The quiet return of media capture in Botswana
Thomas Nkhoma | Monday April 6, 2026 06:00
To understand the present moment, one must return to 2001, a defining episode in the country’s media history. The government’s decision to impose an advertising ban on the Botswana Guardian and its sister publication, The Midweek Sun, was not merely an administrative measure. It was, in effect, an economic chokehold. Starved of a critical revenue stream, the two publications were pushed to the brink of collapse. Newsrooms shrank, salaries dwindled, and livelihoods were lost. The message was unmistakable: control the purse strings and you control the press.
Although the courts later ruled in favour of the newspapers, affirming constitutional protections of free expression, the deeper lesson lingered. Media capture does not always announce itself through censorship laws or newsroom raids. Sometimes, it arrives through economic pressure, subtle signals and the strategic use of state resources. That moment in 2001 did not end the story. It set a precedent. It is against this backdrop that recent developments should concern us all. Reports suggesting that the new administration may be seeking to exert influence over private media, coupled with observable shifts within state media through the transfer of key personnel, raise uncomfortable questions. More troubling still is the apparent contradiction that some of those now associated with these moves were once journalists themselves, vocal defenders of press freedom who perhaps better than most understood the dangers of political interference.
There is a certain philosophical tragedy in this transformation. It echoes the cautionary insight of Friedrich Nietzsche, who warned that those who fight monsters must be careful not to become monsters themselves. In the realm of media and power, that warning carries particular weight. The line between critic and controller is not always crossed with fanfare. Sometimes it is stepped over quietly, justified in the language of reform, efficiency or national interest. What we may be witnessing is not an isolated shift but the continuation of a pattern, one in which optimism gives way to expediency. When the new government assumed office in 2024, there was genuine hope that the relationship between the state and media would be recalibrated, perhaps even reset. That hope, however, appears to be fading with each passing day, replaced by a growing sense of déjà vu. The language may have changed, but the instincts feel familiar.
In the last edition, this writer reflected on what was described as the slow capture of state media in the name of reform. At the time, the argument was not that every administrative decision was inherently political but that patterns matter. Today, those patterns are becoming harder to ignore. Changes within the Department of Broadcasting Services are increasingly being read not as neutral bureaucratic adjustments but as part of a quiet purge of those considered politically inconvenient or ideologically unreliable. One does not have to romanticise every transfer to recognise the danger embedded in such a trajectory.
Democracies, as political theorists have long argued, are not only undermined by overt censorship. They are weakened by more subtle forces: fear, anticipatory obedience and the gradual normalisation of self-censorship. This is what Jürgen Habermas would describe as the distortion of the public sphere, where communication is no longer guided by reasoned debate but by the invisible pressures of power and survival. In such an environment, journalists begin to second-guess themselves, anticipate what power might want, and adjust their reporting accordingly long before any directive is issued. Alongside these developments are growing claims of influence-buying, with favourable coverage appearing to find its way into certain sections of the private press. Whether through direct or indirect means, the perception that some outlets are succumbing to subtle forms of control is deeply troubling. It suggests that the challenge is no longer confined to state media but is beginning to seep into the broader media ecosystem.
The moment journalists begin to believe that their professional survival depends on pleasing those in power, the public interest is no longer the primary driver of news. Government cannot reward favourable coverage or punish critical reporting without undermining the very foundation of democratic accountability. The principle is not abstract. It has been tested elsewhere. In Sherrill v. Knight, courts affirmed that access to state institutions cannot be arbitrarily granted or denied. More recently, judicial intervention in the United States reinforced that even powerful governments cannot restrict media access based on editorial choices without violating fundamental freedoms. The lesson is clear: democracy cannot function where access and accountability are conditioned on obedience.
The central question, then, is unavoidable: will Botswana’s media ever extricate itself from this quagmire that first revealed itself so starkly in 2001, or is it becoming entrenched in a more sophisticated form? Yet even beyond economics lies a deeper question of professional identity. What does it mean to be a journalist in a moment such as this? Is it to observe quietly, adapt and survive or to insist, even at a cost, on the core principles of the craft? Press freedom is not a zero-sum game. Its erosion affects all, regardless of editorial line or ownership structure.
The warning signs are not dramatic, but they are unmistakable. They lie in patterns, in perceptions and in the quiet recalibration of relationships between power and the press. History rarely repeats itself in exactly the same form. It evolves, adapts and finds new expressions. But its lessons remain constant. The choice before Botswana is not between confrontation and cooperation. It is between the media that serve the public and those that serve power. Once made, that choice will define not only the future of journalism but the character of the democracy it seeks to inform.
*Thomas T. Nkhoma is the Chairperson of MISA-Botswana
From the 2001 advertising ban that nearly crippled private newspapers to fresh claims of influence over both state and private media, familiar patterns are re-emerging in Botswana’s media landscape. As early optimism for reform fades, deeper questions arise about independence, credibility and the creeping normalisation of control - writes THOMAS T. NKHOMA