I am happy to join with you
today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom
in the history of our nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came
as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared
in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the
long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later,
the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is
still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of
discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of
poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years
later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and
finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to
dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we've come to our
nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the
magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a
promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a
promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed
the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of
Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory
note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this
sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check
which has come back marked "insufficient funds."
But we refuse to believe that
the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are
insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so,
we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches
of freedom and the security of justice.
We have also come to this hallowed
spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage
in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.
Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise
from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial
justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial
injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a
reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the
nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the
Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating
autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning.
And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be
content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual.
And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is
granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake
the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I
must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the
palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be
guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by
drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our
struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our
creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must
rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy
which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all
white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence
here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our
destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound
to our freedom.
We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make
the pledge that we shall always march ahead.
We cannot turn back.
There are those who are asking
the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can
never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable
horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies,
heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the
highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the
negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never
be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed
of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be
satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York
believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we
will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and
righteousness like a mighty stream."¹
I am not unmindful that some
of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have
come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where
your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution
and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of
creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is
redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South
Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and
ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and
will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the
valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.
And so even though we face the
difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply
rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day
this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We
hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on
the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former
slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day
even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice,
sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of
freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four
little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by
the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream
today!
I have a dream that one day, down in
Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping
with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" --
one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able
to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream
today!
I have a dream that one day
every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low,
the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made
straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall
see it together."2
This is our hope, and this is
the faith that I go back to the South with.
With this faith, we will be
able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we
will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful
symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to
pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for
freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
And this will be the day --
this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new
meaning:
My country 'tis of thee, sweet
land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died,
land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let
freedom ring!
And if America is to be a
great nation, this must become true.
And so let freedom ring from
the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.
Let freedom ring from the
mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the
heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the
snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the
curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that:
Let freedom ring from Stone
Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout
Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every
hill and molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let
freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we
allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet,
from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of
God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and
Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro
spiritual:
Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God
Almighty, we are free at last!3
+VNB133C1.png)
+VNB133C2.png)
+VNB133C3.png)
+VNB133C4.png)
+VNB133C5.png)
