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, 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!
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