Durch das Internet Archiv bin ich auf etwas gestossen, das selbst 40 Jahre nach seiner Veröffentlichung nichts von seiner Aktualität eingebüsst hat. Leider. Es handelt sich um die Rede Martin Luther Kings, anlässlich des ‚March on Washington‚. Durch das Lesen des Textes, oder das Hören des Soundfiles wird einem klar, dass dieser Traum zum Teil bis zum heutigen Tag ein Traum geblieben ist.
"I have a dream that my four 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." Traurig aber wahr, viele Länder sind heute weit davon entfernt, diesen Traum in die Realität umsetzen zu können.
Nachfolgend der ganze Text der Rede, ebenfalls im web-archiv abrufbar. Diese Rede ist Teil des Gutenberg Projektes, dessen Sinn es ist, weltweit Texte der Öffentlichkeit zugänglich zu machen und für die Nachwelt zu erhalten. Mehr Infos unter www.gutenberg.org.
I have a Dream
by Martin Luther King, Jr.
Delivered on the steps at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington
D.C. on August 28, 1963
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 who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice.
It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity.
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 corners 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 inalienable 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 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 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 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 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 inextricably 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 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 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
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 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, 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 slaveowners will be able
to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a
desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and
oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and
justice.
I have a dream that my four 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 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. 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
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 a 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. 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 every 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!"