On Aug. 28, 1963, my father stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and summoned a nation to listen — not merely to a speech, but to a vision. He dreamed out loud, daring America to imagine itself better: a country where dignity wasn’t determined by skin color, where opportunity wasn’t bound by birth and where the promises of democracy were extended to all. That dream ignited a movement, moved hearts and bent the arc of history toward justice.

Sixty-two years later, I walk in the long shadow of that day — with pride, yes, but also with profound concern. For while we have marched many miles toward freedom, we find ourselves, yet again, in a moment of moral reckoning.

Today, I ask not only: What is the state of the dream? But also, more urgently: Will we continue to pursue it, or wil

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