[abrupt cut to man in ministerial outfit on stage, speaking to crowd, presenting medal to naked girl, with her parents, dressed in their finest, standing next to her] [narrator] It is estimated that Min-jeong’s catch accounts for 15% of the village’s entire production, measured in won.  That is why she and her family recently were invited to Pyongyang where the Minister of Fisheries bestowed her with the annual Golden Sunrise Award, given to the country’s outstanding student.

The “script” had four main scenes, various forms of abuse and torture.  They went over it yesterday before shooting began.  She could choose the basic “plot” idea.  She was either a schoolgirl who was caught cheating, or a housewife whose husband owed money to the Yakuza, or a political prisoner being interrogated.  She picked the last -- that way she could act defiant instead of scared.         She has also set some ground rules.  No clothing, not even a “harness”.  “I gave

Prudence has brought the posters, Kathy the markers.  The four girls are having a snack in the dining room when Mr. and Mrs. Fairweather come downstairs, all dressed up, already in their coats.  They are as tall as their daughter and, like her, carry themselves like African royalty.  Mrs. Fairweather wears an ornate headdress which seems to almost touch the ceiling.  “That whole family makes me feel inferior,” Prudence admitted once, and she was not alone. ​         “I see yo

DR. CHO        I see St. Lewina’s still insists on a special                         uniform. SHANNON     That’s right.  Our uniform is wearing nothing at                         all. DR. CHO        I bet that took a while to get used to. SHANNON     I think it’s easier for the first-years now.  I had                         to do that stripping ceremony.  But starting last                         year, they leave their clothes on the mainland.                         Makes i

There are eight girls up there, swinging their pom-poms.  The naked girl is second from the right.  They’re pretty well practiced, all moving in sync, the hard clap of saddle shoes hitting the floor all at once in rhythm, though I can detect the thud of bare soles too.  They twirl, their short skirts flying outward like little pinwheels, and she’s spinning and jumping right along with her clothed teammates, even though she has no skirt to twirl.  Her breasts are about the siz

I manage to wind my way around the side street and come up near her at the storefronts.  There’s a bench there, and I buy a soda and pretend to relax.  In fact I’m observing her closely as she looks into a store window. ​         I count the ways she is unique here.  She doesn’t wear clothes or shoes.  She has no friends or acquaintances.  She’s the only Ama.  Her skin is dark, and theirs is pale.  And there’s something else about her -- I don’t want to use the word “savage”,