Opinion / Columnist
Even Ian Smith's son never behaved as if the country belonged to his father
09 Sep 2025 at 23:07hrs | Views
Certain truths today should make us wonder whether we deserve to proudly call ourselves independent.
There is a disturbing culture that has crept into our politics - the belief that once a man captures state power, his family automatically inherits the nation.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
Suddenly, his sons and daughters act like princes and princesses, parading privilege as though their bloodline is a qualification for wealth and influence.
Indeed, we have witnessed with our own eyes the way some young men, born into the right household, have turned the countries which their fathers' govern into their playground - lavishing themselves in luxury, strutting in convoys of imported cars, investing in dubious mining deals, and indulging in endless parties while ordinary citizens can barely afford bread.
What makes this all the more shameful is the contrast with a figure from our own colonial past.
Consider Alec Smith, the son of Rhodesia's last Prime Minister, Ian Smith.
If ever there was a man whose child could have indulged in privilege and excess, it was Ian Smith.
And yet Alec Smith never behaved as though Rhodesia belonged to him.
His life, though flawed and troubled, stands as a rebuke to the waywardness we now see in the children of today's rulers.
During the colonial era, Alec's name was never tied to sudden fortunes or scandalous acquisitions.
He never muscled his way into gold mines.
He never had deeds to prime land transferred into his name at the stroke of a pen.
He was never reported to have grabbed entire streets from local authorities for private use.
He did not build mansions that loomed like palaces over a hungry nation.
He did not flood the media with images of new sports cars, imported at a cost greater than a rural school's annual budget.
His life was not the theatre of arrogance and extravagance that we have become so accustomed to today.
If anything, Alec stumbled in more human ways.
As a young man, he fell into alcohol and drugs.
He flunked out of university, was once convicted of possessing cannabis, and struggled to find his footing in life.
But his mistakes were his own.
He never used his father's position to soften the consequences.
He never presented himself as untouchable, insulated from the law by the weight of his surname.
And when he turned to faith, declaring himself born again, he sought reconciliation and humility.
He even aligned himself with those his father considered enemies, befriending Black nationalists and calling for majority rule.
Alec Smith, the son of a colonial ruler, distanced himself from privilege and power, choosing instead a modest path.
That modesty carried through his adult life.
After independence, Alec lived quietly in Zimbabwe, working ordinary jobs - managing a football club, farming with his father, serving as a reserve chaplain in the national army.
He married, raised children, and wrote a book reflecting on his journey.
He was never larger than life, never a scandal splashed across headlines, never a symbol of entitlement.
He lived as a man among men, not as a prince above them.
And this is where the embarrassment lies.
How can it be that the son of a colonial leader, reviled for upholding white minority rule, conducted himself with greater humility and restraint than the sons of men who call themselves liberators?
How is it possible that Alec Smith, son of Ian Smith, lived a more exemplary life than those born into the fruits of independence?
What bitter irony is this?
For today, we see the opposite.
Sons of power throwing parties that could fund entire clinics.
Sons who parade mansions with marble floors and imported chandeliers, while villagers still draw water from rivers.
Sons whose fleets of luxury cars roar through our streets as if to mock those walking barefoot.
Sons who enter the world of business not through merit, but through the open doors of their father's office.
Sons who treat the nation not as a country won through sacrifice, but as a banquet table at which only their family may feast.
This is not liberation.
It is plunder dressed in liberation colours.
And it insults the millions of brave men and women who sacrificed for independence.
Ordinary mothers and fathers raised their voices, risked their lives, and endured war for a future of dignity.
Yet what they see today is dignity mocked by extravagance.
They see their own children leaving school early because of unpaid fees, while the children of power pose with bottles of imported champagne.
They see their own daughters begging for sanitary pads, while lovers of privilege holiday in Italy.
They see their own sons unemployed, while sons of rulers secure mines, farms, and businesses with a single phone call.
Leadership was meant to free the people.
Instead, it has bound them under the arrogance of families.
Independence was meant to break chains.
Instead, it has forged new ones - chains of entitlement that link national resources to the surnames of those in power.
The children of rulers behave not as citizens but as owners, not as equals but as masters.
That is why Alec Smith's life cuts so deeply today.
Not because he was flawless - he was not.
Not because he was heroic - he was not.
But because he, the son of a colonial Prime Minister, never stooped to the shameless excesses we see from the sons of so-called liberators.
His modesty, his restraint, even his ordinariness, are an embarrassment to those who today treat our land as their personal inheritance.
It should never be the case that a colonial ruler's son sets a better example of humility than the children of men who fought for freedom.
Yet here we are.
And that bitter irony should haunt us.
For if even the sons of those in power in Rhodesia knew how to live without flaunting entitlement, what excuse is left for the sons of those in power today?
The tragedy of our independence is not merely economic collapse or political repression.
It is that those who promised to serve the people have instead raised children who mock the people.
It is that liberation's legacy has been reduced to the arrogance of sons who never earned it, yet spend it recklessly.
And it is that the rest of us, who bear the cost of this indulgence, are left to ask the painful question: who really inherited the land - its people, or the children of its rulers?
© Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/
There is a disturbing culture that has crept into our politics - the belief that once a man captures state power, his family automatically inherits the nation.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
Suddenly, his sons and daughters act like princes and princesses, parading privilege as though their bloodline is a qualification for wealth and influence.
Indeed, we have witnessed with our own eyes the way some young men, born into the right household, have turned the countries which their fathers' govern into their playground - lavishing themselves in luxury, strutting in convoys of imported cars, investing in dubious mining deals, and indulging in endless parties while ordinary citizens can barely afford bread.
What makes this all the more shameful is the contrast with a figure from our own colonial past.
Consider Alec Smith, the son of Rhodesia's last Prime Minister, Ian Smith.
If ever there was a man whose child could have indulged in privilege and excess, it was Ian Smith.
And yet Alec Smith never behaved as though Rhodesia belonged to him.
His life, though flawed and troubled, stands as a rebuke to the waywardness we now see in the children of today's rulers.
During the colonial era, Alec's name was never tied to sudden fortunes or scandalous acquisitions.
He never muscled his way into gold mines.
He never had deeds to prime land transferred into his name at the stroke of a pen.
He was never reported to have grabbed entire streets from local authorities for private use.
He did not build mansions that loomed like palaces over a hungry nation.
He did not flood the media with images of new sports cars, imported at a cost greater than a rural school's annual budget.
His life was not the theatre of arrogance and extravagance that we have become so accustomed to today.
If anything, Alec stumbled in more human ways.
As a young man, he fell into alcohol and drugs.
He flunked out of university, was once convicted of possessing cannabis, and struggled to find his footing in life.
But his mistakes were his own.
He never used his father's position to soften the consequences.
He never presented himself as untouchable, insulated from the law by the weight of his surname.
And when he turned to faith, declaring himself born again, he sought reconciliation and humility.
He even aligned himself with those his father considered enemies, befriending Black nationalists and calling for majority rule.
Alec Smith, the son of a colonial ruler, distanced himself from privilege and power, choosing instead a modest path.
That modesty carried through his adult life.
After independence, Alec lived quietly in Zimbabwe, working ordinary jobs - managing a football club, farming with his father, serving as a reserve chaplain in the national army.
He married, raised children, and wrote a book reflecting on his journey.
He was never larger than life, never a scandal splashed across headlines, never a symbol of entitlement.
He lived as a man among men, not as a prince above them.
And this is where the embarrassment lies.
How can it be that the son of a colonial leader, reviled for upholding white minority rule, conducted himself with greater humility and restraint than the sons of men who call themselves liberators?
How is it possible that Alec Smith, son of Ian Smith, lived a more exemplary life than those born into the fruits of independence?
What bitter irony is this?
For today, we see the opposite.
Sons of power throwing parties that could fund entire clinics.
Sons who parade mansions with marble floors and imported chandeliers, while villagers still draw water from rivers.
Sons whose fleets of luxury cars roar through our streets as if to mock those walking barefoot.
Sons who enter the world of business not through merit, but through the open doors of their father's office.
Sons who treat the nation not as a country won through sacrifice, but as a banquet table at which only their family may feast.
This is not liberation.
It is plunder dressed in liberation colours.
And it insults the millions of brave men and women who sacrificed for independence.
Ordinary mothers and fathers raised their voices, risked their lives, and endured war for a future of dignity.
Yet what they see today is dignity mocked by extravagance.
They see their own children leaving school early because of unpaid fees, while the children of power pose with bottles of imported champagne.
They see their own daughters begging for sanitary pads, while lovers of privilege holiday in Italy.
They see their own sons unemployed, while sons of rulers secure mines, farms, and businesses with a single phone call.
Leadership was meant to free the people.
Instead, it has bound them under the arrogance of families.
Independence was meant to break chains.
Instead, it has forged new ones - chains of entitlement that link national resources to the surnames of those in power.
The children of rulers behave not as citizens but as owners, not as equals but as masters.
That is why Alec Smith's life cuts so deeply today.
Not because he was flawless - he was not.
Not because he was heroic - he was not.
But because he, the son of a colonial Prime Minister, never stooped to the shameless excesses we see from the sons of so-called liberators.
His modesty, his restraint, even his ordinariness, are an embarrassment to those who today treat our land as their personal inheritance.
It should never be the case that a colonial ruler's son sets a better example of humility than the children of men who fought for freedom.
Yet here we are.
And that bitter irony should haunt us.
For if even the sons of those in power in Rhodesia knew how to live without flaunting entitlement, what excuse is left for the sons of those in power today?
The tragedy of our independence is not merely economic collapse or political repression.
It is that those who promised to serve the people have instead raised children who mock the people.
It is that liberation's legacy has been reduced to the arrogance of sons who never earned it, yet spend it recklessly.
And it is that the rest of us, who bear the cost of this indulgence, are left to ask the painful question: who really inherited the land - its people, or the children of its rulers?
© Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/
Source - Tendai Ruben Mbofana
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