Why Are We Still Afraid of Spanish?

By Rick Najera

Bad Bunny performed at Coachella in Spanish. Somehow, in 2025, that’s controversial.

It shouldn’t be.

Let’s rewind.

In the 1950s, Desi Arnaz sang “Babalú” entirely in Spanish on primetime television — a song about an African deity and a beautiful Black woman. America loved it. He became one of the first Latino superstars in mainstream entertainment, paving the way for a generation of artists to follow.

Just a few years later, in 1958, a young Chicano musician from Pacoima named Ritchie Valens recorded “La Bamba.” It was sung entirely in Spanish, yet it became an American anthem — a cross-cultural hit that united teenagers across race and class.

So what changed?

When did Spanish — once celebrated on our airwaves and dance floors — become the language of “the other”?

We often recite E pluribus unum — Out of many, one. It’s stamped on our coins and woven into our national identity. Yet we seem to forget that “many” includes the millions whose first language was Spanish, long before English reached the continent.

Spanish was spoken in Santa Fe before the Pilgrims ever landed at Plymouth Rock. It was the language of poetry, politics, and prayer across the Southwest, the Caribbean, and Latin America — long before America learned to call itself a melting pot.

Speaking Spanish doesn’t make someone less American. It makes them more American — part of the deeper, older fabric of this land’s story.

Desi Arnaz knew that in the 1950s.
Ritchie Valens knew it in 1958.
Bad Bunny knows it now.

Bad Bunny didn’t reject America by singing in Spanish.
We reject America when we tell him he shouldn’t.

E pluribus unum doesn’t mean “out of many — but only if you speak English.” It means out of many voices, histories, and languages, one shared promise.

If we can’t handle a Puerto Rican artist singing in the language spoken in half our hemisphere — maybe we never really believed in that promise at all.