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 dramatise
a shameful condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's
capital to cash a cheque. 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 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 colour are concerned.
Instead of honouring this sacred obligation,
America has given the negro people a bad
cheque 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 cheque - a cheque 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 tranquillising 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 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 tranquillity 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 marvellous 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 realise 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 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 a 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 can not 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 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 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 colour 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 viscious 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, 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 come 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
every molehill of Mississippi. From every
mountainside, let freedom ring.
