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!"
