Saturday night in our quiet South Jersey neighborhood, the sound of plena, salsa, and reggaetón spilled into the crisp fall air. My neighbors set up a projector on their front lawn to livestream Bad Bunny’s concert on Amazon, turning the block into an impromptu street festival.
Inside, my family gathered in the living room — hearts 1,600 miles away and beating to the same Caribbean rhythm. For my wife, a proud Boricua, it was a lifeline to her island. For me, a Dominican, it was a shared celebration of home.
We weren’t just watching a livestream. We were part of a global regreso — a worldwide virtual homecoming.
As the final notes rang out, our kids danced while I held the iPad like a portal, FaceTiming friends in New York, California, Rhode Island, and Florida. Across time zones, we were united by pride and an unmistakable sense of belonging. This wasn’t merely a concert; it was a festival for a nation, wherever its people may live.
Bad Bunny — born Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio — is more than a superstar. He has become a symbol of hope and resilience for the Puerto Rican diaspora, including thousands here in South Jersey and Philadelphia. His multi-show residency, No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí (“I Don’t Want to Leave Here”), was both a love letter to his homeland and a bold act of defiance against the tired narrative of a struggling island.
The economic ripple of his residency on the island was staggering. Estimates put the direct impact at over $200 million, with some analyses topping $700 million. Roughly 600,000 visitors flooded Puerto Rico during the residency, filling hotels, crowding restaurants, and exploring the landscapes that shaped the artist. Hotels reported occupancy spikes of up to 75%; demand for short-term rentals soared by 200%.
For an island battered by hurricanes, earthquakes, and fiscal crisis, that surge was a vital shot of adrenaline.
But the deeper resonance isn’t in the numbers. Bad Bunny uses his platform to confront gentrification and the displacement of native Puerto Ricans — issues that cut to the heart of identity and belonging. His latest album and the residency’s very title challenge Puerto Ricans everywhere to hold fast to their culture, their land, and their voice.
» READ MORE: Boricua history with a Bad Bunny twist | Opinion
For those of us in the Philadelphia area’s vibrant Puerto Rican and Dominican communities, the concert was more than entertainment.
It was a reminder of who we are and what we refuse to lose. Bad Bunny’s music is a bridge: a lifeline to our heritage and a call to protect it.
When we danced in our living room, or watched the glow of the projector on our neighbors’ lawn, we weren’t only keeping time with the beat — we were affirming our resilience, our culture, and our belief in a brighter future for the island and its people.
