Category: English

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Farah Nibbs, Assistant Professor of Emergency and Disaster Health Systems, University of Maryland, Baltimore County

Headlines have been filled with talk of the catastrophic power of Hurricane Melissa after the Category 5 storm devastated communities across Jamaica, Cuba and Haiti in October 2025. But to see this as a singular disaster misses the bigger picture: Melissa didn’t hit stable, resilient islands. It hit islands still rebuilding from the last hurricane.

Jamaica was still recovering from Hurricane Beryl, which sideswiped the island in July 2024 as a Category 4 storm. The parish of St. Elizabeth – known as Jamaica’s breadbasket – was devastated. The country’s Rural Agriculture Development Authority estimated that 45,000 farmers were affected by Beryl, with damage estimated at US$15.9 million.

In Cuba, the power grid collapsed during Hurricane Oscar in October 2024, leaving 10 million people in darkness. When Melissa arrived, it struck the same fragile infrastructure that Cubans had barely begun to rebuild.

Haiti’s fragile situation before Hurricane Melissa cannot be overstated. The island nation was still reeling from years of cascading disasters – deadly hurricanes, political instability, gang violence, an ongoing cholera crisis and widespread hunger – with over half the population already in need of humanitarian assistance even before this storm hit.

This is the new reality of the climate crisis: Disasters hitting the Caribbean are no longer sequential. They are compounding and can trigger infrastructure collapse, social erosion and economic debt spirals.

The compounding disaster trap

I study disasters, with a focus on how Caribbean island systems absorb, adapt to and recover from recurring shocks, like the nations hit by Melissa are now experiencing.

It’s not just that hurricanes are more frequent; it’s that the time between major storms is now shorter than the time required for a full recovery. This pulls islands into a trap that works through three self-reinforcing loops:

Infrastructure collapse: When a major hurricane hits an already weakened system, it causes simultaneous infrastructure collapses. The failure of one system – such as power – cascades, taking down water pumps, communications and hospitals all at once. We saw this in Grenada after Hurricane Beryl and in Dominica after Hurricane Maria. This kind of cascading damage is now the baseline expectation for the Caribbean.

Economic debt spiral: When countries exhaust their economic reserves on one recovery, borrow to rebuild and are then hit again while still paying off that debt, it becomes a vicious cycle.

Hurricane Ivan, which struck the region in 2004, cost Grenada over 200% of its gross domestic product; Maria, in 2017, cost Dominica 224% of its GDP; and Dorian, in 2019, cost the Bahamas 25% of GDP. With each storm, debt balloons, credit ratings drop and borrowing for the next disaster becomes more expensive.

Social erosion: Each cycle weakens the human infrastructure, too. More than 200,000 people left Puerto Rico for the U.S. mainland in Maria’s aftermath, and nearly one-quarter of Dominica’s population left after the same storm. Community networks fragment as people leave, and psychological trauma becomes layered as each new storm reopens the wounds of the last. The very social fabric needed to manage recovery is itself being torn.

The trap is that all three of these loops reinforce each other. A country can’t rebuild infrastructure without money. It can’t generate economic activity without infrastructure. And it can’t retain the skilled workforce needed for either when people are fleeing to safer places.

Rebuilding a system of overlapping recoveries

The Caribbean is not merely recovering from disasters – it is living within a system of overlapping recoveries, meaning that its communities must begin rebuilding again before fully recovering from the last crisis.

Each new attempt at rebuilding happens on the unstable physical, social and institutional foundations left by the last disaster.

The question isn’t whether Jamaica will attempt to rebuild following Melissa. It will, somehow. The question is, what happens when the next major storm arrives before that recovery is complete? And the one after that?

Without fundamentally restructuring how we think about recovery – moving from crisis response to continuous adaptation – island nations will remain trapped in this loop.

The way forward

The compounding disaster trap persists because recovery models are broken. They apply one-size-fits-all solutions to crises unfolding across multiple layers of society, from households to national economies, to global finance.

Breaking free requires adaptive recovery at all levels, from household to global. Think of recovery as an ecosystem: You can’t fix one part and expect the whole to heal.

At the household level: Helping amid trauma

Recovery isn’t just about repairing a damaged roof. When families experience back-to-back disasters, trauma compounds. Direct cash assistance and long-term, community-based mental health services can help restore dignity.

Cash transfers allow families to address their own needs, stimulate local economies and restore control to people whose lives have been repeatedly upended.

At community level: Mending the social fabric

Repairing the “social fabric” means investing in farmer cooperatives, neighborhood associations and faith groups – networks that can lead recovery from the ground up.

Local networks are often the only ones capable of rebuilding trust and participation.

At the infrastructure level: Breaking the cycle

The pattern of rebuilding the same vulnerable roads or power lines only to see them wash away in the next storm fails the community and the nation. There are better, proven solutions that prepare communities to weather the next storm:

• Decentralized power grids with renewable energy sources can operate independently when the main grid fails.

• Natural infrastructure such as restored mangroves and wetlands provide natural storm barriers.

• Strong enforcement of modern building codes can require structures to withstand Category 4 and above winds.

At the global level: Fixing the debt trap

None of this is possible if recovery remains tied to high-interest loans. There are ways for internal financial institutions and global development lenders to allow for breathing room between disasters:

• Hurricane clauses in bond agreements can automatically pause all debt payments when disasters strike. These clauses allow governments to automatically suspend debt service payments to bondholders for up to two years when a qualifying disaster strikes. After Beryl, Grenada became the first government to activate a hurricane clause with private creditors.

• Comprehensive debt-for-climate swaps involve reducing existing debt – owed to private banks, institutional investors, countries or multilateral banks – in exchange for the debtor country committing funds to climate adaptation or resilience projects.

• Pre-positioned climate finance is money made available through dedicated international climate funds, such as the Green Climate Fund and Loss and Damage Fund, or parametric insurance mechanisms. It pays out before storms hit, not months later, so countries are ready to respond to the damage.

The current international disaster finance system, controlled by global lenders and donors, requires countries to prove their losses after a disaster in order to access assistance, often resulting in months of delay. “Proof” is established by formal evaluations or inspections, such as by the United Nations, and aid is released only after meeting certain requirements. This process can stall recovery at the moment when aid is needed the most.

The bottom line

The Caribbean needs a system that provides support before disasters strike, with agreed-upon funding commitments and regional risk-pooling mechanisms that can avoid the delays and bureaucratic burden that slow recovery.

What’s happening in Jamaica, Cuba and Haiti today is a glimpse of what’s coming for coastal and island communities worldwide as climate change accelerates. In my view, we can either learn from the Caribbean’s experiences and redesign disaster recovery now or wait until the trap closes around everyone.

Farah Nibbs does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. No time to recover: Hurricane Melissa and the Caribbean’s compounding disaster trap as the storms keep coming – https://theconversation.com/no-time-to-recover-hurricane-melissa-and-the-caribbeans-compounding-disaster-trap-as-the-storms-keep-coming-268641

Source: The Conversation – USA (2) – By Farah Nibbs, Assistant Professor of Emergency and Disaster Health Systems, University of Maryland, Baltimore County

Headlines have been filled with talk of the catastrophic power of Hurricane Melissa after the Category 5 storm devastated communities across Jamaica, Cuba and Haiti in October 2025. But to see this as a singular disaster misses the bigger picture: Melissa didn’t hit stable, resilient islands. It hit islands still rebuilding from the last hurricane.

Jamaica was still recovering from Hurricane Beryl, which sideswiped the island in July 2024 as a Category 4 storm. The parish of St. Elizabeth – known as Jamaica’s breadbasket – was devastated. The country’s Rural Agriculture Development Authority estimated that 45,000 farmers were affected by Beryl, with damage estimated at US$15.9 million.

In Cuba, the power grid collapsed during Hurricane Oscar in October 2024, leaving 10 million people in darkness. When Melissa arrived, it struck the same fragile infrastructure that Cubans had barely begun to rebuild.

Haiti’s fragile situation before Hurricane Melissa cannot be overstated. The island nation was still reeling from years of cascading disasters – deadly hurricanes, political instability, gang violence, an ongoing cholera crisis and widespread hunger – with over half the population already in need of humanitarian assistance even before this storm hit.

This is the new reality of the climate crisis: Disasters hitting the Caribbean are no longer sequential. They are compounding and can trigger infrastructure collapse, social erosion and economic debt spirals.

The compounding disaster trap

I study disasters, with a focus on how Caribbean island systems absorb, adapt to and recover from recurring shocks, like the nations hit by Melissa are now experiencing.

It’s not just that hurricanes are more frequent; it’s that the time between major storms is now shorter than the time required for a full recovery. This pulls islands into a trap that works through three self-reinforcing loops:

Infrastructure collapse: When a major hurricane hits an already weakened system, it causes simultaneous infrastructure collapses. The failure of one system – such as power – cascades, taking down water pumps, communications and hospitals all at once. We saw this in Grenada after Hurricane Beryl and in Dominica after Hurricane Maria. This kind of cascading damage is now the baseline expectation for the Caribbean.

Economic debt spiral: When countries exhaust their economic reserves on one recovery, borrow to rebuild and are then hit again while still paying off that debt, it becomes a vicious cycle.

Hurricane Ivan, which struck the region in 2004, cost Grenada over 200% of its gross domestic product; Maria, in 2017, cost Dominica 224% of its GDP; and Dorian, in 2019, cost the Bahamas 25% of GDP. With each storm, debt balloons, credit ratings drop and borrowing for the next disaster becomes more expensive.

Social erosion: Each cycle weakens the human infrastructure, too. More than 200,000 people left Puerto Rico for the U.S. mainland in Maria’s aftermath, and nearly one-quarter of Dominica’s population left after the same storm. Community networks fragment as people leave, and psychological trauma becomes layered as each new storm reopens the wounds of the last. The very social fabric needed to manage recovery is itself being torn.

The trap is that all three of these loops reinforce each other. A country can’t rebuild infrastructure without money. It can’t generate economic activity without infrastructure. And it can’t retain the skilled workforce needed for either when people are fleeing to safer places.

Rebuilding a system of overlapping recoveries

The Caribbean is not merely recovering from disasters – it is living within a system of overlapping recoveries, meaning that its communities must begin rebuilding again before fully recovering from the last crisis.

Each new attempt at rebuilding happens on the unstable physical, social and institutional foundations left by the last disaster.

The question isn’t whether Jamaica will attempt to rebuild following Melissa. It will, somehow. The question is, what happens when the next major storm arrives before that recovery is complete? And the one after that?

Without fundamentally restructuring how we think about recovery – moving from crisis response to continuous adaptation – island nations will remain trapped in this loop.

The way forward

The compounding disaster trap persists because recovery models are broken. They apply one-size-fits-all solutions to crises unfolding across multiple layers of society, from households to national economies, to global finance.

Breaking free requires adaptive recovery at all levels, from household to global. Think of recovery as an ecosystem: You can’t fix one part and expect the whole to heal.

At the household level: Helping amid trauma

Recovery isn’t just about repairing a damaged roof. When families experience back-to-back disasters, trauma compounds. Direct cash assistance and long-term, community-based mental health services can help restore dignity.

Cash transfers allow families to address their own needs, stimulate local economies and restore control to people whose lives have been repeatedly upended.

At community level: Mending the social fabric

Repairing the “social fabric” means investing in farmer cooperatives, neighborhood associations and faith groups – networks that can lead recovery from the ground up.

Local networks are often the only ones capable of rebuilding trust and participation.

At the infrastructure level: Breaking the cycle

The pattern of rebuilding the same vulnerable roads or power lines only to see them wash away in the next storm fails the community and the nation. There are better, proven solutions that prepare communities to weather the next storm:

• Decentralized power grids with renewable energy sources can operate independently when the main grid fails.

• Natural infrastructure such as restored mangroves and wetlands provide natural storm barriers.

• Strong enforcement of modern building codes can require structures to withstand Category 4 and above winds.

At the global level: Fixing the debt trap

None of this is possible if recovery remains tied to high-interest loans. There are ways for internal financial institutions and global development lenders to allow for breathing room between disasters:

• Hurricane clauses in bond agreements can automatically pause all debt payments when disasters strike. These clauses allow governments to automatically suspend debt service payments to bondholders for up to two years when a qualifying disaster strikes. After Beryl, Grenada became the first government to activate a hurricane clause with private creditors.

• Comprehensive debt-for-climate swaps involve reducing existing debt – owed to private banks, institutional investors, countries or multilateral banks – in exchange for the debtor country committing funds to climate adaptation or resilience projects.

• Pre-positioned climate finance is money made available through dedicated international climate funds, such as the Green Climate Fund and Loss and Damage Fund, or parametric insurance mechanisms. It pays out before storms hit, not months later, so countries are ready to respond to the damage.

The current international disaster finance system, controlled by global lenders and donors, requires countries to prove their losses after a disaster in order to access assistance, often resulting in months of delay. “Proof” is established by formal evaluations or inspections, such as by the United Nations, and aid is released only after meeting certain requirements. This process can stall recovery at the moment when aid is needed the most.

The bottom line

The Caribbean needs a system that provides support before disasters strike, with agreed-upon funding commitments and regional risk-pooling mechanisms that can avoid the delays and bureaucratic burden that slow recovery.

What’s happening in Jamaica, Cuba and Haiti today is a glimpse of what’s coming for coastal and island communities worldwide as climate change accelerates. In my view, we can either learn from the Caribbean’s experiences and redesign disaster recovery now or wait until the trap closes around everyone.

Farah Nibbs does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. No time to recover: Hurricane Melissa and the Caribbean’s compounding disaster trap – https://theconversation.com/no-time-to-recover-hurricane-melissa-and-the-caribbeans-compounding-disaster-trap-268641

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Adrian Bardon, Professor of Philosophy, Wake Forest University

“Time flies,” “time waits for no one,” “as time goes on”: The way we speak about time tends to strongly imply that the passage of time is some sort of real process that happens out there in the world. We inhabit the present moment and move through time, even as events come and go, fading into the past.

But go ahead and try to actually verbalize just what is meant by the flow or passage of time. A flow of what? Rivers flow because water is in motion. What does it mean to say that time flows?

Events are more like happenings than things, yet we talk as though they have ever-changing locations in the future, present or past. But if some events are future, and moving toward you, and some past, moving away, then where are they? The future and past don’t seem to have any physical location.

Human beings have been thinking about time for as long as we have records of humans thinking about anything at all. The concept of time inescapably permeates every single thought you have about yourself and the world around you. That’s why, as a philosopher, philosophical and scientific developments in our understanding of time have always seemed especially important to me.

Ancient philosophers on time

Ancient philosophers were very suspicious about the whole idea of time and change. Parmenides of Elea was a Greek philosopher of the sixth to fifth centuries BCE. Parmenides wondered, if the future is not yet and the past is not anymore, how could events pass from future to present to past?

He reasoned that, if the future is real, then it is real now; and, if what is real now is only what is present, the future is not real. So, if the future is not real, then the occurrence of any present event is a case of something inexplicably coming from nothing.

Parmenides wasn’t the only skeptic about time. Similar reasoning regarding contradictions inherent in the way we talk about time appears in Aristotle, in the ancient Hindu school known as the Advaita Vedanta and in the work of Augustine of Hippo, also known as St. Augustine, just to name a few.

Einstein and relativity

The early modern physicist Isaac Newton had presumed an unperceived yet real flow of time. To Newton, time is a dynamic physical phenomenon that exists in the background, a regular, ticking universe-clock in terms of which one can objectively describe all motions and accelerations.

Then, Albert Einstein came along.

In 1905 and 1915, Einstein proposed his special and general theories of relativity, respectively. These theories validated all those long-running suspicions about the very concept of time and change.

Relativity rejects Newton’s notion about time as a universal physical phenomenon.

By Einstein’s era, researchers had shown that the speed of light is a constant, regardless of the velocity of the source. To take this fact seriously, he argued, is to take all object velocities to be relative.

Nothing is ever really at rest or really in motion; it all depends on your “frame of reference.” A frame of reference determines the spatial and temporal coordinates a given observer will assign to objects and events, on the assumption that he or she is at rest relative to everything else.

Someone floating in space sees a spaceship going by to the right. But the universe itself is completely neutral on whether the observer is at rest and the ship is moving to the right, or if the ship is at rest with the observer moving to the left.

This notion affects our understanding of what clocks actually do. Because the speed of light is a constant, two observers moving relative to each other will assign different times to different events.

In a famous example, two equidistant lightning strikes occur simultaneously for an observer at a train station who can see both at once. An observer on the train, moving toward one lightning strike and away from the other, will assign different times to the strikes. This is because one observer is moving away from the light coming from one strike and toward the light coming from the other. The other observer is stationary relative to the lightning strikes, so the respective light from each reaches him at the same time. Neither is right or wrong.

How much time elapses between events, and what time something happens, depends on the observer’s frame of reference. Observers moving relative to each other will, at any given moment, disagree on what events are happening now; events that are happening now according to one observer’s reckoning at any given moment will lie in the future for another observer, and so on.

Under relativity, all times are equally real. Everything that has ever happened or ever will happen is happening now for a hypothetical observer. There are no events that are either merely potential or a mere memory. There is no single, absolute, universal present, and thus there is no flow of time as events supposedly “become” present.

Change just means that the situation is different at different times. At any moment, I remember certain things. At later moments, I remember more. That’s all there is to the passage of time. This doctrine, widely accepted today among both physicists and philosophers, is known as “eternalism”.

This brings us to a pivotal question: If there is no such thing as the passage of time, why does everyone seem to think that there is?

Time as a psychological projection

One common option has been to suggest that the passage of time is an “illusion” – exactly as Einstein famously described it at one point.

Calling the passage of time “illusory” misleadingly suggests that our belief in the passage of time is a result of misperception, as though it were some sort of optical illusion. But I think it’s more accurate to think of this belief as resulting from misconception.

As I propose in my book “A Brief History of the Philosophy of Time,” our sense of the passage of time is an example of psychological projection – a type of cognitive error that involves misconceiving the nature of your own experience.

The classic example is color. A red rose is not really red, per se. Rather, the rose reflects light at a certain wavelength, and a visual experience of this wavelength may give rise to a feeling of redness. My point is that the rose is neither really red nor does it convey the illusion of redness.

The red visual experience is just a matter of how we process objectively true facts about the rose. It’s not a mistake to identify a rose by its redness; the rose enthusiast isn’t making a deep claim about the nature of color itself.

Similarly, my research suggests that the passage of time is neither real nor an illusion: It’s a projection based on how people make sense of the world. I can’t really describe the world without the passage of time any more than I can describe my visual experience of the world without referencing the color of objects.

I can say that my GPS “thinks” I took a wrong turn without really committing myself to my GPS being a conscious, thinking being. My GPS has no mind, and thus no mental map of the world, yet I am not wrong in understanding its output as a valid representation of my location and my destination.

Similarly, even though physics leaves no room for the dynamic passage of time, time is effectively dynamic to me as far as my experience of the world is concerned.

The passage of time is inextricably bound up with how humans represent our own experiences. Our picture of the world is inseparable from the conditions under which we, as perceivers and thinkers, experience and understand the world. Any description of reality we come up with will unavoidably be infused with our perspective. The error lies in confusing our perspective on reality with reality itself.

Adrian Bardon does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. What is time? Rather than something that ‘flows,’ a philosopher suggests time is a psychological projection – https://theconversation.com/what-is-time-rather-than-something-that-flows-a-philosopher-suggests-time-is-a-psychological-projection-266634

Source: The Conversation – USA – By Adam G. Klein, Associate Professor of Communication and Media Studies, Pace University

When the NFL in September 2025 announced that Bad Bunny would headline the next Super Bowl halftime show, it took only hours for the political outrage machine to roar to life.

The Puerto Rican performer, known for mixing pop stardom with outspoken politics, was swiftly recast by conservative influencers as the latest symbol of America’s “woke” decline.

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem joined the critics on conservative commentator Benny Johnson’s podcast.

“Well, they suck, and we’ll win,” she said, speaking of the NFL’s choice. “And they’re so weak, we’ll fix it.”

President Donald Trump called Bad Bunny’s selection “absolutely ridiculous” on the right-wing media outlet Newsmax. And far-right radio host and prominent conspiracy theorist Alex Jones fanned the flames of anti-NFL sentiment online. Hashtags like #BoycottBadBunny spread on the social platform X, where the performer was branded a “demonic Marxist” by right-wing influencers.

Then it was Bad Bunny’s turn. Hosting “Saturday Night Live,” he embraced the controversy, defending his heritage and answering his critics in Spanish before declaring, “If you didn’t understand what I just said, you have four months to learn.”

By the time NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell addressed the backlash, the outrage had already served its purpose. The story had become another front in the culture war between left and right, complete with nationalism, identity politics, media spectacle and performative anger.

As a researcher of propaganda, I’ve spent the past three years tracking these cycles of outrage across social platforms and partisan media, studying how they hijack the national conversation and spill into local politics. My recent book, ““Populism, Propaganda, and Political Extremism,” is guided by a single question: How much of our political outrage is really our own?

Outrage before the event

Culture wars have long shaped American politics, from battles over gun rights to disputes over prayer in schools, book bans and historical monuments.

Sociologist James Davison Hunter coined the term “culture wars” to describe a recurring struggle, not just over social issues but over “the meaning of America.” These battles once arose from spontaneous events that struck a cultural nerve. An American flag is set ablaze, and citizens quickly take sides as the political world responds in kind.

But today that order has reversed. Culture wars now begin in the political sector, where professional partisans introduce them into the public discourse, then watch them take hold. They’re marketed to media audiences as storylines, designed to spark outrage and turn disengaged voters into angry ones.

One clear sign that outrage is being manufactured is when the backlash begins long before the designated “controversial event” even occurs.

In 2022, American audiences were urged by conservative influencers to condemn Pixar’s film “Lightyear” months before it reached theaters. A same-sex kiss turned the film into a vessel for accusations of Hollywood’s “culture agenda.” Driven by partisan efforts, the outrage spread online, mixing with darker elements and eventually culminating in neo-Nazi protests outside Disney World.

This primed outrage appears across the political spectrum.

Last spring, when President Donald Trump announced a military parade in Washington, leading Democrats quickly framed it as an unmistakable show of authoritarianism. By the time the parade arrived months later, it was met with dueling “No Kings” demonstrations across the country.

And when HBO host Bill Maher said in March that he would be dining with Trump, the comedian faced a preemptive backlash, which escalated into vocal criticism from the political left before either of the men raised a fork.

Today, few things are marketed as aggressively as political anger, as seen in the recent firestorm against Bad Bunny. It’s promoted daily through podcasts, hashtags, memes and merchandise.

Increasingly, these fiery narratives originate not in politics but in popular culture, providing an enticing hook for stories about the left’s control over culture or the right’s claims to real America.

In recent months alone, outrage among America’s polarized political bases has flared over a Cracker Barrel logo change, “woke Superman,” Sydney Sweeney’s American Eagle ad and, with Bad Bunny, the NFL’s Super Bowl performer.

Platforms like X and TikTok deliver the next diatribes, amplified by partisan influencers and spread by algorithms. From there, they become national stories, often marked by headlines promising the latest “liberal meltdown” or “MAGA tantrum.”

But manufactured outrage doesn’t stop at the national level. It surfaces in local politics, where these stories play out in protests and town halls.

The local echo

I wanted to understand how these narratives reach communities and how politically active citizens see themselves within this cycle. Over the past year, I interviewed liberal and conservative activists, beginning in my hometown, where opposing protesters have faced off every Saturday for two decades.

Their signs echo the same narratives that dominate national politics: warnings about the left’s “woke agenda” and charges of “Trump fascism.” When asked about the opposition, protesters reached for familiar caricatures. Conservatives often described the left as “radical” and “socialist,” while those on the left saw the right as “cultlike” and “extremist.”

Yet beneath the anger, both sides recognized something larger at play – the sense that outrage itself is being engineered. “The media constantly fan the flames of division for more views,” one protester said. Across the street, his counterpart agreed: “Politics is being pushed into previously nonpolitical areas.”

Both camps pointed to the media as the primary culprit, the force that “causes and benefits from the outrage.” A liberal activist observed, “Media tend to focus on whoever shouts the loudest.” A conservative demonstrator agreed: “I feel like the media promotes extreme idealists. The loudest voice gets the most coverage.”

“It’s been a crazy few years, moving further to the extremes, and tensions are always rising,” one protester reflected. “But I think people are realizing that now.”

Across the divide, protesters understood that they were participants in something larger than their weekly standoffs, a system that converts every political difference into a national spectacle. They saw it, resented it and yet couldn’t escape it.

That brings us back to Bad Bunny. The anger that Americans are encouraged to feel over his selection – or in defense of it – keeps the country locked in its corners. Studies show that as a result of these cycles, Americans on the left and right have developed an exaggerated sense of the other side’s hostility, exactly as some political demagogues intend.

It has created a split screen of the country, literally in the case of Bad Bunny. On Super Bowl night, there will be dueling halftime shows. On one screen, Bad Bunny will perform for approving viewers. On the other, the conservative nonprofit Turning Point USA will host its “All-American Halftime Show” for those intent on tuning Bad Bunny out.

Two screens. Two Americas.

Adam G. Klein does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Bad Bunny is the latest product of political rage — how pop culture became the front line of American politics – https://theconversation.com/bad-bunny-is-the-latest-product-of-political-rage-how-pop-culture-became-the-front-line-of-american-politics-269063