Something that people who commit hate crimes don't seem to think about much is collateral damage.

	Lynn Johnson The sisters of James Byrd Jr., who was dragged to death by racists, form a family portrait in front of their brother's grave. Click photo for larger image.

While their violent actions are directed at all members of the group they're targeting, the circle of destruction also envelops victims' families, friends and the broader community.

Of the three components of photojournalist Lynn Johnson's gut-wrenching citywide exhibition "From Intolerance to Understanding," the one at Pittsburgh Filmmakers most fully explores the effect such crimes have upon people beyond the victim.

At the entry, a large image on the far wall dominates, that of a "charred cross" casting a ragged shadow. Cropping of the person holding it makes the figure anonymous and somewhat generic -- it could be anyone; it could be you. Above it are the words, "HATE KILLS."

The visitor doesn't have to know that the cross was burned June 21, 1990, on the lawn of Russ and Laura Jones in St. Paul, Minn., to realize the somber implications of the photograph. It, or one similar, is an image that has entered the national psyche, a symbol of terror for many, emblematic of the racial divide that continues to haunt the country. It's also a potent symbol for members of America's dominant Christian faith, evocative of pain and suffering, and of redemption and hope.

On the walls, two small bands of words run like electric surges toward and away from the main gallery -- the former a string of discriminatory epithets; the latter a quote from Archbishop Desmond Tutu, spoken in 2003 in Capetown, counseling on the "need to rediscover the path to peace ... a pathway lined with the concept of coexistence and co-inhabitance."

Within the gallery, 52 images are drawn from two events: the 1998 dragging death of African-American James Byrd Jr. by three white racists in Jasper, Texas, and the shooting by a homophobe of a number of patrons in a gay bar in Roanoke, Va., in 2002, that wounded many and killed Danny Overstreet.

The photos are of the aftermaths of both events, without victims and graphic imagery. They are pictures of grief, confusion, numbness, frustration, coping and sometimes of just living daily life, given presence in the faces and postures of those close to the victims and of others in the vicinity trying to comprehend how such an event could happen and its implications.

While the Filmmakers exhibit is busy and active, pulling the viewer into the thoughts of the community depicted, the installation at the Pittsburgh Center for the Arts is meditative, inspiring the viewer to contemplation and self-examination.

Set outside on the lawn, open to the sky, the paneled structure is free and inviting, its layout suggestive of the cruciform floor plan of many small churches.

On the outer walls, hate crime statistics on one side are countered by a quote from the late Fred Rogers on the other. Like a percussive punctuation, the "Charred cross" image reappears over the entry way.

Inside, an introductory panel, headed "consider," explains that the exhibit is about "what happens when 'difference' becomes an excuse for someone to act violently against another. ... On these walls are 8 places in America where different equaled dead."

Near the exit, a second panel headed "examine" lists a few questions to further the conversation, such as: Who are your friends? Have you ever hidden your beliefs? Have you ever felt invisible?

In between, eight oversized black and white images of sites where hate crimes occurred surround the viewer with spare eloquence. Words are kept to a minimum, rejecting didacticism for profundity.

"Lollie Winans & Julianne Williams Slashed Appalachian Trail, Virginia between June 23-25th 1998" accompanies a forest scene, peaceful except for a sawed tree trunk that once blocked the trail. The method of death is printed in a muddy burgundy, the color of an old blood stain and one used effectively throughout the exhibition, including on the catalog cover.

"Thousands Incinerated Fresh Kills Landfill, Staten Island, New York 8:48 a.m. September 11th 2001" appears beneath a field of charred and twisted automobile remains.

The last image focuses the visitor from the national to the local: "Joseph Healy Shot Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania 7:30 a.m. March 1st 2000."

Exiting, one passes beneath a photograph of "Visitors" at the Lincoln Memorial, in Washington, D.C., and beyond that is a wall erected for viewer comments.

The Lincoln Memorial image reappears at the Children's Museum, a quieter beat of repetition and linkage than the defiled cross, and so does Mister Rogers. As befits its audience, this is the most palatable portion of the exhibition.

In one space are eight of Johnson's photographs. Four are of teacher Claudia Lepp's class at the Traditional Academy, located near the Children's Museum, where "she shows children mediation techniques for conflict resolution. They reflect what it takes to change our world, beginning in our own neighborhoods." The others, including the Lincoln Memorial, suggest the capacity to draw upon the "symbolic power of national landmarks" to inspire conflict solutions. While they offer only a taste of Johnson's thesis, they complement the whole and introduce notions to museum-goers.

In the cafe are 20 photographs of Fred Rogers that Johnson took over a 15-year period and has given to the museum. Accompanied by enduring quotes by the late and beloved patriarch of a national Neighborhood, they are a counterweight to the horrors depicted at the other sites:

"So the greatest thing we can do is to find out what is healthy and laudable about somebody else and reflect that to them. I really think that's the greatest weapon against any kind of bigotry, racism," Rogers said.

The happy children who squeal with delight and run through the museum underscore the need to protect them from becoming a victim of a hate crime offender -- or from becoming one.

Johnson has set up an interactive Web site, www.xenophoto.org, that continues the discussion and expands it globally. Visitors are invited to enter a photo of themselves with five words that describe them. Links are provided to others who chose the same word. It's a smart, direct and gentle way to point out the commonality waiting to be discovered in another person when stereotyping doesn't get in the way.

A handsome catalog -- simultaneously elegant and visceral and an artwork in itself -- includes images, commentary by Pittsburgh writer Sherrie Flick and by Johnson, and an interview with Fred Rogers ($25).

The exhibition runs through July 2 at Pittsburgh Filmmakers, North Oakland; 412-681-5449 or pghfilmmakers.org. It continues through Aug. 20 on the grounds of Pittsburgh Center for the Arts, Shadyside; 412-361-0873 or www.pittsburgharts.org. It's through Sept. 3 at The Children's Museum, North Side; 412-322-5058 or www.pittsburghkids.org.