Sometimes you can forget the point of it all.

It’s easy when the horrors have become commonplace to become so beaten down and disheartened by the fight that you can lose sight of why you’re doing it.

The repeated brutality and the relentless sorrows and the never-ending crises can squeeze out and suffocate your imagination, gradually rendering you unable to see a future worth walking into anymore.

And then suddenly, when you least expect it, there it is.

Suddenly, you find those long-dried-up reservoirs of hope bursting open once more.

Caught up in the throes of a stirring, pulsating rhythm that you cannot resist, you find your way back.

For thirteen minutes on a football field in San Francisco, from thousands of miles away, we could see it again.

This America: diverse, creative, joyful, colorful, unified.

This America, where fear is banished, where adversity is overcome, where fierce embraces find each of us, where no one is left outside.

This America, North, Central, and South.

This America, whose story cannot be complete without the Latino community so many wish to erase.

This is it.

This is what we’re fighting like hell for.

This is why giving up isn’t an option.

And this is why centering something other than Love is the only way we lose.

Bad Bunny reminded us that in this war for the nation we’re still renovating, it is not might, or force, or eye-for-an-eye violence that will cause us to prevail; it will be our refusal to become as miserable and hateful as those we oppose.

He, a man faced for months with the undeserved scorn of tens of millions of strangers, the target of the worst poison human beings are capable of, chose not to stand upon the largest platform and fly some bitter, middle finger contempt.

He simply showed his humanity and reminded us of our own.

He refused to allow his enemies to defeat him by becoming them.

Love wins.

Words can easily feel like hollow platitudes, like empty cliches, until they aren’t.

Until they are the truest truth there is in this life.

Until we can feel them in the marrow of our bones.

Until those words towering above a beleaguered multitude that has been starved of Love.

That love is what those grim-faced, joyless exclusionists are afraid of, what they are working so tirelessly to eliminate.

That’s why this was more than just entertainment, more than songs and set pieces, more than pop music and sentiment.

We cannot lose sight of who we are.

Our compassion is what makes us different.

We do wield those open, bleeding hearts they ridicule us for.

We are a people who believe that the open hand is greater than the clenched fist.

Now, I’m not so naive to believe that a 13-minute show is magic: that violent mobs of masked men are going to suddenly disappear from our streets, that the cruel and calloused hearts all around us are going to soften, that the people so addled by racism that they needed an alternative to this celebration of our commonalities are going to be moved to alter their allegiance to a monster.

In fact, witnessing such a bold and beautiful declaration of diverse coexistence will likely make those threatened by such things double down in their attacks, but that doesn’t matter.

But what I do know is that for thirteen minutes, it all became clear again.

For thirteen minutes, we could see the future.

We have had our attentions redirected, our spirits lifted, and our strength returned.

We have been reminded of the place that we might still be if we refuse to stop doing the hard work; if we continue to make sure that everyone has a place here, that everyone finds welcome, that everyone gets a chance to dance.

Over the span of thirteen minutes, Bad Bunny delivered a rich and nuanced love letter to his Puerto Rican roots and to the Latin American culture that shaped both him and our nation.

Over the span of thirteen minutes, he gave his detractors lessons in empathy, diversity, unity, and geography.

He gave the rest of us the eyes to see what we may have forgotten.

He, Love, and America won.