Exploring Reggaeton’s roots and political history

In Loiza, the Puerto Rican rapper speaks about the neighbourhood where he grew up. He protests against the violence directed towards black people by reclaiming marginalised spaces as his “pueblo” (town).

The song also attacks the educational systems in his country which permit the prevalence of racism by ‘‘satura(ndo) la mente a ninos inocentes, con educación inconsistente” (saturating the minds of innocent children with an inconsistent education).

Certainly not for the faint hearted, his lyrics also seem to offer violent revolution as a solution to the systemic racial inequality when he sings ‘en lo claro la justicia se obtiene con cascajos’ (clearly justice can be obtained with rocks).

Unfortunately, Loiza didn’t resonate with his audience as he’d intended; At the time Calderon lamented the immunity of young black people to being mistreated for just wanting to dance and be content.

Instead, the album’s – and still to this day the artist’s – most popular song was Pa’Que Retozen, (for those who revel) which emulates the better known ‘cultura machista’ (cultural misogyny) often associated with reggaeton.

Machismo y el perreo

A large part of this association finds its beginnings in the reggaeton dance style ‘perreo’ (doggy).

Many of the lyrics in reggaeton also overtly sexualise and objectify women – and in some cases even (arguably) perpetuate violence and femicide, as Thred’s Eunice Tovar explores.

From Bad Bunny singing about “las tetas y el culo te operes”, (“the tits and the arse that you operate”) to Maluma’s lyrics which tell us that his “cuatro babys, siempre (le) dan lo que quier(e), chin*** cuando (él) les dice”, (“four babies, always give (him) what (he) wants, f*** him when he tells them”), there is no doubt that ‘machismo’ is a large part of the culture of reggaeton.

That’s not to say that either of these artists are, to their core, misogynists; to do so would be wrongfully forcing these artists to admit a guilt similar to that which racist law courts attempt to evoke in innocent black people who also happen to be fans of hip hop and drill music.

We’ve seen this in the more than 70 trials that took place between 2020 and 2023 in the UK, and in the prosecution of members of loose music collective M40 in Manchester in 2019.

These cases have seen police and prosecutors use suspects’ taste/involvement in rap or hip hop music to build a case against them. Thred’s Charlie Coombs also reminds us of Unknown T, who was acquitted of murder despite the prosecutors’ attempt to use his lyrics against him.

Rather, in calling out the ‘machismo’ of reggaeton, it’s a criticism of the genre, not the artist.

What’s more, artists like Bad Bunny have explicitly sought to oppose this attitude of machismo by emphasising themes of consent alongside hedonistic sexuality in songs like Bellacoso.

Nevertheless, far from remaining explicitly political, through its diasporic evolution reggaeton has come to gain popularity mostly as a form of pop culture, distancing modern interpretations of the genre further away from its original political activism and strong racial identity.

For instance, we’ve seen the genre’s appropriation by white singers (it’s “blanqueamiento”) such as when Spanish artist Rosalía was awarded “Urban Song of the Year” at the Latin Grammys in 2019.

Her winning song Con Altura also featured one of Latin America’s biggest reggaeton stars J (José) Balvin who, although originally from Colombia, has been criticised for whitewashing the genre.

Although to his credit, as Annabel Nugent writes in The Independent, rather than give in to the anglicisation of his songs, Balvin “has stuck to his guns; there is not one English song in his repertoire.”

In his 2017 song Mi Gente, Balvin espouses a sense of solidarity with the marginalised in his lyrics as he sings ‘mi música no discrimina a nadié’ (my music doesn’t discriminate against anybody).

Despite the criticism that reggaeton often receives thanks to its machista lyrics and its association with the ‘pijo’ population in Spain, it’s offered more than just a dance beat to many marginalised communities.

The politics of reggaeton

The choice taken by singers like Bad Bunny (real name Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio) and J Balvin to refuse to sing in English is in itself a political act.

However, on his 2022 album Un Verano Sin Ti, (a summer without you) the former, originally from Puerto Rico, took it further by criticising the blackouts and gentrification impacting his home.

In El Apagón, (the blackout) he even threatens to ‘a Pipo le dé un bofetón’ (give Pipo a slap). ‘Pipo’ was the nickname for the then governor of Puerto Rico, Pedro Pierluisi. Pierluisi failed to minimise energy disruptions during his time in office, as he’d promised the country’s residents.

And in his most recent album, DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS (“I should take more photos”) released earlier this year, Bad Bunny continues to denounce the gentrification of Puerto Rico by comparing it to the United State’s colonisation of Hawaii in the 19th century.

In LO QUE LE PASÓ A HAWAii, he sings about hearing the ‘jíbaro llorando’ (Puerta Rican farmers crying) who ‘no quería irse pa’ Orlando, pero el corrupto lo echó’ (“didn’t want to go to Orlando, but were thrown out by the corrupt”).

While reggaeton certainly isn’t without its problems, it would be unfair to reduce the voracious blend of styles and lyricism, and to overlook the inherent politicism of the genre, from underground Panama in the 90s to Bad Bunny in 2025.

Perhaps most importantly, especially given the tendency of the state to use music tastes to manipulate and incriminate marginalised individuals, we should view reggaeton as a powerful genre of solidarity rather than division.

The sheer diversity of the genre is visible through the female-led reggaeton collective Motivando a la Gyal.

Not to mention, Amnesty International’s support for the first Latin Hip-Hop and Reggaeton Festival in 2004, and in the way that La Bomba parties allowed Caribbean and African Londoners to enjoy Black music with less concern about radically coded monitoring and surveillance.

So enjoy reggaeton. Enjoy ‘bailando perreo’ and moving your body to Latin beats. The genre is meant to be a celebration of community and freedom of expression after all. But when you do, remember how lucky you are to be able to.

Remember to respect your fellow reggaeton lovers, and most of all, remember what the music stands for, and how powerful it can be.