I have a dream

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down
in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in
the history of our nation.
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 languished in the corners of
American society and finds himself an exile in his own
land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a
shameful condition.
In a sense we've 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, yes, black
men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the
"unalienable 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, a 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.
And so, we've 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
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 of 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. And 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. And 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 a 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
they have come to realize that 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 the 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 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 our children are stripped of their self-hood
and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites
Only." * We cannot 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. And some of you
have come from areas where your quest -- 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.
And 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 slave
owners will be able to sit down together at the 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
color 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
vicious 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, and 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, and this is the faith that I go 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.
And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all
of God's children will be able to sing with 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.
And 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 snow-capped 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 molehill of
Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, and when we allow 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!