"I Have A Dream"
by Martin Luther King, Jr.,
Delivered on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in
Washington D.C. on August 28, 1963. Source: Martin Luther King, Jr: The
Peaceful Warrior, Pocket Books, NY 1968
Five score years ago, a great
American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand 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 captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact
that the Negro is still 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 languishing in the corners
of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land.
So we have come here today to dramatize an
appalling condition. In a sense we have 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 would be
guaranteed the inalienable 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 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.
So we have 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 rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the
sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of
opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our nation
from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of
brotherhood.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook
the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the
Negro. 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. 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. 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 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 their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.
We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must
make the pledge that we shall 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 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 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.
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 cells. Some of you have come from areas where your 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 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, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of
the moment, 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 slaveowners will be able to sit down together at
a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of
Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and
oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I
have a dream that my four 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 the state of
Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of
interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation
where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with
little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and
brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley
shall be exalted, 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. This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the
South. 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.
This will be the day when all of God's
children will be able to sing with a 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. 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
snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous
peaks 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 every molehill of
Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let 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!"
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