African American Studies - Malcolm X Speech - Time Sensitive

(1963) MARTIN LUTHER KING JR., “I HAVE A DREAM”

J A N U A R Y 2 9 , 2 0 0 7 /   C O N T R I B U T E D B Y: B L A C K PA S T

Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” speech given on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in

Washington, D.C. at the March on Washington on August 28, 1963, remains his most memorable

oration. The entire speech appears below.

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, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light

of hope to millions of Negro slaves had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a

joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.

Martin Luther King, Jr., delivering "I have a dream" speech, March on Washington, August 28, 1963

Courtesy U.S. Library of Congress (2013645765)

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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 comers 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. 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 try 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 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 their freedom is inextricable 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 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 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 modern 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

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 desert state sweltering in 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 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 work 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 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 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!”

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S U B J E C T S : Af rican American History, , Speeches

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T E R M S : 20th Century (1900-1999), , Gender - Men, , Speech Time Frame: 1951-2000, , United States- Washington D.C

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Julian F. Abele (1881-1950)

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Margaret Walker (1915-1998)

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CITE THIS ARTICLE IN APA FORMAT:

BlackPast, B. (2007, January 29) (1963) Martin Luther King Jr., “I Have a Dream”. Retrieved f rom

https://www.blackpast.org/af rican-american-history/speeches-af rican-american-history/1963-martin-luther-king-jr-

i-have-dream/

SOURCE OF THE AUTHOR'S INFORMATION:

William Sa�re, ed., Lend Me Your Ears: Great Speeches in History (W. W. Norton & Company: New York, 1992).

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