E V E N I N G W I L L C O M E : A M O N T H LY J O U R N A L O F P O E T I C S ( I S S U E 2 8 , A P R I L 2 0 1 3 E R A S U R E I S S U E )

CraigSantosPerez
from

APoeticsofContinuousPresenceandErasure

On some maps, [] doesnt exist.

I point to an empty space in the Pacific and say:
I am from []

My home island has been inscribed by many names over the last four centuries :
from the Spanish colonialists : Islas de las Velas Latinas (Island of Lateen Sails)
and Islas
de los Ladrones (Island of the Thieves)
from the Japanese occupation of World War II: Omiya Jima (Great Shrine
Island)
from Americas territorialization beginning in 1898 : Guam.

We have many names. Yet these names erased our native name []

In our Chamoru language, the prefix tai- signals erasure. In eighteenth century
Spanish census records of Guam, the names of my ancestors narrate the past:
Taiguaha (having nothing), Taigualo (without a farm), Tailagua (no net), Tailayag
(no sail), Taimagong (not healed), Taimanglo (no wind), Tainini (no light), Taipati
(no shore), Taisongsong (no village), Tainaan (no name), Taitano (no land), Taitasi
(no sea), Taifino (no language).

The Spanish called it redccion : the subjugation, conversion, and control of the
people through the establishment of missions and the stationing of soldiers. The
erasure of our governing, spiritual, navigational, and naming practices. The
erasure of our traditions, customs, and bloodlines. We have the scars of erasure.

As a result of the 1898 war between Spain and the US, Guam became a territory of
the US. The past century of American colonialism has brought devastating erasure.
The US military, which occupies a third of the islands landmass, erased the
original custodians from their lands. The US wage economy erased subsistence
living. Urbanization and tourism development erased housing practices and family
structures. English-only political and education policies have pushed our native
language to the brink of extinction. In desperation, many Chamorros began
enlisting in the US military; today, Guam has one of the highest enlistment rates
in all the states and territories.

These enlistments, along with the lack of economic opportunities and affordable
land and housing have created several migration routes and a diasporic Chamorro
population that almost equals the Chamorros who have remained on island. The
island is being erased of its native people.

We have left. What do we have left?

from indicates a particular time or place as a starting point

ginen refers to a specific location as the first of two limits
from imagines a cause, an agent, an instrument, a source, or an origin
ginen marks separation, removal, or exclusion
from differentiates borders

When my family migrated to California in 1995, I felt like I was being erased from
[] and it was being erased from my memory. To live as an excerpt, in territorial
erasure.

Poetry became a way for me to stay connected to [] Poetry was the only way for
me to resist being fully erased from [] Poetry was one way that I was able to hold
onto elements of my culture, geography, language, before it was completely erased
by distance.

Erasure is a violent, colonial act. I look in the mirror, at this page, at these
English words, at the scattering of my people. I look across the ocean at the
erasure of Pacific peoples, the erasure of our dignity and humanity.

Through these continuous erasures, we can see traces of resistance. We can feel
the heartbeat of those who refuse to be erased. The echo of an endangered native
language struggling to be heard. We have our voices and our stories.

I write from a continuous space of erasure. And even though poetry is a way for me
to write against erasure, it is painful to write in English because each word
signifies the erasure of my native language.

In 2008, I was a part of a delegation of Chamoru activists who testified about US

colonialism in Guam to the United Nations Special Committee on Decolonization.
My testimony focused on the devastating environmental and cultural impacts of
the US military in the context of US plans to further militarize our island to
support Americas Pacific Pivot. My testimony begins:
 During and immediately after World War Two, brown tree snakes
invaded Guam as stowaways on U.S. naval cargo ships. By 1968,
the snakes colonized the entire island, their population reaching a
density of 13,000 per square mile. As a result, Guams seabirds,
10 of 13 endemic species of forest birds, 2 of 3 native mammals,
and 6 of 10 native species of lizards have all gone extinct.

The U.S. plans to introducethis time intentionallya more

familiar breed of predators to Guam: an estimated 19,000 military
personnel and 20,000 of their dependents, along with numerous
overseas businesses and 20,000 contract workers to support the
military build-up. Add this to the 14,000 military personnel
already on Guam, and thats a combined total of 73,000
outnumbering the entire Chamoru population on Guam, which is
roughly 62,900.

When the first petitioner from Guam took the stand at the United Nations, the
representative from the US decided to walk out of the room.

He refuses to listen to what we have to say.

In my second book of poems, from unincorporated territory [saina], I recast my

UN testimony into five different sections and included each section as a footnote
to a five-part poem titled from tidelands. I then decided to strikethrough the
entire testimony. Even though the testimony is crossed out, it is still readable. To
me, the strikethrough embodies that feeling of not being heard, that feeling of
being erased. Yes, we are a footnote to American history and politics. Yes, no one
is willing to listen to us. Yes, we are crossed out. Despite all this, the testimony
can still be read and we will continue to protest and speak, even if our voices are
forced to emerge from the margins.

~
from Theresa Hak Kyung Chas Dicte:

From another epic another history. From the missing narrative.

From the multitude of narratives. Missing. From the chronicles.
For another telling another recitation.

Many stories are missing because they have been erased. Their telling resists
complete erasure, despite the fact that the telling exists within various kinds of
erasures. My poetry exists as continuous presence against continuous erasure.

In 2010, the original name of our island, Guhan, was officially restored. The name
translates as we have.

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