Bad Bunny and Puerto Rican Muslims: How both remix what it means to be Boricua
In the vibrant cultural tapestry of Puerto Rico, the Mezquita Al-Madinah in Hatillo stands as a testament to the island’s diverse religious landscape, hosting one of the several mosques and Islamic centers that cater to the local Muslim community. With an estimated 3,500 to 5,000 Muslims residing in Puerto Rico before recent crises—many hailing from Palestinian backgrounds—the Muslim community has been shaped by the island’s socio-political struggles, including the ongoing impacts of colonialism and economic hardship. As Puerto Rico grapples with issues like gentrification and racial inequality, the experiences of Puerto Rican Muslims reflect broader themes of identity and belonging, echoing the resilience found in the music of global sensation Bad Bunny, born Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio.
Bad Bunny, often referred to as the “King of Latin Trap,” embodies the spirit of Puerto Rico through his music, which intertwines reggaetón with the island’s rich cultural history. Songs such as “El Apagón” serve as both a celebration of local life and a protest against colonial rule, highlighting the everyday struggles faced by Puerto Ricans. Similarly, Puerto Rican Muslims navigate their identities within a predominantly Catholic society, often facing accusations of cultural betrayal upon converting to Islam. Yet, they find ways to connect their faith with their Puerto Rican heritage, drawing parallels between their experiences and those of historical Muslim figures in the Caribbean. This negotiation of identity is crucial for Puerto Rican Muslims, who strive to redefine what it means to be authentically Boricua, showcasing that Puerto Rican identity is not monolithic but rather a complex and evolving narrative that includes diverse religious practices and cultural expressions.
Moreover, Puerto Rican Muslims actively engage in solidarity with other marginalized communities, reflecting their shared struggles against systemic injustices. Organizations like Alianza Islámica, founded in 1987, emerged from a need for minority representation and advocacy. In the face of Islamophobia and racism, Puerto Rican Muslims, much like Bad Bunny’s music, challenge societal norms and assert their place within the broader narrative of Puerto Rican identity. Their stories, intertwined with themes of resistance and hope, exemplify how both religion and music can serve as powerful vehicles for expressing the complexities of belonging, dignity, and freedom in contemporary Puerto Rican society. As they navigate their identities, Puerto Rican Muslims remind us that the fight for justice is interconnected, resonating deeply with the rhythms of Bad Bunny’s songs, which capture the essence of struggle and the aspiration for a brighter future.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dEXHmPCIiHs
The Mezquita Al-Madinah in Hatillo, Puerto Rico, about an hour west of San Juan, is one of several mosques and Islamic centers on the island.
Ken Chitwood
Bad Bunny, born Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio, is more than a global music phenomenon; he’s a bona fide
symbol of Puerto Rico
.
The
church choir boy
turned “King of Latin Trap” has songs, style and swagger that reflect the island’s mix of
pride, pain and creative resilience
. His music mixes reggaetón beats with the sounds of Puerto Rican history and everyday life, where devotion and defiance often live side by side.
Bad Bunny has been called one of Puerto Rico’s “
loudest and proudest voices
.” Songs like “
El Apagón
” – “The Blackout” – celebrate joy and protest together, honoring everyday acts of resistance to
colonial rule
and injustice in Puerto Rican life. Others,
like “NUEVAYoL
,” celebrate the sounds and vibrancy of its diaspora – especially in
New York City
. Some songs, like “RLNDT,” mention
spiritual searching
– featuring allusions to his own Catholic upbringing, sacred and secular divides, New Age astrology and Spiritism.
As
a scholar of religion
who recently wrote
a book about Puerto Rican Muslims
, I find echoes of that same strength and artistry in their stories. Although marginalized among Muslims, Puerto Ricans and other U.S. citizens, they find fresh ways to express their cultural heritage and practice their faith, creating new communities and connections along the way. Similar to Bad Bunny’s music, Puerto Rican Muslims’ lives challenge how we think about race, religion and belonging in the Americas.
Bad Bunny performs during his ‘No Me Quiero Ir De Aqui’ residency on July 11, 2025, in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Kevin Mazur/Getty Images
Stories of struggle
There are no exact numbers, but before recent crises, Puerto Rico – an archipelago of
3.2. million people
– had about
3,500 to 5,000 Muslims
, many of them Palestinian. Economic hardship, natural disasters such as hurricanes Irma and Maria, and government neglect have since
forced many to leave
, however.
As of 2017, there were also an estimated
11,000 to 15,400
Puerto Rican Muslims among the nearly
6 million Puerto Ricans
and nearly
4 million Muslims
in the United States.
Like any Puerto Rican, these Muslims know the struggles of
colonialism’s ongoing impact
,
from blackouts
and
economic inequality
to racism. For example, in the viral 23-minute video for “
El Apagón
,” journalist Bianca Graulau outlines how tax incentives for external investors are displacing locals – a theme reinforced in Bad Bunny’s later song, “
Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii
.”
The video for “El Apagón” includes a short documentary about gentrification on the archipelago.
Converts to Islam also face unique challenges – and not just Islamophobia. Many are told they are “
not real Puerto Ricans
” because of their newfound faith. Some are treated as foreigners in their own families and friend groups, often asked whether they are abandoning their culture to “become Arab.”
To be a Puerto Rican Muslim, then, is to negotiate being and belonging at numerous intersections of diversity and difference.
Still, some connect their Muslim identity to
moments in Puerto Rican history
. In interviews, they told me how they identify with Muslims who
came with Spanish conquistadors
during colonial times. Others draw inspiration from
enslaved Africans
brought to the Caribbean. Many of them were Muslim and resisted their condition in ways large and small: fleeing to the forest to pray, for example, or living as “maroons” – people who escaped and formed their own communities.
Many ways to be Puerto Rican
Puerto Rican culture cannot be neatly mapped onto a single tradition. The archipelago’s religion, music and art blend together influences from Indigenous Taíno, African, Spanish and American cultures. Religious processions pass by cars blasting reggaetón. Shrines to Our Lady of Divine Providence stand beside U.S. chain restaurants and murals demanding independence.
Bad Bunny embodies this fusion. He is rebellious yet rooted, irreverent yet deeply Puerto Rican. His music blends contemporary sounds from reggaetón and Latin trap with
traditional “bomba y plena
.” It all adds up to something distinctly “Boricua,” a term for Puerto Ricans drawn from the Indigenous Taíno name for the island, “Borikén.”
A mural in San Juan, Puerto Rico, photographed in 2017, says, ‘We don’t understand this democracy.’
Mark Ralston/AFP via Getty Images
Puerto Rican Muslims wrestle with what it means to be authentically Boricua, though. In particular, their lives reveal how religion is both a boundary and a bridge: defining belonging while creating new ways to imagine it.
Since Spanish colonization in the 1500s, most Puerto Ricans have been Roman Catholic. But over the past two centuries, many other Christian groups have arrived, including Seventh-day Adventists, Lutherans and Pentecostals. Today, more than half of Puerto Ricans
identify as Catholic
and about one-third as Protestant.
Alongside these traditions, Afro-Caribbean traditions such as
Santería
, Espiritismo and
Santerismo
– a mix of the two – remain active. There are also small communities of
Jews
,
Rastafari
and Muslims.
Even with this diversity,
converts to Islam
are sometimes accused of betraying their culture. One young man told me that when he became Muslim, his mother said he had not only betrayed Christ but also “our culture.”
Yet Puerto Rican Muslims point to
Arabic influences
in Spanish words. They celebrate traces of Islamic design in
colonial and revival architecture
that reflects Muslims’ multicentury presence in Spain, from the 700s until the fall of the last Muslim kingdom in Granada in 1492. They also cook up
halal versions
of classic Puerto Rican dishes.
Like Bad Bunny, these converts remix what it means to be Puerto Rican, showing how Puerto Rico’s sense of identity – or “puertorriqueñidad” – is not exclusively Christian, but complex and constantly evolving.
A member of the Council in Defense of the Indigenous Rights of Boriken, dressed in Taino traditional clothing, sounds a conch during a march through San Juan, Puerto Rico, on July 11, 2020.
Ricardo Arduengo/AFP via Getty Images
In solidarity
Many Puerto Rican converts frame their faith as a counternarrative, rejecting the Christianity imposed by Spanish colonizers. They also resist Islamophobia, racism and foreign domination, with some converts
drawn to the religion
as a way to oppose these forces. Similar to Bad Bunny’s music, which often
critiques colonialism and social constraints
, they push back against systems that try to define who they can be.
To that end, Puerto Rican Muslims also build connections with other groups facing injustice. In reggaetón terms, they form their own “corillos” – groups of friends – united by shared struggles.
They demonstrate
on behalf of Palestinians
, seeing them as another colonized people without a nation. The first Latino Muslim organization,
Alianza Islámica
– founded by Puerto Rican converts in 1987 – emerged out of the era’s
push for minorities’ rights
around the New York City metro area. And after the 2016 Pulse Nightclub shooting, where
about half of the 49 victims
killed were Puerto Rican, and the mosque attended by the shooter was
intentionally set on fire
, Boricua Muslims joined with LGBTQ+, Muslim and Latino communities to grieve and demand justice.
Pro-Palestine supporters attend a rally to end the war on Nov. 12, 2023, in San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Miguel J. Rodríguez Carrillo/VIEWpress via Getty Images
In these ways, Puerto Rican Muslims remind me that notions of community, identity or justice do not stand on their own. For many people, they are linked – parts of the same fight for dignity and freedom.
That is why, when I
listen to songs
like “NUEVAYoL” or “El Apagón,” I think of the Puerto Rican Muslims I know in places such as Puerto Rico, Florida, New Jersey, Texas and New York. Their stories, like Bad Bunny’s music, show how being Puerto Rican today means constantly negotiating who you are and where you belong. And that religion, like music, can carry the sound of struggle – but also the hope of one day overcoming the injustices and inequalities of everyday life.
Ken Chitwood received funding from the Fritz Thyssen Foundation, the Muslim Philanthropy Initiative, and the Spalding Trust to conduct research related to this article.
