of these observations, I want to discuss how puerto rican artist bad bunny uses reggaetón to celebrate the history of puerto rico, while simultaneously condemning the colonial rule that it is still shaped by. His most recent album, Debí Tirar Más Fotos, is a powerful statement against U.S. imperialism.

musically, bad bunny draws on his rich latinoamérican heritage, blending reggaetón and dembow – genres he is already well-versed in – with salsa, plena, jíbaro, bolero, reinterpreting them through house and synth-pop elements. Lyrically, this may well be bad bunny’s most accomplished endeavour yet, as he celebrates and reclaims puerto rican identity in the same breath, with the entire album reading as a love letter to his homeland. Two tracks, in particular, exemplify his strong anti-imperialistic stance: dtmf, the title track, and lo que le pasó a hawái, the fourteenth song in the album.

Dtmf – which translates to “I should have taken more pictures” – is sung to an unnamed character, which can be easily read as a personified representation of Puerto Rico. The selling point of the song is certainly the nostalgic theme that runs through the lyrics: the chorus is a lamentation for wasted opportunities, where Bad Bunny regrets not having shown his love more often when he did have the chance to do so. the song is accompanied by a short film, available on youtube, which follows an old puertorican man as he goes about his daily life in his heavily gentrified neighbourhood. he is faced with an environment that has been made hostile by the presence of americans, to whom the entire place seems to cater: cash is not accepted in shops, and instead apple pay is the only form of payment; people speak english, and only a broken form of spanish; traditional food has been replaced by more marketable, tourist-friendly options.

Lo que le pasó a hawái, on the other hand, is even more explicit in its social commentary, referencing the history of bloodied colonisation in the pacific islands. the title, translating to “what happened to hawaii” draws on a desperate attempt to avoid the same annexation that hawaii suffered, leading to commodification, gentrification, and an attempted erasure of local indigenous identity and culture. it is also more open in its recipient being Puerto Rico: “La espuma de sus orilla’ parecieran de champán / Son alcohol pa’ las herida’, pa’ la tristeza bailar / Son alcohol pa’ las herida’, porque hay mucho que sanar” we hear: “The foam of her borders looks like champagne / it’s alcohol for wounds, to dance the sadness away / it’s alcohol for wounds, because there’s so much to heal”. bad bunny embues his words with rich juxtaposed images, noting the famed beaches of his homeland, and the luxury implied by “champagne foam”, and contrasting it with the political wounds of the country, hidden as part of its marketisation towards tourists. the mention of alcohol, as well, emphasises its role as a temporary remedy to wash away the sorrow of an unresolved imperialist conflict.

Bad Bunny does not simply point out the generational trauma of latinoamérica, but also acknowledges the resilience of its people, acting as a call to action. he demonstrates that without taking away the “fun” aspects of reggaetón, the genre is still a vehicle for social and political commentaries and resistance to the united states’ ongoing colonial rule in puerto rico, not in spite of but because of how many people it can reach.

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