My first government job as a working student (second-year law in 1988) was in the public information office of the Office of the Vice President (OVP) under Doy Laurel. Still wet behind the ears, I was placed under the care of Icasiano “Ike” Gutierrez, a great publicist, who taught me most of what I know about media relations.

I started at the bottom, scouring around 30 newspapers daily, clipping items that contained the name of VP Laurel, or those that — in my discretion — might be of interest to him. From there, I worked my way up to ghostwriter (answering his correspondence) and finally to speechwriter in 1991, after which I had to resign to engage in political activity for Tito Doy’s 1992 presidential run.

One important thing I learned from my mentor was to divorce the political from the official. Let me explain: Ike, as official spokesperson for Tito Doy, was the “attack dog,” engaging the VP’s critics in give-no-quarter political debate. Another person, Ricardo Golpeo, as “communications director,” was in charge of publicizing the projects of the OVP: free legal aid, disaster relief, charity works (of which there were many), official trips and receptions for foreign dignitaries, etc.

Ike explained to me that it was necessary to separate the two, that while the Vice President was indubitably a political animal as the second-highest elected official and president of the Nacionalista Party, he was still a public servant. A comingling of the two, therefore, would be highly undesirable as it would taint any statement from the OVP with politics, even those for public (as opposed to partisan) purposes.

This sage policy, however, has been ignored lately. The Presidential Communications Office, according to its official website, is supposed to be the “lead communications arm of the government, and the primary source of the administration’s messages for an informed and empowered citizenry,” but it has been handed over to a bunch of partisan pitbulls, one of which is a middling lawyer who thinks it is her job to abrasively insult the President’s critics and political rivals.

Whatever happened to the PCO’s mission of providing “accurate information… on government initiatives… to key stakeholders,” the communication of “policies, priority programs and projects of the administration through the appropriate media,” and the “management of strategic communications” for a “unified messaging?”

What I see is that the President’s recent rant about “pinabili lang ng suka” applies with the greatest of force to Atty. Claire Castro.

Someone did not get the memo. Job Number One of a Palace communications officer is to get the message across as to what the administration is doing for good governance. In the absence of a Presidential spokesperson, (PCO) officers must be reminded that no matter what they say, they are almost conclusively presumed to be speaking for the Chief Executive.

There is no place in their public pronouncements for their biases and personal interjections. Especially if such ululations run counter to the announced policies of the President. These people are not helping their boss, they are making him look foolish. It may be politically fatal given the President’s lowest ever approval ratings.

That is usually what happens when you appoint people who are ill-suited for the position. Tito Doy used to tell me that if you give someone with a small head a big sumbalilo (hat in Batangas), the first wind that comes will blow it away. The saying that “with great power comes great responsibility” that the Spiderman movie borrowed from the Holy Bible has a corollary: “If you give a small mind great responsibility, he will use it irresponsibly.”

But then, let Atty. Castro have her fun, so we may treat her as a figure of fun for the months to come. Clearly, we could use a little humor now and then, since a lot of things under the present dispensation — the budget, healthcare, flood control projects — remain quite unclear.