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 slave owners 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!"
* * * * *
"If a man is called to be a street
sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo
painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote
poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts
of heaven and earth will pause and say, here lived a great
street sweeper who did his job well."
