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."

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!
