我们都知道，马丁·路德·⾦是美国的民权运动领袖，他为⿊⼈谋求平等，甚⾄献出了⾃⼰的⽣命，被誉为是“⿊⼈的麦加”。⽽与此同时，马丁·路德·⾦也是⼀名卓越的反战⽃⼠，他关⼼的不仅仅是“⼩我”的权利，⽽且还有“⼤我”的和平、⾃由。如果你⼀直以来只是把马丁·路德·⾦看成⼀个⿊⼈运动领袖，那么下⾯的这篇演讲相信会让你对他有新的认识——马丁·路德·⾦的伟⼤⼈格值得我们每⼀个仰视尊敬。
  本演讲发表于1967年4⽉4⽇，是马丁·路德·⾦在“忧世教⼠和俗⼈协会”的⼀个反越站的集会上的演讲，集会的地点是纽约的河边⼤教堂（Riverside Church）。
  我之所以跨⼊此间宏伟的教堂，是因为我的良⼼让我别⽆选择。我加⼊你们的集会，则是因为我对这个聚合我们的组织——“忧世教⼠和俗⼈协会”关注越南——的⼯作和主旨⾮常认同。我对你们执委会最近的声明深有同感，当我阅读到它的开场⽩的时候就甚有共鸣：“这是⼀个‘沉默即是背叛’的时刻。”
  I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight because my conscience leaves me no other choice. I join you in this meeting because I am in deepest agreement with the aims and work of the organization which has brought us together: Clergy and Laymen Concerned about Vietnam. The recent statements of your executive committee are the sentiments of my own heart, and I found myself in full accord when I read its opening lines： “A time comes when silence is betrayal."
  演讲全⽂：A Time to Break Silence by Martin Luther King, Jr.
  I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight because my conscience leaves me no other choice. I join you in this meeting because I am in deepest agreement with the aims and work of the organization which has brought us together：Clergy and Laymen Concerned about Vietnam. The recent statements of your executive committee are the sentiments of my own heart， and I found myself in full accord when I read its opening lines： “A time comes when silence is betrayal.” And that time has come for us in relation to Vietnam.
  The truth of these words is beyond doubt， but the mission to which they call us is a most difficult one. Even when pressed by the demands of inner truth， men do not easily assume the task of opposing their government's policy，especially in time of war. Nor does the human spirit move without great difficulty against all the apathy of conformist thought within one's own bosom and in the surrounding world. Moreover， when the issues at hand seem as perplexed as they often do in the case of this dreadful conflict， we are always on the verge of being mesmerized by uncertainty； but we must move on.
  And some of us who have already begun to break the silence of the night have found that the calling to speak is often a vocation of agony， but we must speak. We must speak with all the humility that is appropriate to our limited vision， but we must speak. And we must rejoice as well， for surely this is t
he first time in our nation's history that a significant number of its religious leaders have chosen to move beyond the prophesying of smooth patriotism to the high grounds of a firm dissent based upon the mandates of conscience and the reading of history. Perhaps a new spirit is rising among us. If it is， let us trace its movements and pray that our own inner being may be sensitive to its guidance， for we are deeply in need of a new way beyond the darkness that seems so close around us.
  Over the past two years， as I have moved to break the betrayal of my own silences and to speak from the burnings of my own heart， as I have called for radical departures from the destruction of Vietnam， many persons have questioned me about the wisdom of my path. At the heart of their concerns this query has often loomed large and loud： “Why are you speaking about the war， Dr. King？” “Why are you joining the voices of dissent？” “Peace and civil rights don't mix，” they say. “Aren't you hurting the cause of your people，” they ask？ And when I hear them， though I often understand the source of their concern， I am nevertheless greatly saddened， for such questions mean that the inquirers have not really known me， my commitment or my calling. Indeed， their questions suggest that they do not know the world in which they live.
  In the light of such tragic misunderstanding， I deem it of signal importance to try to state clearly， and I trust concisely， why I believe that the path from Dexter Avenue Baptist Church —— the church i
n Montgomery， Alabama，where I began my pastorate —— leads clearly to this sanctuary tonight.
  I come to this platform tonight to make a passionate plea to my beloved nation. This speech is not addressed to Hanoi or to the National Liberation Front. It is not addressed to China or to Russia. Nor is it an attempt to overlook the ambiguity of the total situation and the need for a collective solution to the tragedy of Vietnam. Neither is it an attempt to make North Vietnam or the National Liberation Front paragons of virtue， nor to overlook the role they must play in the successful resolution of the problem. While they both may have justifiable reasons to be suspicious of the good faith of the United States， life and history give eloquent testimony to the fact that conflicts are never resolved without trustful give and take on both sides.
  Tonight， however， I wish not to speak with Hanoi and the National Liberation Front， but rather to my fellowed [sic] Americans， *who， with me， bear the greatest responsibility in ending a conflict that has exacted a heavy price on both continents.
  Since I am a preacher by trade， I suppose it is not surprising that I have seven major reasons for bringing Vietnam into the field of my moral vision.* There is at the outset a very obvious and almost facile connection between the war in Vietnam
and the struggle I， and others， have been waging in America. A few years ago there was a shining moment in that struggle. It seemed as if there was a real promise of hope for the poor —— both black and white —— through the poverty program. There were experiments， hopes， new beginnings. Then came the buildup in Vietnam， and I watched this program broken and eviscerated， as if it were some idle political plaything of a society gone mad on war， and I knew that America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic destructive suction tube. So， I was increasingly compelled to see the war as an enemy of the poor and to attack it as such.
  Perhaps the more tragic recognition of reality took place when it became clear to me that the war was doing far more than devastating the hopes of the poor at home. It was sending their sons and their brothers and their husbands to fight and to die in extraordinarily high proportions relative to the rest of the population. We were taking the black young men who had been crippled by our society and sending them eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East Harlem. And so we have been repeatedly faced with the cruel irony of watching Negro and white boys on TV screens as they kill and die together for a nation that has been unable to seat them together in the same schools. And so we watch them in brutal solidarity from silence
burning the huts of a poor village， but we realize that they would hardly live on the same block in Chicago. I could not be silent in the face of such cruel manipulation of the poor.
  My third reason moves to an even deeper level of awareness， for it grows out of my experience in the ghettoes of the North over the last three years —— especially the last three summers. As I have walked among the desperate， rejected，and angry young men， I have told them that Molotov cocktails and rifles would not solve their problems. I have tried to offer them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent action. But they ask —— and rightly so —— what about Vietnam？ They ask if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of violence to solve its problems， to bring about the changes it wanted. Their questions hit home， and I knew that I could never again raise my voice against the violence of the oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today —— my own government. For the sake of those boys， for the sake of this government， for the sake of the hundreds of thousands trembling under our violence， I cannot be silent.
  For those who ask the question， “Aren't you a civil rights leader？” and thereby mean to exclude me from the movement for peace， I have this further answer. In 1957 when a group of us formed the Southern Christian Leadership Conference， we chose as our motto： “To save the soul of America.”
We were convinced that we could not limit our vision to certain rights for black people， but instead affirmed the conviction that America would never be free or saved from itself until the descendants of its slaves were loosed completely from the shackles they still wear. In a way we were agreeing with Langston Hughes， that black bard of Harlem， who had written earlier：
  O， yes，I say it plain，
  America never was America to me，
  And yet I swear this oath ——
  America will be！
  Now， it should be incandescently clear that no one who has any concern for the integrity and life of America today can ignore the present war. If America's soul becomes totally poisoned， part of the autopsy must read： Vietnam. It can never be saved so long as it destroys the deepest hopes of men the world over. So it is that those of us who are yet determined that America will be are led down the path of protest and dissent， working for the health of our land.
  As if the weight of such a commitment to the life and health of America were not enough， another bu
rden of responsibility was placed upon me in 1954** [sic]； and I cannot forget that the Nobel Prize for Peace was also a commission —— a commission to work harder than I had ever worked before for “the brotherhood of man.” This is a calling that takes me beyond national allegiances， but even if it were not present I would yet have to live with the meaning of my commitment to the ministry of Jesus Christ. To me the relationship of this ministry to the making of peace is so obvious that I sometimes marvel at those who ask me why I'm speaking against the war. Could it be that they do not know that the good news was meant for all men —— for Communist and capitalist， for their children and ours， for black and for white， for revolutionary and conservative？ Have they forgotten that my ministry is in obedience to the One who loved his enemies so fully that he died for them？ What then can I say to the Vietcong or to Castro or to Mao as a faithful minister of this One？ Can I threaten them with death or must I not share with them my life？