Sometimes, the point of photography is to be controversial. Photographs share something of the world which we see around us, and sometimes, that world is not pleasant. In the 1960s South, photographer James R. Holland traveled to different Klan rallies, often photographing up-close and personal. "The fondest goal of every photographer," he writes in the introduction of his book Klan Rally: A Photographic Essay, "is to produce photographs that are so powerful and clear in their meaning that even the simplest captions are not necessary." In allowing the photographs to speak for themselves, he lets viewers develop their own interpretation of the photographs. His feelings and emotions are not what we are seeing here; rather we are seeing only what he is photographing. These raw images, whether or not we agree with the context, show only what Holland saw in those moments he took them: men and women in white robes, burning crosses or sitting down to lunch, or preaching their ideals to a rapt audience.

In this way, the photographs speak volumes. There are the required photographs of a cross-burning, including two photographs of only the sparks against the blackness of the night. There are portraits taken in shadows of the men involved in the organization, and one of a Klanswoman, face uncovered, unaware she's been photographed, caught in a candid conversation. As a stark contrast, another woman, not dressed in white robes, head in her hands, the diamond in her engagement ring startling. She might be mourning, or she might be praying.