Special Prayer Surge NOW! on 50th Anniversary of Dr. King's
"I HAVE A DREAM" Speech in Washington DC, 8/28/1963
Wednesday Morning, August. 28, 9:30-10:30AM Eastern
Interceding for America's Destiny of Justice & Liberty for ALL
Guest Speakers: Pastor Arthur Hunt and Pastor Rickie Bradshaw
Conf Call Number and Access Code: 712-432-0075 and 6149782#
Special Prayer Surge NOW! 8/28
On the Occasion of the 50th Anniversary of
Dr. King's I HAVE A DREAM Speech
Interceding for America's Destiny of Justice & Liberty of All
Wednesday, August 28
9:30-10:30AM EDT/6:30-7:30AM PDT
With Guest Speakers (photos attached):
Pastor Arthur Hunt, Dumas, Arkansas
Pastor Rickie Bradshaw, Houston, Texas
"I Have a Dream"
By the Rev. Martin Luther King
Washington DC, August 28, 1963
AP
The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. waves
to the crowd at the Lincoln Memorial for his "I Have a Dream" speech
during the March on Washington. 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 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
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, and 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!
