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 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 slave owners 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."
~Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
August 28, 1963
