“I Have a Dream”

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.