I Have a Dream
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by Martin Luther King, Jr.

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!"