Oh, sure, we have another world war coming, and another great

Hear, O children of tomorrow, the words of Kurt Vonnegut, the prophet who clothed despair in satire and truth in laughter: “Oh, sure, we have another world war coming, and another great depression, but where are the leaders this time?” These words were not the prediction of a seer alone, but the lament of one who lived through fire. Vonnegut, a survivor of the inferno at Dresden during the Second World War, understood better than most that humanity carries within it the seeds of both creation and destruction. He saw that cycles of ruin return like storms, but what frightened him most was not the storm itself, but the absence of captains strong enough to guide the ship.

The origin of his cry is rooted in the ashes of the twentieth century. He belonged to the generation that faced the double thunderclap of the Great Depression and the Second World War. Out of those disasters arose men and women of stature—leaders who, whatever their flaws, bore the burden of entire nations upon their shoulders. Roosevelt guided America through economic collapse and global war; Churchill rallied Britain when all seemed lost; de Gaulle, Stalin, even lesser-known figures of resistance—all became titans because the age demanded titans. Vonnegut, looking upon his own age, asked with bitter irony: if the storms return, where are the titans now?

Consider the ruins of Dresden, where Vonnegut himself was kept as a prisoner of war. Allied bombs turned the city into a furnace, killing tens of thousands in a single night. He emerged from the underground slaughterhouse, saw the devastation, and carried its memory into all his writings. From that moment, he could never trust in the easy optimism of progress. He knew that war and depression might always return, because humanity’s nature had not changed. And yet, he remembered that in his youth, leaders rose to face those terrors. Now, in the modern age, he looked about and saw a void. Leaders had been replaced by managers, visionaries by bureaucrats, courage by calculation.

History provides parallels. In the aftermath of the fall of Rome, the world entered centuries of chaos. Strong emperors had once held the empire together, but when leaders failed, the vacuum invited collapse. Peoples wandered, empires fractured, and what followed was not progress but survival. Vonnegut feared such a vacuum in the modern world—that when crisis next struck, there would be no Roosevelts, no Churchills, only hollow men, unable to inspire, unable to lead, unable to shield humanity from itself.

The deeper meaning of his words is this: leadership is the rarest resource in times of crisis. Weapons can be forged, economies rebuilt, armies raised—but without leaders to direct them, they are dust. Vonnegut does not only lament the wars and depressions that may come; he laments the mediocrity of those in power, who lack the courage, imagination, and sacrifice required when history turns dark. His words are a call to vigilance: to demand more than rhetoric, to seek out true leaders, or else to become them ourselves.

The lesson, therefore, is twofold. First, do not be lulled into the belief that war and depression are impossible relics of the past. They may return, for human folly repeats itself. Second, prepare not only your nations but yourselves for the test of leadership. Do not wait for others to rise when crisis comes. Train your spirit in courage, your mind in wisdom, your heart in compassion. For when Vonnegut asks, “where are the leaders this time?” let the answer not be silence, but a generation ready to stand.

Therefore, O listener, take this wisdom into your life. When the world darkens, do not look outward only for saviors—look inward, and ask if you might be called to lead in your own sphere, whether among nations, communities, or even your family. The age of heroes is never gone; it awaits those who rise to it. For storms will surely come, but if leaders of courage and vision arise, then even in the tempest, humanity may yet find its way.