African-American woman waiting to cast a vote in 1960. Crowd of people looking at her with anger. [1] The woman stands resolute, her back straight, her shoulders squared. The lines on her face betray a lifetime of hardship and struggle, but her eyes are bright with determination. Behind her, the crowd seethes and boils, a mass of seething anger and hatred. [2] The woman's fingers curl tightly around her voter registration card, the only weapon she has in this battle. Her dress is a simple cotton affair, the kind of thing you might wear to church on a Sunday morning. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, a few loose strands clinging to the sweat on her forehead. [3] The street is empty except for the woman and the throng of people behind her. The storefronts on either side of the road are shuttered and closed, as though the whole world has stopped in anticipation of what's about to happen. [4] The mood is electric, charged with a sense of possibility and danger. You can feel the eyes of the crowd burning into the woman's back, their hatred and fear palpable even from a distance. But there's something else there too, a sense of hope and determination that cuts through the darkness like a ray of sunlight. 
African-American woman waiting to cast a vote in 1960. Crowd of people looking at her with anger. [1] The woman stands resolute, her back straight, her shoulders squared. The lines on her face betray a lifetime of hardship and struggle, but her eyes are bright with determination. Behind her, the crowd seethes and boils, a mass of seething anger and hatred. [2] The woman's fingers curl tightly around her voter registration card, the only weapon she has in this battle. Her dress is a simple cotton affair, the kind of thing you might wear to church on a Sunday morning. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, a few loose strands clinging to the sweat on her forehead. [3] The street is empty except for the woman and the throng of people behind her. The storefronts on either side of the road are shuttered and closed, as though the whole world has stopped in anticipation of what's about to happen. [4] The mood is electric, charged with a sense of possibility and danger. You can feel the eyes of the crowd burning into the woman's back, their hatred and fear palpable even from a distance. But there's something else there too, a sense of hope and determination that cuts through the darkness like a ray of sunlight. --q 2
African-American woman waiting to cast a vote in 1960. Crowd of people looking at her with anger. [1] The woman stands resolute, her back straight, her shoulders squared. The lines on her face betray a lifetime of hardship and struggle, but her eyes are bright with determination. Behind her, the crowd seethes and boils, a mass of seething anger and hatred. [2] The woman's fingers curl tightly around her voter registration card, the only weapon she has in this battle. Her dress is a simple cotton affair, the kind of thing you might wear to church on a Sunday morning. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun, a few loose strands clinging to the sweat on her forehead. [3] The street is empty except for the woman and the throng of people behind her. The storefronts on either side of the road are shuttered and closed, as though the whole world has stopped in anticipation of what's about to happen. [4] The mood is electric, charged with a sense of possibility and danger. You can feel the eyes of the crowd burning into the woman's back, their hatred and fear palpable even from a distance. But there's something else there too, a sense of hope and determination that cuts through the darkness like a ray of sunlight.
a black and white photo of a woman wearing a hat
a black and white photo of a woman in a hat
a black and white photo of a woman in a crowd
a woman wearing a hat