Martin
Luther King, Jr.
I Have a Dream
Martin
Luther King, Jr. (1929–1968) was the most charismatic leader of the civil
rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s until his assassination in 1968 in
Memphis, Tennessee. He led sit-ins and demonstrations throughout the South and
was president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference as well as pastor
of a large congregation in Atlanta. He followed the principles of Gandhi and
Thoreau in all of his public actions and utterances. This speech, delivered in front
of the Lincoln Memorial at a centennial celebration of the Emancipation
Proclamation, moves us as deeply today as it did when it was delivered with
Martin Luther King’s powerful skills of oratory. It points the way to a world
free from the burden of racism.
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 languished 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 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. 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
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 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. 1963 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 out 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.[1]
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 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 the Negro is the victim
of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as
long as our bodies, heavy with 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 jail 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 South Carolina, go back to
Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern
cities, knowing that somehow the 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 the
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 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 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 plains, and the
crooked placed 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 new
meaning
My
country, ‘tis of thee,
Sweet
land of liberty,
Of thee I sing:
Land
where my fathers died,
Land
of the pilgrims’ 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 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!”
Suggestions
for Discussion
1. Discuss Reverend
King’s use of the Bible, the spiritual song, and the Declaration of Independence
in this speech. How is each source dependent upon the other?
2. Why does King stress
pacifism as a means in the struggle for civil rights?
Suggestions
for Writing
1. What do you think has
been the outcome of King’s dream? Write an essay in which you discuss where the
dream has been fulfilled and where it has remained unfulfilled.
[1]
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. actually professes non-violence in the struggle for freedom and equality for blacks in
America.
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