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 quicksands 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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