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I HAVE A DREAM
by Martin Luther King, Jr.
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 quick sands 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!"
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