Tinc un somni (I have a dream)

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."

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!