Speech delivered at Bishop Charles Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee (April 3, 1968)
Full text:
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 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 way 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."
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
demands 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.
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.
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 slaves 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.
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.
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.
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 preacher 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, 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."
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, administered first aid, and helped the man in need. Jesus ended
up saying, this was the good man, because he had the capacity to project the
"I" into the "thou," and to be concerned about his brother.
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 day 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?".
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
Whites 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.
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, to see the great movement there.
If I had sneezed,
I wouldn't have been in Memphis to see a community rally around those brothers
and sisters who are suffering. I'm so happy that I didn't sneeze.
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 any man, 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.