We are Still Here
By Isabella Paco

I am brown 

But I am not the right kind of brown 

I am the type of brown that is not involved in the conversation 

 

I am Chamorro 

But they tell me I am not Chamorro enough 

Diluted blood, colonized and colonized 
Asian-appearing but not Asian enough 

American but considered International, 

 

I have spent my life proving I deserve a place in this world 

 

Stars and stripes bear against my chest 

Burden my shoulders as I remind myself I am American 

Grandma says, “You are American, a U.S citizen, show them.” 

But chilling ICE spills upon the streets, separating my brothers and sisters, my anxiety increases 

 

I am not able to speak my ancestors' tongues, but the tongues of my colonizer 

I learn anyways since it is the closest to home I will be  

Spanish, Japanese, English– 

 

My land is covered in camo and rifles 

Locked out of our beaches 

As the bullets reach the shore 

We are sent rapists mistaken for soldiers 

 

International, even if we are leashed to the big man 

Our people enlist as we are left with no options  

Inflating prices, unaffordable homes 

 

Our people are starstruck and patriotic,  

blue, red, and white spilling out of our teeth 

My island is known for kindness, service, and giving 

But called Thieves– Isla La Ladrones 

 

I have crossed the sea to see more than the perspectives of home 

But I am just one in a million trying to be heard, fixing my words to assimilate 

As they tease my food, my accent, my beliefs 

As I’m titled by my land, as they question my origins, my intelligence, and my education 

 

Having to prove that I deserve a place on these grounds 

before I can even get to the table 

The conversation gets louder with every issue of every country, every race 

I find rage in the search for representation and rage in this adamant separation 

I sit here in a city, 

in a school known for its population 

My body sits in lava, and my rage billows on 

As my chest closes 

 
I am ready to prove that we are still here  

We are still here 

As you tell us, we are a waste of money– 

But love our land for its value 

 
We are still here– 

As you call us, Hawaii, Puerto Rico– divide us up and pit us against each other 

To fight for who is more patriotic, so we can better submit 

 

As our names fade from the textbooks 

Known for our camo land or our island paradise 

Known for the trench you desire to dig  

 

Stolen and promised independence  

As you take, and you take, more from us 

 

We are still here 

When you remind us that we are not indigenous enough, not American enough 

 

We are still here  

With our people on the front lines, yet no rights to vote for who leads us 

 

We are not enough for you 

I write this in my colonizer's tongue 

Not because I do not know the language of my ancestors, or because I hold “diluted blood,” 

But, for you to understand  

Nosotras todavía estamos aquí. We are still here. We will not be silenced.