One of my first jobs after college was teaching literature to high school students. I often wondered if I was making any impact, since I seemed to spend as much time managing the classroom as actually teaching.

“Classroom management” — a pedagogical term for maintaining order in the learning environment — was often a struggle in a space full of teenage boys with raging hormones. Any high school teacher can attest that you need to be part-time entertainer, whether stand-up comedian or drama king, to capture their attention. And this was two decades before the distraction of mobile phones.

A teacher’s material rewards are minimal, and the psychic ones can be just as scarce. So why teach? Well, it’s the hope that somewhere down the line, there’s a moment of real impact, even a “eureka” moment.

Like the recent declaration by a former student on Instagram that made me remember something I taught back in the mid 1980s.

That former student, Ricky Carandang, recalled how Henrik Ibsen’s classic play, “An Enemy of the People,” had a profound influence on his political thinking. My immediate thought bubble was, “Hey, I made him and his classmates read that back in high school!” 

Now solidly middle-aged, Ricky is a former Cabinet secretary who handled public communications in the PNoy administration. It was a job where he had to engage on all sorts of political battlefields. Even if just in Ricky’s subconscious, Ibsen’s play and its timeless message could have provided a psychic shield in the toughest moments.

“An Enemy of the People” is about a doctor who became a villain in his community for speaking out about a public health risk that would have ruined a local popular resort. One of the most famous lines from the play — “The strongest man in the world is he who stands most alone.” — has come to apply to anyone daring to go against the tide of public opinion. 

Less famous but just as instructive — and perhaps even more comforting — is a peroration by Ibsen’s Dr. Stockman character: 

“The majority is never right. Never, I tell you! That's one of these lies in society that no free and intelligent man can help rebelling against. Who are the people that make up the biggest proportion of the population -- the intelligent ones or the fools?”

That may have been true in 1882 when the play was written, in the distant land of Ibsen’s Norway. But the idea of a “tyranny of the majority” resonates globally today.

Then, as now, those in the sizable minority are left in despair over where the majority is taking society.

As I write this near the eve of the Philippine midterm elections, many will celebrate the outcomes, while others will feel disillusioned, perhaps once again deeming the country hopeless. It is in times like these that literature offers a saving grace.

If I taught my students anything 40 years ago, it’s that the best stories grant us timeless wisdom. While classic literature may not help anyone win an election, it provides the solace we need to endure loss and navigate the hardships of life. In the end, literature doesn't promise immediate victory, but it helps us find meaning in the struggle and reminds us that the stories we live are part of a much larger narrative. 

They can also put loss in a different perspective. J.R.R. Tolkien, one of the OG authors of fantasy fiction (“The Lord of the Rings,” etc.), made his readers reflect on the idea of “the long defeat” through the wars of Middle-earth. This concept is the understanding that, while victory may seem unlikely, one continues to fight for a just cause anyway. It’s this steadfast faith that gives people the strength to persist, even after a series of defeats. 

It’s also similar to what the idealistic fictional senator said in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” the Frank Capra film, "The only cause worth fighting for is a lost cause.”

Then there’s the satirical line in the poem by Oscar Peñaranda, “O Pilipin, my Pilipin, lab to pyt but no can win…”

These examples embody the spirit of an impossible dream, the existential struggle for what’s right, even against overwhelming odds. 

And who knows? That persistence might one day be rewarded. I remember interviewing investigative journalist Patricia Evangelista, who reported on numerous drug-war deaths and later wrote a best-selling book. She told me that she never believed her reporting could stop the killings — especially when they had widespread public support. 

But she continued to write about the brutality despite various threats. For her, it was crucial to document these events for posterity. She held onto a fervent but quixotic hope that, someday, justice would prevail. Now we know, earlier than many expected, the evidence in her book and other reports may soon be heard in an international court of law.

Often the strongest man is a woman, as Ibsen would probably acknowledge today. 

I reached out to my former student Ricky Carandang to discuss Ibsen’s lessons for our times. 

“That play taught me that the majority opinion is not always correct and that people can often act contrary to their own interest,” he messaged me. “Another lesson: it’s not enough to just be right. You need to convince people. Maybe that’s the more relevant insight.”

That struggle to convince others and win people to your side could last a lifetime. It could be a long defeat. 

But on another level, this former teacher has already experienced a small yet meaningful victory. A student from 40 years ago is still drawing valuable lessons from something he read at 17. It’s enough to sustain a larger, even if never-ending, struggle.