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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 quicksand’s 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! 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,
Martin Luther King, Jr. Main Page