Long before Custer died at the Little Bighorn, the myth of the Last Stand already had a strong pull on human emotions, and on the way we like to remember history. The variations are endless — from the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae to Davy Crockett at the Alamo— but they all tell the story of a brave and intractable hero leading his tiny band against a numberless foe. Even though the odds are overwhelming, the hero and his followers fight on nobly to the end and are slaughtered to a man. In defeat the hero of the Last Stand achieves the greatest of victories, since he will be remembered for all time.
― Nathaniel Philbrick, The Last Stand: Custer, Sitting Bull, and the Battle of the Little Big Horn

Last stand is a term we use to describe an individual or group that defends their position or cause in the face of overwhelming odds. In battle, these defensive forces usually lose many members or are completely destroyed, even though they may kill many of their opponents. In other situations, a last stand may not require a sacrifice of life or limb, but it may require a sacrifice of reputation, position, or relationship. To make a last stand is a defining, a watershed moment; it requires one to choose loss, at best, or death, at worst.

So why do it? Though the sacrifice is great, many decide to make a last stand when they realize that the benefits of fighting–physically or otherwise–outweigh the benefits of retreating or surrendering. As historical writer Nathaniel Philbrick explains, “even though the odds are overwhelming, the hero and his followers fight on nobly to the end” in hopes that their sacrifice will be remembered and that their cause will be realized. And though we read about celebrated last stands, I’m sure that we couldn’t begin to count those who’ve unceremoniously made last stands in trenches and rice paddies, in factories and boardrooms, in streets and homes. Authors and directors may not bring their stories to life through books and films, but their sacrifices, too, are notable.

Martin Luther King, Jr. writes that [t]he ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. Perhaps this goes without saying. Still, an awestruck world watches an unshaven Volodymyr Zelensky pledging to stay in-country, standing in the streets of Kyiv announcing that “The fight is here. I need ammunition, not a ride.” As Russian forces attack his nation, we marvel at a leader who matter of factly states that the world most likely won’t see him again. Zelensky leads an exceptional last stand that many of his fellow Ukranians have embraced, vowing to defend their country and to leave a legacy of freedom and courage to their children and generations to come. This is a last stand playing out for us in real time as images of Ukranian citizens assembling Molotov cocktails flood our screens and stories of defiant heroes emerge daily.

Even as I write this, I hardly know what to say. In part, this is because I never imagined that I’d have to witness such a last stand. When nations are at war, their leaders are usually whisked away to safety, in hopes that they might one day safely return and resume their leadership. A leader who refuses to leave is the stuff myths are made of, the fire that ignites the best in us. As the Russian incursion continues, I’ve tried to imagine myself as a Ukranian devoted to preserving my country and my freedom. I’d like to think I’d be willing to make a last stand in the face of these overwhelming odds, that I’d be willing to stay in my city and take up arms. And as I’ve watched Russian citizens take to the streets in protest, I’d like to think I’d be willing to risk arrest (or worse) to make my voice heard. I’d like to think that, even if I faltered at making a last stand, I would at least take a stand for my convictions.

But would I? From the comfort and safety of my American home, I can daydream all I want about the heroic actions I would take, but I’ve never experienced anything remotely like this. Honestly, like many Americans, I’ve often lapsed into complacency, taking my safety and freedom for granted. The closest I’ve come to making a last stand occurred when I once thought I might lose my teaching position because of my convictions. I didn’t. But even if I had, my sacrifice never once involved my safety or freedom. I have no point of personal reference for such a sacrifice, and this is why I can only imagine what I’d do and live vicariously through the stories I read and hear.

And yet, this is something. American novelist William Faulkner writes: I have found that the greatest help in meeting any problem with decency and self-respect and whatever courage is demanded, is to know where you yourself stand. That is, to have in words what you believe and are acting from. When we stand with those who are taking a stand and those who are making a last stand, we might begin to identify what it is that we truly believe and what sacrifices we’d be willing to make. And we can stand with our brothers and sisters in Ukraine and Russia by offering our resources and prayers, by writing the stories of those who continue to demonstrate that they’ve very clear about what they believe and what they’re willing to sacrifice for their beliefs. Ultimately, we can be grateful that we won’t have to make a last stand in order to show our love and solidarity.