It was in those last days of the country’s period of autocratic rule, riots and mayhem had become almost daily routine. Sometimes, the photographers, including me, were victims of attack from both sides

By 1997, news photography had become my full-time job. By then too, South Korea had a democratic government in power and major protests were less common. When they did happen, the tear gas may have gone but the tactics were tough and people got hurt. But now there was public opinion to worry about. There was an unwritten rule that members of the media should not be attacked.

This year, things changed again.

In May, I was covering a rally against the government of President Lee Myung-bak, an ex-businessman who had taken office in February 2008, promising pro-business reforms to set the economy on a new path of growth.

Thousands of people rallied in the capital’s center against his policies and to mark the mass protests a year earlier against his government’s decision to allow imports of U.S. beef.

One evening, I saw several policemen using force on a local newspaper photographer. She was shooting protesters being detained by police. Suddenly, an officer ordered his men to detain me. I asked what I had done wrong. The response was to drag me away from the scene, kicking me and using some pepper spray. I was let go after about half an hour, still without explanation for what I might have done wrong.

Photo courtesy of REUTERS/Choi Youn-seck

After protests, a police officer came to my company’s office to apologize.

A little later, one of my friends told me that I was partly to blame and should not have argued with the police. I was quite shocked. Would the same treatment be meted out to a text reporter standing there with a notebook and pen?

A photographer’s job is to get the photo. He or she must get into the fray and, in the process, risk getting hurt. But it is reasonable to expect not to be a target of any violence, especially by the enforcers of the law, when photographers are just doing their job. Isn’t it?

'Nam' means south, 'Dae' means great or grand and 'Mun' means gate - Great South Gate.Officially called Sungnyemun it was built in 1398 and had withstood invasions, Japan's colonial occupation and was one of the few remaing historic structures in the capital leftstanding after the 1950-53 Korean War. It was an iconic symbol of national pride, the 'face' of the country, an intrinsic part of our culuturalheritage which children learn about in nursery rhymes.

Most South Koreans imagined it was just a small fire, maybecaused by an electrical short circuit. We thought that since firefighters were in attendancethe "small" fire would be quickly extinguished;it was not to be.

The firefightershesitated. Theycouldn'tdecide whethertomake a hole inthe roof to bringthe fire undercontrol or take other less drastic steps topreserve t our Number OneNational Treasure.Seoul-based duty photographer Jo Yong-hak was quickly on the scene.

By early Monday morning the massive stone and wood structure of Namdaemun was reduced to a charred hulkby the flames andthe sheer volume of water used to fight the blaze.

For South Koreans Namdaemun has always been a focal point. National campaigns are launched there, soldiers march past it onArmed Forces Day and demonstrators sometimes gather in front of it.

In order to shield Koreans from the terrible sight the authoritiesdecided to screen the ruins with a fence. Policemen stopped photographers from taking pictures as crowds gathered to mourn the destruction of their beloved icon.

The fire was set by 69-year-oldChae Jong-jiwho said he acted on impulse but maintained that it was an act ofrevenge against the government which he claimed hadtreated him unfairly. Police have said he was angry over compensation for a development project that claimed his property.

He said that he issorry to have destroyed somethingdear to so many people, but defiantly added: "Nobody got hurt. You can always restore cultural heritage."

Yes, nobody was injured and wecan rebuild it, butSouth Koreansfeel a real sense of loss. Somehow this act of arsonnot only levelled 600 years of cultural heritage but it alsodealt a terrible blow tothespirit of our people.

Now whenever I have to go near the ruins I feelsadness formy 5-year-old son and 3-year-old daughter. I should have made the time to take them to visit Namdaemunbefore it vanished...

Pictures by: Jo Yong-Hak, Cultural Heritage Admnistration,Lee Jae-Won, Kim Kyung-Hoon andKwak Sung-ho