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
languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an
exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a
shameful 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, 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. 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 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 quick sands
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. 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 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. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably
bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
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 selfhood 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.
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.
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 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, 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 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 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 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.
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 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 to 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!"
