Layli Long Soldier's "38" is more than a poem; it is a visceral reckoning with historical violence and its enduring legacy, specifically addressing the 1862 US-Dakota War and the subsequent execution of thirty-eight Dakota men. The poem challenges the official narratives that have long obscured or misrepresented Indigenous suffering, compelling readers to confront the brutal realities of colonial expansion and its impact on Dakota people. Through its stark language, fragmented structure, and the deliberate inclusion of official documents, Long Soldier constructs a powerful counter-narrative that reclaims agency and demands remembrance, asserting that the stories of the wronged must be told on their own terms.
The poem's structure immediately signals its critical intent. Long Soldier juxtaposes poetic verses with excerpts from historical records, notably the executive order for the mass execution signed by Abraham Lincoln. This collision of voices is not accidental; it highlights the disjunction between the sterile, bureaucratic language of state power and the raw, human cost of its decisions. The official pronouncements, devoid of empathy, stand in stark contrast to the implied grief and outrage of the Dakota community. For instance, the chillingly precise enumeration of victims in the official order ("thirty-eight savages") is met with Long Soldier's profound humanization of these individuals. The poem doesn't shy away from the brutal act itself but frames it within a larger context of systemic oppression and the ongoing trauma it perpetuates. The repetition of phrases like "It is true" or "I am trying to be a good father" can be read as attempts to process, to rationalize, or perhaps to distance oneself from the unimaginable horror, a psychological defense mechanism against inescapable truth.
Long Soldier's use of language is deliberately spare and impactful. The title itself, "38," is a blunt instrument, forcing the reader to acknowledge the sheer number of lives extinguished. The poem doesn't employ ornate metaphors or elaborate imagery in the traditional sense. Instead, its power lies in its directness and its refusal to sentimentalize. The "blood memory" the poem invokes is not a poetic conceit but a lived reality, a historical trauma passed down through generations. The act of writing the poem becomes an act of testimony, a way to bear witness and to ensure that the stories of those silenced by history are heard. When Long Soldier writes, "I am writing this poem from the heart / of the earth," she grounds her work in the ancestral land and the deep, enduring connection Indigenous peoples have to it, a connection that has been violated by colonial acts. The poem’s strength is its unvarnished honesty, its refusal to offer easy answers or comforting platitudes.
Furthermore, "38" functions as an act of cultural reclamation. By retelling this specific historical event, Long Soldier is not just recounting a past tragedy but actively resisting the historical erasure and marginalization of Indigenous experiences. The poem challenges the victor's narrative, forcing a re-evaluation of American history that acknowledges the violence inherent in its formation. The inclusion of official documents, rather than being mere historical artifacts, becomes material for subversion. Long Soldier takes these instruments of oppression and repurposes them, embedding them within a text that exposes their injustice. This act of poetic intervention asserts the enduring presence and resilience of Dakota culture and people, demonstrating that their stories, their pain, and their strength cannot be permanently silenced. The poem ultimately serves as a powerful reminder of the responsibilities of memory and the vital necessity of confronting uncomfortable truths to foster genuine understanding and reconciliation.