50 years ago, on
a hot and sweltering August day in 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. delivered
one of the most memorable and significant speeches to millions of people
present and watching on televisions all over the world. His call was selfless and peaceful. He wanted to ensure the rights of all
Americans were protected and recognized, regardless of the color of your skin
or social circumstances. His
non-violent, rational approached inspired countless people in all generations
to examine their conscience and sparked a societal change long overdue.
Below is the
transcript from the “I Have a Dream” speech delivered in Washington, DC on
August 28, 1963:
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."¹
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."2
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, 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!3
What was the purpose of the speech and who was the intended
audience? Did the speech accomplish its
purpose? How do you know? Do we still feel the effects of this speech
today?
