People who've been on my courses or read my books will know that I'm a keen advocate of using different types of imagery to get messages across effectively.
They've probably also heard me say that my favourite speech (of my lifetime, at least) was Martin Luther King's "I have a dream", delivered 50 years ago today.
I knew that he'd used a lot of powerful imagery but, until today, I hadn't realised just how much of it there was. Nor was all of it biblical or religious: one of the most impressive sequences came early in the speech when he used what, at first sight, might have seemed like a rather unpromising extended banking metaphor (from para 6 below).
So I've lifted from the text all those passages featuring imagery - which make up almost exactly 50% of the speech - all of which appear in sequence below.
And if you're interested in coming to one of my courses on speechwriting and presentation, click HERE.
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.
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.
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, 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.
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
lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of
brotherhood.
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
This sweltering
summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an
invigorating autumn of freedom and equality.
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… 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.
Again and again we
must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
We cannot walk
alone.
As we walk, we must
make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.
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.
No, no, we are not
satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters
and righteousness like a mighty stream.
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.
Let us not wallow
in the valley of despair.
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
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.
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.
