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,
and 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!
