Rhodesia: The Defiance of Sir Humphrey

British governors have always lived in isolated splendor. In Salisbury last week, Governor Sir Humphrey Gibbs had plenty of isolation, but it was not altogether splendid. On orders of Prime Minister Ian Smith, all phone lines to Sir Humphrey's official residence were cut. Then, in rapid succession, his armed police guard was withdrawn, his blue-tarbooshed honor guards tossed their bedrolls into a police truck and were driven away, and his butlers, gardeners, cooks and maids disappeared. His chauffeur even drove off with his official Rolls-Royce.

"What governor?" jeered Ian Smith at protests on Gibbs's behalf. Indeed, hardly had Smith seized independence for his white supremacist regime than he had taken it upon himself to fire Sir Humphrey, naming his own Deputy Premier as the Queen's new "official representative." Trouble was, Gibbs refused to be fired, and nothing Smith could do would budge him. "Her Majesty has asked me to continue in office," Sir Humphrey announced, "and I therefore remain your lawful Governor."

Public Flogging. His outspoken defiance turned Sir Humphrey, 63, a gaunt and rangy Englishman who settled in Rhodesia 37 years ago, into the foremost symbol of opposition to the Smith regime. Staying with him in Government House was Rhodesia's Chief Justice Sir Hugh Beadle. Outside, more than 3,000 Rhodesians, white and black alike, stood in line last week to sign his guest book.

There were other displays of protest as Rhodesia entered its second week of independence. A few bombs were set off, and mobs of Africans stoned schools, buses and a mail train. In the midlands town of Gwelo, police broke up a protest march by 239 black schoolboys, hauled them all off to be flogged.

In Bulawayo 3,000 Africans marched to work one morning in pajamas, but a threatened general strike fell flat. In general, nothing very much happened that could threaten Smith's hold on the nation. "All's quiet on the home front," he declared happily after a Cabinet meeting last week.

Immature Crops. All was far from quiet in London, where Sir Humphrey had overnight become the toast of the crown. The House of Commons passed an unprecedented motion of "admiration" for his stand, and Queen Elizabeth made him Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order. Even so, it was becoming increasingly plain to Prime Minister Harold Wilson that the sanctions he had imposed on Rhodesia were a long way from bringing Smith to his knees.

Despite the British boycott of tobacco, Rhodesians were still planting it in hopes that by the time their crops mature next April they will be able to find a market. Despite stringent trade and currency restrictions designed to undercut the Rhodesian pound, the new nation's hard currency reserves actually increased by $2,224,000 last week. The settlers might grumble at Smith's austerity taxes, which sent the price of Scotch whisky up to $5.46 a bottle, but the majority of them still supported him —and resented what they considered British treachery at trying to force them to turn over their government to the blacks. "Why are the British like ripe bananas?" goes the latest Salisbury joke. Answer: "Because they are yellow, crooked and ready to turn black."