"
Eu Tenho um Sonho" (em
inglês:
I Have a Dream) é o nome popular dado ao histórico discurso público feito pelo ativista político
americano, o pastor
Martin Luther King, no qual falava da necessidade de união e coexistência harmoniosa entre
negros e
brancos no futuro. O discurso, realizado no dia
28 de agosto de
1963 nos degraus do
Lincoln Memorial em
Washington, D.C.
como parte da Marcha de Washington por Empregos e Liberdade, foi um
momento decisivo na história do Movimento Americano pelos Direitos
Civis. Feito em frente a uma plateia de mais de duzentas mil pessoas que
apoiavam a causa, o discurso é considerado um dos maiores na história e
foi eleito o melhor discurso norte-americano do
século XX, numa pesquisa feita no ano de
1999.
De acordo com o
congressista
John Lewis, que também fez um discurso naquele mesmo dia, como o
presidente do Comité Estudantil da Não-Violência, "o Dr. King tinha o
poder, a habilidade e a capacidade de transformar aqueles degraus no
Lincoln Memorial num
púlpito
moderno. Falando daquela maneira, conseguiu educar, inspirar e
informar [não apenas] as pessoas que ali estavam, mas também pessoas em
todo os EUA e outras gerações que nem sequer haviam nascido".
A Marcha de Washington colocou mais pressão na administração do então presidente
John F. Kennedy para que as questões de direitos civis fossem levadas até o
Congresso, mas, com o
assassinato do presidente Kennedy, mais tarde, naquele mesmo ano, foi o seu sucessor,
Lyndon B. Johnson, conseguiu fazer com que o
Civil Rights Act of 1964 (
Ato de Direitos Civis de 1964) fosse aprovado pelo Congresso, seguido do
1965 Voting Rights Act (
Ato de Direitos do Voto de 1965).
No acordar do seu discurso e da Marcha de Washington, King foi escolhido como Homem do Ano de
1963 pela revista
Time. E mais tarde, em
1964, King tornou-se a pessoa mais nova a receber um
prémio Nobel da Paz.
"I have a dream speech"
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, 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 100 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.
And so we've come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a
sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a cheque. 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 colour are concerned. Instead of
honouring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a
bad cheque 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've come to cash this cheque - a cheque
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 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.
1963 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 tranquillity 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 marvellous 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. They have come
to realise 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
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 selfhood and
robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be
satisfied and we will not 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. 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 slave-owners 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 little children will one day live in a
nation where they will not be judged by the colour 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 little 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, 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 that I will 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.
This will be the 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.
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 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!
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to 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!"