人间往事(4月3日）：I’ve Been to the Mountaintop, Martin Luther King Jr.

提到马丁路德金，大家首先想到的是他那个著名的演讲：I have a dream.

1968年的今天(4月3日），Martin Luther King Jr. 发表了他一生中最后一次演讲：I’ve been to the mountaintop. 次日，金博士在孟菲斯被刺身亡。

（全文如下）

Delivered on 3 April 1968, Mason Temple (Church of God in Christ Headquarters), Memphis, Tennessee

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Thank you very kindly, my friends. As I listened to Ralph Abernathy
and 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
to say something good about you. And Ralph Abernathy 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. And you
know, if I were standing at the beginning of time, with the possibility of
taking a kind of general and panoramic view of the whole of 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 and I would watch God’s
children in their magnificent trek from the dark dungeons of 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. And I would watch them 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 aesthetic life of
man. But I wouldn’t stop there.

I would even go by the way that the man for whom
I am named had his habitat. And I would watch Martin Luther as he tacked his
ninety-five theses on the door at the church of 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 20th
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.”

And another reason that I’m happy to live in this period is that we have been
forced to a point where we are 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. That is where we are today.
And also in the human rights revolution, if something isn’t done, and done 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 — We are
saying that we are
God’s children. And that we are God’s children, 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 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.
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 are 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 how 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 around.”

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 denominations, 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 ’em 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 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 in Memphis just like that. I call upon you to be with us
when we go out 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 some of these
illegal injunctions. 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
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 dogs or water
hoses turn us around, 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 have a kind of fire shut up in his bones. And whenever
injustice is around he tell it. Somehow the preacher must be an Amos, and saith, “When
God speaks who can but prophesy?” Again with Amos, “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,”
and he’s 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; he’s been kicked out of
Vanderbilt University for this struggle, but he’s still going on, fighting for
the rights of his people. Reverend Ralph Jackson, Billy Kiles; I could just go
right on down the list, but time will not permit. But I want to thank all of
them. 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 preacher must talk
about the new 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 American 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 town — 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. Go by the savings and loan association. I’m not asking you something
that 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 are telling you to follow what we are doing.
Put your money there. You have six or seven black insurance companies here in
the city of Memphis. Take out your insurance there. We want to have an
“insurance-in.”

Now these are some practical things that 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. If it means leaving work, if it means leaving school — 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 of life. At
points he wanted to trick Jesus, and show him that he knew a little more than
Jesus knew and 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
he got down with him,
administered 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 a church meeting, 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 effect.

But I’m going to tell you what my imagination tells me. It’s possible that those
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 the 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 priest asked — 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 my job. 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?” The question is, “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, your drowned 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 merely 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 that 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.”

And she said,

“While it should not matter, I would like to mention that I’m 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 tonight that I too 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
here in 1961, when we decided to take a ride for freedom and ended segregation
in inter-state travel.

If I had sneezed, I wouldn’t have been around here 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
— 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.

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 on the plane, we had to check out everything carefully. And we’ve had
the plane protected and guarded all night.”
And then I got into 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 really 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 so 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!!

*演讲音频地址：https://ia601400.us.archive.org/21/items/100-Best–Speeches/MLK19680403_64kb.mp3