Recently, something unprecedented happened in South Africa. Those who follow international news will recall a recent press conference where KwaZulu-Natal Police Commissioner, Lt Gen. Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi, bypassed internal channels to allege not only procurement irregularities but also political interference and the infiltration of the police service by powerful business and political elites operating through ministerial influence.
His move not only stunned South Africans and thrust the media into the storm but also forced journalists to navigate competing narratives, hidden agendas and the deeper question of how far journalism should go in serving the public interest when powerful actors collide.
Here in Botswana and possibly elsewhere, the real test is whether the media can avoid becoming just a stage prop in someone else’s political drama.
My conviction is that, to remain a tool for open, transparent accountability, journalists must ask tough questions, trace the money and tell the public not just what was said but most importantly, what it means.
Anything less leaves us vulnerable to the very forces of secrecy and impunity that scandals such as Gen Mkhwanazi’s seek, however imperfectly, to expose.
Interestingly, in Botswana, this dilemma is not hypothetical. It echoes a recent episode involving the Gaborone City Council (GCC). Concerned about public health risks, the GCC undertook inspections of supermarkets and restaurants, moving around the city with Btv cameras in tow.
Footage of such inspections aired on the national television, exposing the rot that endangers consumers’ health. Yet in some sections of our society, such proactive transparency sparked criticism.
One newspaper carried a story accusing the GCC of engaging in “governance by spectacle,” arguing that such public exposure risked damaging businesses’ reputations and commercial standing.
In reaction, I argued in an article to the newspaper that public health was not merely a matter for quiet backroom reports but a fundamental right to know. The public has a legitimate interest in knowing which establishments jeopardise their safety.
Thus, in my view, both the GCC saga and Gen Mkhwanazi affair underscore the same critical lesson.
The media’s job is neither to become a passive conduit for official performances nor to be cowed into silence by concerns about offending the powerful or protecting commercial reputations. Instead, its job is to ensure that matters of genuine public interest are reported with accuracy, balance and context.
On the other hand, Gen Mkhwanazi’s decision to go public instead of relying on internal police channels reveals a painful truth. Thus, institutional mechanisms for dealing with corruption and misconduct often fail.
Sometimes, those who speak out internally may face retaliation, transfers or professional ruin. It has happened in Botswana whereby officials suspected of wrongdoing sometimes found themselves quietly reassigned instead of being held accountable while those who probed too deeply were punished.
This is precisely why whistleblowers sometimes leapfrog institutional processes and speak directly to the media or the public. Yet here lies the challenge for Botswana’s media. When high-profile figures air sensational allegations, journalists must not simply amplify the noise. They must dig deeper, examine financial records, trace business interests, verify timelines and interrogate political motives.
Not every dramatic revelation is the truth. Some revelations are strategic leaks that are calculated to settle scores or divert attention. Journalists cannot afford to become part of that script.
It is now a tired cliche that the media in Botswana faces genuine obstacles. The obvious being that newsrooms are small and underfunded. Notwithstanding, investigative journalism demands time, money and legal support that many outlets in Botswana lack.
Access to public records remains patchy despite constitutional guarantees. A culture of deference to authority lingers and the looming threat of defamation suits can cast a long shadow over editorial courage.
Meanwhile, at least for now, government and parastatal advertising exerts subtle economic pressure on independent reporting. One can confidently argue that the Bridget Motsepe saga exposed such vulnerabilities.
Parts of the media in Botswana became entangled in narratives driven as much by political rivalries as by verified facts. Some reporting was premature or incomplete, feeding claims that journalists were serving political factions rather than public interest.
The cost was not merely reputational. It was a blow to public trust. Should a Gen Mkhwanazi-type scandal erupt in Botswana, implicating ministers and powerful business interests, would our media rise to the occasion or be swept along by the currents of political theatre? Mind you, corruption at high levels is not a mere political talking point. It is a profound threat to development, equality and democratic legitimacy. It is unquestionably in the public interest for the media to investigate and expose it.
However, journalists must remember that the truth rarely arrives ready-made at a press conference or in a government inspection convoy. It demands thorough verification, relentless curiosity and the courage to tell inconvenient truths.
Botswana needs a media that does more than broadcast dramatic visuals of rotten meat or political exposés. It needs journalists who look beyond the spectacle, who insist on evidence and who contextualise revelations so that citizens understand not only what is being said but what it means.
A media that, when confronted by whistleblowers bypassing formal channels, knows that while chaos may hold fragments of truth, only rigorous journalism can piece them together.
Consequently, the ultimate test, indeed, is whether Botswana’s media can remain vigilant watchdogs instead of props in someone else’s performance. Anything less leaves citizens vulnerable to secrecy, impunity and a democracy run by spectacle rather than substance.
*Thomas Thos Nkhoma is MISA-Botswana national governing council chairperson
