Below
is the full text of the speech.
Thank
you very kindly, my friends. As I listened to
Ralph Abernathy in his eloquent and generous
introduction and then thought about myself, I
wondered who he was talking about. It's always
good to have your closest friend and associate
say something good about you. And Ralph is the
best friend that I have in the world.
I'm
delighted to see each of you here tonight in
spite of a storm warning. You reveal that you
are determined to go on anyhow. Something is
happening in Memphis, something is happening
in our world.
As
you know, if I were standing at the beginning
of time, with the possibility of general and
panoramic view of the whole human history up
to now, and the Almighty said to me, "Martin
Luther King, which age would you like to live
in?" — I would take my mental flight by Egypt
through, or rather across the Red Sea, through
the wilderness on toward the promised land.
And in spite of its magnificence, I wouldn't
stop there. I would move on by Greece, and
take my mind to Mount Olympus. And I would see
Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, Euripides and
Aristophanes assembled around the Parthenon as
they discussed the great and eternal issues of
reality.
But
I wouldn't stop there. I would go on, even to
the great heyday of the Roman Empire. And I
would see developments around there, through
various emperors and leaders. But I wouldn't
stop there. I would even come up to the day of
the Renaissance, and get a quick picture of
all that the Renaissance did for the cultural
and esthetic life of man. But I wouldn't stop
there. I would even go by the way that the man
for whom I'm named had his habitat. And I
would watch Martin Luther as he tacked his
ninety-five theses on the door at the church
in Wittenberg.
But
I wouldn't stop there. I would come on up even
to 1863, and watch a vacillating president by
the name of Abraham Lincoln finally come to
the conclusion that he had to sign the
Emancipation Proclamation. But I wouldn't stop
there. I would even come up to the early
thirties, and see a man grappling with the
problems of the bankruptcy of his nation. And
come with an eloquent cry that we have nothing
to fear but fear itself.
But
I wouldn't stop there. Strangely enough, I
would turn to the Almighty, and say, "If you
allow me to live just a few years in the
second half of the twentieth century, I will
be happy." Now that's a strange statement to
make, because the world is all messed up. The
nation is sick. Trouble is in the land.
Confusion all around. That's a strange
statement. But I know, somehow, that only when
it is dark enough, can you see the stars. And
I see God working in this period of the
twentieth century in a away that men, in some
strange way, are responding — something is
happening in our world. The masses of people
are rising up. And wherever they are assembled
today, whether they are in Johannesburg, South
Africa; Nairobi, Kenya; Accra, Ghana; New York
City; Atlanta, Georgia; Jackson, Mississippi;
or Memphis, Tennessee — the cry is always the
same — "We want to be free."
And
another reason that I'm happy to live in this
period is that we have been forced to a point
where we're going to have to grapple with the
problems that men have been trying to grapple
with through history, but the demand didn't
force them to do it. Survival demands that we
grapple with them. Men, for years now, have
been talking about war and peace. But now, no
longer can they just talk about it. It is no
longer a choice between violence and
nonviolence in this world; it's nonviolence or
nonexistence.
That
is where we are today. And also in the human
rights revolution, if something isn't done,
and in a hurry, to bring the colored peoples
of the world out of their long years of
poverty, their long years of hurt and neglect,
the whole world is doomed. Now, I'm just happy
that God has allowed me to live in this
period, to see what is unfolding. And I'm
happy that He's allowed me to be in Memphis.
I
can remember, I can remember when Negroes were
just going around as Ralph has said, so often,
scratching where they didn't itch, and
laughing when they were not tickled. But that
day is all over. We mean business now, and we
are determined to gain our rightful place in
God's world.
And
that's all this whole thing is about. We
aren't engaged in any negative protest and in
any negative arguments with anybody. We are
saying that we are determined to be men. We
are determined to be people. We are saying
that we are God's children. And that we don't
have to live like we are forced to live.
Now,
what does all of this mean in this great
period of history? It means that we've got to
stay together. We've got to stay together and
maintain unity. You know, whenever Pharaoh
wanted to prolong the period of slavery in
Egypt, he had a favorite, favorite formula for
doing it. What was that? He kept the salves
fighting among themselves. But whenever the
slaves get together, something happens in
Pharaoh's court, and he cannot hold the slaves
in slavery. When the slaves get together,
that's the beginning of getting out of
slavery. Now let us maintain unity.
Secondly,
let us keep the issues where they are. The
issue is injustice. The issue is the refusal
of Memphis to be fair and honest in its
dealings with its public servants, who happen
to be sanitation workers. Now, we've got to
keep attention on that. That's always the
problem with a little violence. You know what
happened the other day, and the press dealt
only with the window-breaking. I read the
articles. They very seldom got around to
mentioning the fact that one thousand, three
hundred sanitation workers were on strike, and
that Memphis is not being fair to them, and
that Mayor Loeb is in dire need of a doctor.
They didn't get around to that.
Now
we're going to march again, and we've got to
march again, in order to put the issue where
it is supposed to be. And force everybody to
see that there are thirteen hundred of God's
children here suffering, sometimes going
hungry, going through dark and dreary nights
wondering how this thing is going to come out.
That's the issue. And we've got to say to the
nation: we know it's coming out. For when
people get caught up with that which is right
and they are willing to sacrifice for it,
there is no stopping point short of victory.
We
aren't going to let any mace stop us. We are
masters in our nonviolent movement in
disarming police forces; they don't know what
to do, I've seen them so often. I remember in
Birmingham, Alabama, when we were in that
majestic struggle there we would move out of
the 16th Street Baptist Church day after day;
by the hundreds we would move out. And Bull
Connor would tell them to send the dogs forth
and they did come; but we just went before the
dogs singing, "Ain't gonna let nobody turn me
round." Bull Connor next would say, "Turn the
fire hoses on." And as I said to you the other
night, Bull Connor didn't know history. He
knew a kind of physics that somehow didn't
relate to the transphysics that we knew about.
And that was the fact that there was a certain
kind of fire that no water could put out. And
we went before the fire hoses; we had known
water. If we were Baptist or some other
denomination, we had been immersed. If we were
Methodist, and some others, we had been
sprinkled, but we knew water.
That
couldn't stop us. And we just went on before
the dogs and we would look at them; and we'd
go on before the water hoses and we would look
at it, and we'd just go on singing "Over my
head I see freedom in the air." And then we
would be thrown in the paddy wagons, and
sometimes we were stacked in there like
sardines in a can. And they would throw us in,
and old Bull would say, "Take them off," and
they did; and we would just go in the paddy
wagon singing, "We Shall Overcome." And every
now and then we'd get in the jail, and we'd
see the jailers looking through the windows
being moved by our prayers, and being moved by
our words and our songs. And there was a power
there which Bull Connor couldn't adjust to;
and so we ended up transforming Bull into a
steer, and we won our struggle in Birmingham.
Now
we've got to go on to Memphis just like that.
I call upon you to be with us Monday. Now
about injunctions: We have an injunction and
we're going into court tomorrow morning to
fight this illegal, unconstitutional
injunction. All we say to America is, "Be true
to what you said on paper." If I lived in
China or even Russia, or any totalitarian
country, maybe I could understand the denial
of certain basic First Amendment privileges,
because they hadn't committed themselves to
that over there. But somewhere I read of the
freedom of assembly. Somewhere I read of the
freedom of speech. Somewhere I read of the
freedom of the press. Somewhere I read that
the greatness of America is the right to
protest for right. And so just as I say, we
aren't going to let any injunction turn us
around. We are going on.
We
need all of you. And you know what's beautiful
to me, is to see all of these ministers of the
Gospel. It's a marvelous picture. Who is it
that is supposed to articulate the longings
and aspirations of the people more than the
preacher? Somehow the preacher must be an
Amos, and say, "Let justice roll down like
waters and righteousness like a mighty
stream." Somehow, the preacher must say with
Jesus, "The spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he hath anointed me to deal with the
problems of the poor."
And
I want to commend the preachers, under the
leadership of these noble men: James Lawson,
one who has been in this struggle for many
years; he's been to jail for struggling; but
he's still going on, fighting for the rights
of his people. Rev. Ralph Jackson, Billy
Kiles; I could just go right on down the list,
but time will not permit. But I want to thank
them all. And I want you to thank them,
because so often, preachers aren't concerned
about anything but themselves. And I'm always
happy to see a relevant ministry.
It's
all right to talk about "long white robes over
yonder," in all of its symbolism. But
ultimately people want some suits and dresses
and shoes to wear down here. It's all right to
talk about "streets flowing with milk and
honey," but God has commanded us to be
concerned about the slums down here, and his
children who can't eat three square meals a
day. It's all right to talk about the new
Jerusalem, but one day, God's preachers must
talk about the New York, the new Atlanta, the
new Philadelphia, the new Los Angeles, the new
Memphis, Tennessee. This is what we have to
do.
Now
the other thing we'll have to do is this:
Always anchor our external direct action with
the power of economic withdrawal. Now, we are
poor people, individually, we are poor when
you compare us with white society in America.
We are poor. Never stop and forget that
collectively, that means all of us together,
collectively we are richer than all the
nations in the world, with the exception of
nine. Did you ever think about that? After you
leave the United States, Soviet Russia, Great
Britain, West Germany, France, and I could
name the others, the Negro collectively is
richer than most nations of the world. We have
an annual income of more than thirty billion
dollars a year, which is more than all of the
exports of the United States, and more than
the national budget of Canada. Did you know
that? That's power right there, if we know how
to pool it.
We
don't have to argue with anybody. We don't
have to curse and go around acting bad with
our words. We don't need any bricks and
bottles, we don't need any Molotov cocktails,
we just need to go around to these stores, and
to these massive industries in our country,
and say, "God sent us by here, to say to you
that you're not treating his children right.
And we've come by here to ask you to make the
first item on your agenda fair treatment,
where God's children are concerned. Now, if
you are not prepared to do that, we do have an
agenda that we must follow. And our agenda
calls for withdrawing economic support from
you."
And
so, as a result of this, we are asking you
tonight, to go out and tell your neighbors not
to buy Coca-Cola in Memphis. Go by and tell
them not to buy Sealtest milk. Tell them not
to buy — what is the other bread? — Wonder
Bread. And what is the other bread company,
Jesse? Tell them not to buy Hart's bread. As
Jesse Jackson has said, up to now, only the
garbage men have been feeling pain; now we
must kind of redistribute the pain. We are
choosing these companies because they haven't
been fair in their hiring policies; and we are
choosing them because they can begin the
process of saying, they are going to support
the needs and the rights of these men who are
on strike. And then they can move on downtown
and tell Mayor Loeb to do what is right.
But
not only that, we've got to strengthen black
institutions. I call upon you to take your
money out of the banks downtown and deposit
your money in Tri-State Bank — we want a
"bank-in" movement in Memphis. So go by the
savings and loan association. I'm not asking
you something we don't do ourselves at SCLC.
Judge Hooks and others will tell you that we
have an account here in the savings and loan
association from the Southern Christian
Leadership Conference. We're just telling you
to follow what we're doing. Put your money
there. You have six or seven black insurance
companies in Memphis. Take out your insurance
there. We want to have an "insurance-in."
Now
these are some practical things we can do. We
begin the process of building a greater
economic base. And at the same time, we are
putting pressure where it really hurts. I ask
you to follow through here.
Now,
let me say as I move to my conclusion that
we've got to give ourselves to this struggle
until the end. Nothing would be more tragic
than to stop at this point, in Memphis. We've
got to see it through. And when we have our
march, you need to be there. Be concerned
about your brother. You may not be on strike.
But either we go up together, or we go down
together.
Let
us develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness.
One day a man came to Jesus; and he wanted to
raise some questions about some vital matters
in life. At points, he wanted to trick Jesus,
and show him that he knew a little more than
Jesus knew, and through this, throw him off
base. Now that question could have easily
ended up in a philosophical and theological
debate. But Jesus immediately pulled that
question from mid-air, and placed it on a
dangerous curve between Jerusalem and Jericho.
And he talked about a certain man, who fell
among thieves. You remember that a Levite and
a priest passed by on the other side. They
didn't stop to help him. And finally a man of
another race came by. He got down from his
beast, decided not to be compassionate by
proxy. But with him, administering first aid,
and helped the man in need. Jesus ended up
saying, this was the good man, this was the
great man, because he had the capacity to
project the "I" into the "thou," and to be
concerned about his brother. Now you know, we
use our imagination a great deal to try to
determine why the priest and the Levite didn't
stop. At times we say they were busy going to
church meetings — an ecclesiastical gathering
— and they had to get on down to Jerusalem so
they wouldn't be late for their meeting. At
other times we would speculate that there was
a religious law that "One who was engaged in
religious ceremonials was not to touch a human
body twenty-four hours before the ceremony."
And every now and then we begin to wonder
whether maybe they were not going down to
Jerusalem, or down to Jericho, rather to
organize a "Jericho Road Improvement
Association." That's a possibility. Maybe they
felt that it was better to deal with the
problem from the causal root, rather than to
get bogged down with an individual effort.
But
I'm going to tell you what my imagination
tells me. It's possible that these men were
afraid. You see, the Jericho road is a
dangerous road. I remember when Mrs. King and
I were first in Jerusalem. We rented a car and
drove from Jerusalem down to Jericho. And as
soon as we got on that road, I said to my
wife, "I can see why Jesus used this as a
setting for his parable." It's a winding,
meandering road. It's really conducive for
ambushing. You start out in Jerusalem, which
is about 1200 miles, or rather 1200 feet above
sea level. And by the time you get down to
Jericho, fifteen or twenty minutes later,
you're about 2200 feet below sea level. That's
a dangerous road. In the days of Jesus it came
to be known as the "Bloody Pass." And you
know, it's possible that the priest and the
Levite looked over that man on the ground and
wondered if the robbers were still around. Or
it's possible that they felt that the man on
the ground was merely faking. And he was
acting like he had been robbed and hurt, in
order to seize them over there, lure them
there for quick and easy seizure. And so the
first question that the Levite asked was, "If
I stop to help this man, what will happen to
me?" But then the Good Samaritan came by. And
he reversed the question: "If I do not stop to
help this man, what will happen to him?"
That's
the question before you tonight. Not, "If I
stop to help the sanitation workers, what will
happen to all of the hours that I usually
spend in my office every day and every week as
a pastor?" The question is not, "If I stop to
help this man in need, what will happen to
me?" "If I do not stop to help the sanitation
workers, what will happen to them?" That's the
question.
Let
us rise up tonight with a greater readiness.
Let us stand with a greater determination. And
let us move on in these powerful days, these
days of challenge to make America what it
ought to be. We have an opportunity to make
America a better nation. And I want to thank
God, once more, for allowing me to be here
with you.
You
know, several years ago, I was in New York
City autographing the first book that I had
written. And while sitting there autographing
books, a demented black woman came up. The
only question I heard from her was, "Are you
Martin Luther King?"
And
I was looking down writing, and I said yes.
And the next minute I felt something beating
on my chest. Before I knew it I had been
stabbed by this demented woman. I was rushed
to Harlem Hospital. It was a dark Saturday
afternoon. And that blade had gone through,
and the X-rays revealed that the tip of the
blade was on the edge of my aorta, the main
artery. And once that's punctured, you drown
in your own blood — that's the end of you.
It
came out in the New York Times the next
morning, that if I had sneezed, I would have
died. Well, about four days later, they
allowed me, after the operation, after my
chest had been opened, and the blade had been
taken out, to move around in the wheel chair
in the hospital. They allowed me to read some
of the mail that came in, and from all over
the states, and the world, kind letters came
in. I read a few, but one of them I will never
forget. I had received one from the President
and the Vice-President. I've forgotten what
those telegrams said. I'd received a visit and
a letter from the Governor of New York, but
I've forgotten what the letter said. But there
was another letter that came from a little
girl, a young girl who was a student at the
White Plains High School. And I looked at that
letter, and I'll never forget it. It said
simply, "Dear Dr. King: I am a ninth-grade
student at the White Plains High School." She
said, "While it should not matter, I would
like to mention that I am a white girl. I read
in the paper of your misfortune, and of your
suffering. And I read that if you had sneezed,
you would have died. And I'm simply writing
you to say that I'm so happy that you didn't
sneeze."
And
I want to say tonight, I want to say that I am
happy that I didn't sneeze. Because if I had
sneezed, I wouldn't have been around here in
1960, when students all over the South started
sitting-in at lunch counters. And I knew that
as they were sitting in, they were really
standing up for the best in the American
dream. And taking the whole nation back to
those great wells of democracy which were dug
deep by the Founding Fathers in the
Declaration of Independence and the
Constitution. If I had sneezed, I wouldn't
have been around in 1962, when Negroes in
Albany, Georgia, decided to straighten their
backs up. And whenever men and women
straighten their backs up, they are going
somewhere, because a man can't ride your back
unless it is bent. If I had sneezed, I
wouldn't have been here in 1963, when the
black people of Birmingham, Alabama, aroused
the conscience of this nation, and brought
into being the Civil Rights Bill. If I had
sneezed, I wouldn't have had a chance later
that year, in August, to try to tell America
about a dream that I had had. If I had
sneezed, I wouldn't have been down in Selma,
Alabama, been in Memphis to see the community
rally around those brothers and sisters who
are suffering. I'm so happy that I didn't
sneeze.
And
they were telling me, now it doesn't matter
now. It really doesn't matter what happens
now. I left Atlanta this morning, and as we
got started on the plane, there were six of
us, the pilot said over the public address
system, "We are sorry for the delay, but we
have Dr. Martin Luther King on the plane. And
to be sure that all of the bags were checked,
and to be sure that nothing would be wrong
with the plane, we had to check out everything
carefully. And we've had the plane protected
and guarded all night."
And
then I got to Memphis. And some began to say
the threats, or talk about the threats that
were out. What would happen to me from some of
our sick white brothers?
Well,
I don't know what will happen now. We've got
some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't
matter with me now. Because I've been to the
mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I
would like to live a long life. Longevity has
its place. But I'm not concerned about that
now. I just want to do God's will. And He's
allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've
looked over. And I've seen the promised land.
I may not get there with you. But I want you
to know tonight, that we, as a people, will
get to the promised land. And I'm happy,
tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm
not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the
glory of the coming of the Lord.
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