The I Don't Know Him Strategy Is Ill Advised

 

Who was the culprit? Who among the Dream Team Lawyers advised VP Sara to deny that she knew Ramil Madriaga?

Why ... because he deserved to kneel in a sack of mung beans, (a punishment some parents resort to when their children start defying house rules)

The I Don't Know Him " strategy was ill-advised; for a change, Sara should have admitted she knew Sir Ram since way back when.

Starting the impeachment proceeding with a LIE ... is a masterclass in How To Ruin Your  Name and Your  Own Reputation right away.

It is not merely a blunder ... it's akin to setting fire in your name while simultaneously inviting the whole world to watch.(Hindi mo siya kilala ... pero kilala pala?)

The I Don't Know Him Strategy (also known as Strategic Amnesia Defense) is a legendary tactic ... but it can backfire.

It is a simple, elegant move: when a witness or an associate starts singing too loudly about sensitive topics, you simply look at the camera, tilt your head in adorable confusion, and declare, "I don't know who that is. 

Was he the guy who delivered the snacks? I think I met him at a gala? No, wait, I’ve never seen him in my life."

The confusion is a classic move, and Sara's lawyers should have known that in 2026, it is the political equivalent of trying to hide an elephant in a glass house.

It is a TRAP ... for crying out loud.

Why do politicians deny knowing people like Ramil Madriaga? It’s rare because they actually have amnesia. It’s because the link is the liability. 

If the VP acknowledges, "Yes, he was a loyal aide or associate," then suddenly, every action he took becomes her action. 

The denial is meant to act as a firebreak—if she doesn't know him, she can't be responsible for his "confidential" activities.

But there’s a fatal flaw in this strategy: The Filipino netizen individually is the culprit, being the internet's inquisitive detective agents. 

The moment a politician says, "I don't know him," the Filipino public hears, "Challenge Accepted." 

By denying the connection, the VP didn't kill the rumor; she doused a gallon of gasoline in it enough to cause a firestorm. 

By denying the connection ... she turned the information into a national treasure hunt.  Or was it the Easter Egg Hunt?

-The Denial: "I have no relationship with this man."

-The Public Response: "Oh really? Let’s check the Facebook photos from that 2021 town hall. Let's check the background of that video from the 2022 campaign launch. Let's ask the PSG if they recognize his face."

It is the Streisand Effect on steroids. If she had just said, "Yes, he was part of the team, but he went rogue," the story might have died in a day. 

Instead, by denying a provable connection, she essentially handed the public a magnifying glass and invited them to inspect every frame of her digital existence.

Now, the "feast" has begun. Every photo that surfaces of the two of them together—smiling, shaking hands, attending the same events—doesn't just prove they know each other. 

It proves something much worse: That the Vice President is willing to lie about obvious, verifiable facts to save her skin.

• When you admit a connection: You look like a politician with a messy team.

• When you lie about a connection: You look like a politician with a messy conscience.

The public doesn't care as much about the connection itself as they do about the blatant denial. 

It transforms a "political scandal" into a "character flaw" exhibition. 

Now, every time Sara speaks, the audience isn't listening to the content; they’re playing a game of "Spot the Fib."

It’s a bizarre gamble. Does the OVP really believe that in 2026, with every citizen carrying a high-definition camera and every event captured on someone’s livestream, they can just "wish" a person out of their history?

By trying to scrub Ramil Madriaga from her memory, the VP has only managed to paint a target on her own back. 

She wanted to avoid the "guilt by association," but she ended up with "ruined credibility by denial."

The Moral of the Story: If you’re going to be a politician, have a better filing system for your memories. 

Because in the age of viral receipts, the most dangerous thing you can do isn't to know the wrong person—it's to pretend you don't.

Major Accusations ... Minor Response?

 

I was listening to a song by the Police on the radio this morning, and I was thinking VP Sara can relate to the lyrics if only she listens: "Every move you make ... Every step you take ... I'll be watching you."

In the opening Salvo of the impeachment hearing last week, Madriaga launched a major carpet-to-carpet missile attack, and the only thing we heard from the VP's camp was SILENCE with a capital S?

This is something above and beyond extraordinary, knowing how Sara reacts even to even petty little issues. 

There was minimal resistance, my colleague says it is bizarre that it deserves its own chapter in "How to Lose Friends and Alienate People (But Stay in Power)."

When Ramil Madriaga—a man who has seemingly memorized every ledger, bank account, and "bagman" route in the country—drops a bomb, the standard response would be: "Here are my bank statements," or "That is a malicious lie."

But not this time. The Office of the Vice President has unveiled a revolutionary tactical maneuver: The Academic Shield of Invincibility -a nurturing environment where students are protected from ignorance and empowered to overcome challenge.

Imagine the scene: The House Committee is presenting allegations about confidential funds, missing receipts, and "Señorita" paintings. 

It is a dense, high-stakes investigation into systemic corruption.

The defense’s response? "I was a great law student."

It’s the ultimate "I’m not a criminal, I’m a Dean’s Lister" defense. 

It’s like being accused of robbing a bank and telling the judge, "Your Honor, you cannot convict me; I actually got a high score in 'Introduction to Legal Research' during my freshman year." 

Does a high grade in Civil Procedure make a bank account vanish? 

Does an "Excellent" rating in Criminal Law allow you to ignore a subpoena? 

If being a good law student is the new standard for innocence, then the Philippine Bar Exam pass rate is about to become the most powerful legal immunity in the land.

Leila de Lima, who has spent enough time in the crosshairs of political attacks to know a "distraction" when she sees one, hit the nail on the head. 

She noted the deafening silence on the actual crimes vs. the shouting about the GPA.

• The Accusation: "Where did the millions go?"

• The Response: "Look at how well I analyzed this case study in 2008!"

It is a masterful use of the "Look Over There" technique. 

If you talk about school records long enough, maybe the public will forget that school records don't pay for confidential-fund-funded lifestyle upgrades.

The most satirical part of this entire "Impeachment-as-a-University-Viva" format is that the silence regarding the actual allegations is deafening.

In politics, silence is rarely "neutral." 

When a witness accuses you of being a bagman, and you respond by posting your transcript of records, you aren't clearing your name; you are admitting that the transcript is the only thing you have.

It turns out that if you have the receipts, you show the receipts. 

If you have nothing but a degree, you show the degree. And if you have a degree and a confidential fund scandal, you hope that everyone in the Philippines is as obsessed with your academic performance as you are.

If the OVP’s legal team thinks that a 20-year-old law school record is going to hold up against sworn testimony in an impeachment court, they might want to re-enroll in Evidence 101.

The Filipino people are not looking for a valedictorian; they are looking for an honest official. 

A grade of 1.0 in Torts is impressive, but it doesn't balance a ledger. 

A diploma is a nice piece of paper to hang on the wall, but it’s not an "Anting-Anting" (amulet) that protects you from a House inquiry.

You can study law, you can ace your exams, and you can become the most "excellent" student in the history of your university. 

But at the end of the day, an impeachment hearing isn't a Bar Exam. The professors don't care about your handwriting; they care about the missing zeros in the budget.