I'm Still Here

I'm Still Here follows a family struck by political violence, but it finds its center in the life journey of Eunice Paiva. Marcelo Rubens Paiva writes as a son, a participant, and an investigator of an incomplete story. His mother appears far beyond her status as the wife of a disappeared man: she thinks, works, transforms relationships, and grows old.

The book brings together two different experiences of loss: the disappearance of his father, Rubens Paiva, during the dictatorship, and the progression of his mother's Alzheimer's disease. The parallel is literary, not an equivalence between illness and crime. In both cases, however, the narrator faces presences that are no longer available the way they once were.

Autobiographical memory organizes this journey without following a straight line. Childhood recollections coexist with information discovered later and with scenes of his mother's aging. Like a family conversation that begins over lunch and ends in a box of old photographs, each memory opens up another question instead of closing the subject.

To understand the scale of the rupture, we need to know the life that came before it. Rubens and Eunice had five children and a daily routine marked by togetherness, friends, and shared plans. The house was not merely the backdrop for a future national tragedy. It was a concrete place of growth, play, and confidence in the continuity of life.

Rubens had been a federal congressman and had his seat revoked after the 1964 coup. His political work is part of the story, but it does not sum up his entire identity. His son also recovers the affectionate father and the domestic atmosphere, preventing the public figure from replacing the man the children knew at home.

This care changes how we read the violence. Before discussing institutions, we see what was interrupted: conversations, protection, plans, and small habits. In everyday family life, losing someone also means finding an empty chair at dinner or handling alone what used to be shared. The public dimension grows out of these private experiences.

In January 1971, Rubens Paiva was taken from his home by state agents. His arrest led to torture, death, and the concealment of his body. Enforced disappearance did not merely remove a person from family life: it also suppressed essential information and forced his relatives into a search marked by uncertainty and fear.

Eunice and her daughter Eliana were also detained. The repression reached the domestic space and showed that family ties could become grounds for intimidation. For the children, there were no explanations capable of making sense of the events. The adults had to face real dangers while trying to preserve some stability for everyone in the family.

The account helps distinguish political conflict from state violence. Disagreeing with someone does not authorize arbitrary arrest, torture, or disappearance. The clandestineness of these practices only worsened their impact: those who should have accounted for his custody denied having any information. It was like searching for someone across one government office after another and discovering that every counter handed back a contradictory story.