Delivered on the steps at the
Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C. on August 28, 1963.
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!"
- Martin Luther King
