Last week, TikToker Shedrack Omondi Okindo, better known as Hon Mosquito, found himself on the wrong side of the law. His offence? Posting a video defending former security officers accused of forming a rogue movement while dressed in what police termed an “unauthorised uniform.”
According to the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI), Okindo’s message was more than just provocative; it was potentially seditious. Clad in jungle-green fatigues, he publicly expressed support for the controversial “FBI” movement short for Fighting Brutality and Impunity.
But Okindo’s case is far from unique. In recent months, a growing number of digital creators, bloggers, and online activists have faced backlash not just from authorities but from the online public itself.
In the relentless chase for likes, views, and shares, many seem willing to gamble with ethical boundaries, letting the allure of virality outweigh the demands of responsibility.
Earlier last week, another viral clip reignited public outrage. It showed a man walking away from a crying young girl being attacked by ants. He later claimed that his decision not to help was driven by fear, that as a man, his actions could be misinterpreted and even criminalised.
While some sympathised with his concerns, many condemned him for putting self-preservation over compassion.
Others questioned why he recorded the incident instead of intervening.
In a follow-up statement, he stood by his choice, arguing that kindness toward children can sometimes backfire for men in today’s climate.
Just days before, another TikTok controversy unfolded when a female user posted a video featuring high school boys crowding around her, some even touching her waist. She teased them playfully, asking them to pick a “boyfriend” for her among their group.
The backlash was swift. Critics accused her of inappropriate behaviour and exposing minors to sexualised interaction.
In response, she issued a public apology to the students, their school, and parents. “I didn’t mean for it to come across the way it did,” she said.
But many dismissed her apology as damage control, noting her admission that she hadn’t expected the video to go viral.
“I’m here to make a public apology after posting a video with the school boys. I want to apologise to the school and the parents. I didn’t mean to bring out the picture the way it is,” she explained.
Legal experts also stepped in, citing Kenya’s Sexual Offences Act, which makes sexual communication with a child a criminal offence, punishable by up to five years in prison or a Sh500,000 fine.
Musician Bahati was also recently swept into the storm of online moral debates. He posted a video of himself wearing his wife’s clothes, a post that garnered thousands of views.
While some fans found it harmless fun, others saw it as an unnecessary stunt. Nairobi County Chief Environment Officer Geoffrey Mosiria criticised the act, calling it a “clout-chasing” move that ignored the moral responsibility of public figures. “As a public figure, Bahati should consider the message he’s sending,” he said.
The idea of role models in the public eye is itself contested. Musician Akothee, known for her unapologetic lifestyle, has previously reminded critics that parents and not celebrities should be their children’s primary role models. “I am also trying to figure out this life,” she once said.
Even in the religious sphere, online satire has sparked conflict. Prophet David Owuor, a high-profile televangelist with a large following, recently warned against mocking his ministry.
His caution came in response to viral comedy skits imitating him by comedian Jaymohdecin. The skits emerged amid longstanding public debate over the authenticity of Owuor’s miracles and the financial dealings of his Ministry of Repentance and Holiness, which, despite controversy, remains a powerful force in the sector.
From political commentary to comedy skits, these incidents reflect a deeper question: in the age of instant virality, where exactly do we draw the line between self-expression and social responsibility?