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 a sign 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

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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