When online fame destroys botho, journalism with it
THOMAS NKHOMA | Monday February 16, 2026 09:34
The public apology issued by Tshepo Sethibe, popularly known as Moeladilotlhoko, was necessary but it was also an admission. An admission that a line was crossed. An admission that harm was done. And, most importantly, an admission that ethics matter, even to those who loudly claim they do not.For days, the public was treated to a crude and embarrassing spectacle as Moeladilotlhoko and Omphile Siphiwe Boikanyo, known as Motaso, traded insults during a live Facebook broadcast. What played out was not journalism, not truth-telling and certainly not accountability. It was rage-streamed in real time, packaged as authenticity and consumed as entertainment. Families were dragged in. Women were demeaned. Decency was abandoned.
Both men are Batswana. That should matter more than it apparently does. Ours is a society built on botho - on restraint, respect and accountability. In any traditional setting, behaviour of this nature would have triggered an immediate intervention and a blunt question: Batho ba batsadi ba bone ba kae? Where are the elders? Where is the shame that once kept excess in check?
There is no denying that the rise of citizen journalism has brought undeniable benefits. It has widened participation and challenged silence. However, somewhere along the way, a dangerous myth has taken hold: that being a citizen journalist means being answerable to no one. That ethics are optional. That insults equal courage.
That volume equals truth. This myth is poisoning public discourse.
Moeladilotlhoko has repeatedly argued that journalistic ethics are tools used to gag truth and protect lies. It is an argument that collapses under even minimal scrutiny. Ethics were never designed to protect journalists or the powerful. They exist to protect the public. They exist because unrestrained speech does damage. They exist because credibility is fragile.
The apology proves this point better than any lecture could. People do not apologise for ethical irrelevance. They apologise when they know they have violated a standard that society recognises. The moment regret is expressed, ethics have already won the argument.
Journalism - whether practised from a newsroom desk or a smartphone - is not activism fuelled by emotion. It is a public trust. That trust is borrowed, not owned. And it can be withdrawn. When audiences begin to associate a voice with insults, vulgarity and personal vendettas, credibility evaporates. Once that happens, no amount of followers, views or live streams can rescue it.
This is the danger facing citizen journalists today, and it is largely self-inflicted. Not censorship. Not persecution. Not shadowy conspiracies. The real threat is reputational collapse. Social media rewards outrage and speed, but it punishes recklessness in the long run. Virality fades quickly. Disgrace lingers.
When public figures normalise humiliation and reckless accusations, they send a clear message to their followers that disrespect is acceptable. That shouting is power. That dignity is weakness. This is how public discourse decays, not through silence but through noise.
Disagreement is not the problem. Journalism depends on disagreement. However, there is a difference between challenging ideas and destroying people. In Setswana culture, disputes are resolved through dialogue and mediation, not public shouting matches and character assassination. Turning conflict into content may attract clicks, but it also corrodes trust.
The Motaso - Moeladilotlhoko episode should serve as a warning, not entertainment. Ethics are not decorative accessories to be worn when convenient.
They are the foundation of journalism. Once they collapse, journalism becomes indistinguishable from gossip, abuse and spectacle.
This is not about picking sides. It is about standards. Popularity does not place anyone above basic conduct.
Influence does not excuse recklessness. If anything, it demands more restraint, not less. Ethics do not exist to protect journalists from the public. They exist to protect the public from journalists.
They remind communicators that the people they speak about have families, dignity and standing in the community. They draw a line between truth-seeking and harm.
Botswana’s media space was not built through insults and live-streamed tantrums. It was built through struggle, discipline and hard-earned credibility. To trade that legacy for fleeting online relevance is not bravery. It is vandalism.
The apology was necessary. However, it should also be instructive. It reminds us that once public trust is lost, there is no easy path back. It should not close the conversation. It should sharpen it. Because once public trust is lost, there is no platform big enough, loud enough or popular enough to bring it back.
*Thomas Thos Nkhoma is MISA-Botswana Chairperson