Taking care of a state witness is not an act of indulgence. It is an exercise in discipline, restraint, and truth-seeking under pressure. Those who have never sat across a table from someone who knows too much often underestimate how fragile — and how dangerous — that moment can be.

A state witness does not arrive as a clean slate. He comes carrying fear, loyalty, guilt and calculation all at once. He has friends still in power. He has old debts and old favors. He has a future he is quietly trying to protect. When he speaks, every word is weighed not only against the truth but against who might hear it, who might be angered by it, and who might abandon him once the dust settles.

This is why handling a state witness is a precarious balancing act. Push too hard, too early, and he shuts down. He curls inward, becomes selective, evasive, suddenly forgetful. Coddle too much, and the process turns into theater, half-truths wrapped in comfort, stories told to please rather than to reveal. The line between care and control is thin, and crossing it in either direction risks losing the truth altogether.

Comfort, in this context, is not luxury. It is psychological safety. A witness must feel secure enough to speak honestly, to relive decisions he may regret, to name people he once trusted. But comfort does not mean immunity. It does not mean we accept every claim at face value. Care must always be paired with rigor. Every statement must be tested. Every narrative must be checked against documents, timelines, money trails and other witnesses. Fact must be carefully separated from fiction, memory from motive.

This is especially true in a case as vast and politically entangled as the flood control scandal. These are not small actors. These are networks built over years, even decades. Loyalty runs deep. Silence is rewarded. Speaking out is costly. A state witness knows this better than anyone. That is why some truths come out slowly, reluctantly, sometimes only after long pauses and difficult follow-ups.

Skeptics often ask why we need state witnesses at all. The answer is simple. Systems of corruption are designed to hide themselves. Paper trails are layered. Decisions are laundered through committees. Responsibility is diluted. Without someone from the inside willing, or compelled, to speak, the full picture never emerges.

At the end of the day, the witness must understand one thing clearly. The Ombudsman is no longer playing politics. From the moment he accepted the appointment, the calculation changed. This is no longer about alliances or survival. It is about legacy. And legacy, in public service, is built on truth, however uncomfortable, however delayed, however hard it is to extract.