Tomorrow

By DAVID VAN BIEMA

One of the satisfactions of American democracy is that after each election, we can imagine a little map on which dozens of tiny dotted lines converge northeast of Virginia, as dozens of Mr. Smiths from all over make their way to Washington. It is gratifying to think of those Smiths; they represent civic responsibility successfully discharged. For one alarming, if heady, moment, the weight of a nation rests directly on our shoulders; then suddenly it is on theirs, and we are proud and relieved to announce our latest set of leaders.

Not this last time, however. Or perhaps only in the strictest sense. Because, in truth, Election 1994 was not about sending leaders to Washington; it was about sending a message to Washington regarding how bad we thought our leaders were. It followed a campaign in which a picture of someone alongside Washington's Capitol dome was tantamount to a smear and in which all but the most atavistic incumbents abstained from leaderly chest beating for fear it might mark them as "insiders." If we could have sent no one to Congress, we would have. Those whom we did send, needless to say, were the proponents of "small government" -- that is, people promising to deliver us from leadership, which is an ideal under by now prolonged siege.

Dante, observed the poet Richard Wilbur, wrote "from the center of a diamond." What Wilbur meant was that Dante's society was aligned in such a way that the sound and sense of his verses could emanate clearly throughout the Italian-speaking world, effectively defining a culture. American leadership enjoyed its own Diamond Age during the decades following World War II. Whatever was performed by the men at the gem's center, which was Washington, was amplified clearly around the country, redefining it. For those ambitious to lead (and those just keeping score), the paths to the center were crystal clear: the two main political parties, the military or Big Business. After the 1950s, one could add the major civil-rights groups. John F. Kennedy's rise through the Navy to Congress to the Senate was typical enough. Nobody needed a road map to find him.

That explains why TIME's first list of young leaders did not appear in the '40s, '50s or '60s but in 1974. By then cracks had marred the diamond's surface. "Don't follow leaders, watch the parking meters," Bob Dylan sang in 1965, coincidentally staking out his own rogue claim to leadership. QUESTION AUTHORITY, added an unknown sloganeer. Vietnam and Watergate further confused and corroded. Nixon was a month from resigning. America, TIME suggested in 1974, seemed plagued by "a sense of unease, not only of giants having departed but also of mere competence being all too scarce." When the magazine repeated the exercise in 1979 during Jimmy Carter's third year (Presidents in trouble seem to inspire us), the trend had accelerated. "It sometimes appears that Americans in the '70s have developed almost a psychological aversion to leading and to being led," TIME wrote. How much worse could it get?

Little did we know. Citizens today may be forgiven for thinking that the diamond has splintered altogether, replaced by a thousand cheap disco balls, spinning, oblivious to one another, in the gathering gloom. Multiculturalism, in its separatist aspect, bears some blame: if America's constituent groups no longer acknowledge the primacy of the whole, then they are unlikely to extend allegiance to the whole's leaders. Then there ismulticulturalism's Washington twin, special-interest politics: it is impossible to articulate a coherent vision when each new idea instantly generates a spate of negative advertising by lobbyists or pressure groups, burrowing with the single-minded intensity of corn borers.

The result is a society in which the only way to lead, it seems, is to pose as an antileader, a society in which term limits outpoll wisdom or service. To take the helm today is to invite invective, nor does it look as though the trend will reverse itself anytime soon. It seems worth asking once more whether the nation has any leaders left, especially young ones, with promise and enthusiasm.

After screening hundreds of candidates, time has picked 50 men and women, age 40 and under, who we think will make a difference. The search employed the magazine's 1979 standard of "civic and social impact," which allows for the inclusion not only of political comers such as Evan Bayh, 38, Governor of Indiana, and Election '94 victor Susan Molinari, 36, but also business visionaries like Bill Gates, 39, and influential academics like Jeffrey Sachs, who, at 40, retools the wealth of nations. Athletes and entertainers went unlisted unless, like Oprah Winfrey or trumpeter Wynton Marsalis, their genius extended to activism, evangelism or entrepreneurism. The cutoff age of 40 represents an attempt to balance accomplishment with future promise.

It should be stressed that this selection, as always, is intended to be representative rather than inclusive: there are lots more where they came from. As to where they do come from, it is worth noting that the selection process has yielded an unusually large representation of local activists. In 1979 columnist David Broder suggested to TIME that compelling leaders may be scarce because the nation is "between clarifying ideas." Nationally that may still hold true. But there can be no doubt that below the national level, there are at least as many clarifying ideas as there are battling subcultures. Put more cheerfully: the more pieces of the pie there are, the greater the opportunity for people to distinguish themselves serving it up.

In fact, some of the most forbidding or inaccessible "locales" -- those whose problems national leaders have addressed unsuccessfully or only tentatively -- have produced some of the strongest local leaders. An unusually high number of nominees sprang from the country's most notoriously barren ground: they are rehabilitating parts of Los Angeles ravaged by the 1992 riots. It was the urban sprawl of a neighborhood so exotic that it cannot be found on any map that inspired Marc Andreessen to produce an ingenious cybernetic street finder for the Internet.

No one can predict whether any of these local leaders will eventually ascend to the national stage or whether that kind of leadership -- on the grand scale ! -- has become impossible. One can only cite the hopeful example of Regina Benjamin, a rural physician whose rather modest original goal was to help solve the local doctor shortage in poverty-stricken Bayou La Batre, Alabama. Practicing there for a while convinced her of the need to know something about business. While earning her M.B.A. at Tulane University, she unearthed an obscure federal rule that would provide government money to qualified rural health clinics. Suddenly, in addition to her medical chores in Bayou La Batre, she was performing a wider-ranging function as an adviser to other small, medically underserved towns looking to open facilities. This, in turn, led her to a seat on the Alabama Medical Association's governing board and the state public-health and medical examiners' boards. She presents this progression toward ever greater responsibility and authority matter-of-factly, as if it were inevitable. Which, perhaps, it is.

As surely as there are forces organic to today's America that stifle leadership, there are forces within some Americans that cause them to lead nonetheless. Ambition plays a role, as does a desire to do good, but doggedness is essential, as is a sort of questing curiosity. Some local heroes will remain local, which is as it should be. For others, solving one problem will inevitably lead to another and another: until, eventually, the new leaders will be ministering not to a neighborhood but to a nation, perhaps to the world. Assuming that we will let them.