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Martin
Luther King's
"I Have A
Dream"
[Delivered on the steps at the Lincoln
Memorial in Washington D.C. on August 28,
1963.]
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!"
[Please Note: This document
has not been edited for spelling, grammar, or
usage. It is presented as given in the original
source.]
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