by Martin Luther King, Jr.
Listen to the story 
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!"
