It was the beginning of autumn in North Korea, or more correctly, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (DPRK), when we moved there. The hills were auburn and gold when I was driving back from a field trip. The drivers of our vehicles pulled to the side of the road for a smoking break. I got out to stretch my legs and pulled out my camera to take a picture of a beautiful cottage in the valley below us. Multi-coloured melons on vines covered the roof of the cottage. But my government minder edged up to me and politely but firmly told me that I should not take the photo. For the rest of the trip, I badgered him about why I could not take that photo. At first, he was non-committal. Finally, out of exasperation, he told me: “We do not want pictures of poverty going out of our country”.
North Korea was a black box for us, when my wife and I flew in there from...
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