I have a Dream

     by Martin Luther King, Jr.Delivered on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington  D.C. on August    28,   1963   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!"