When I was 18 I travelled in Indonesia. Returning home I held the inevitable slideshow for long-suffering friends. There was a shot of an old farmer. He was as sinewy as a Balinese carving. He stands, unsmiling, holding on to some willowy branches, as if he has indeed been hewn from the tree. 'Don't you mind taking pictures of people?' asked a friend. I thought it a strange question.
There was a perfect picture opportunity and I made the most of it. I didn't speak Indonesian and I had to physically position him for my desired pose. He didn't seem to mind. I got my photo and perhaps he felt flattered. I said thank you.
When I think about it now, I cringe - how I felt I had the right to control someone, just to get a photo. But it's something you see everywhere: the abuse of the power of the camera.
The issue has been in the news recently. Teirney Gearon's pictures of her naked children at the Saatchi Gallery provoked accusations of pornography. And when Lord Healey exhibited a picture he had taken of a half-dressed boy in Beijing, the debate widened to examine the ethics of travel photography, and the limits of acceptable behaviour in seeking a particular shot.
Taking holiday snaps of people is not necessarily wrong; it's whether the process is intrusive. Should you ask permission or candidly use a zoom? What about the sticky issue of payment? There's rarely a correct answer. Different cultures, classes, religions, sexes and age groups will have varied opinions, even in the same country. Your age, sex, culture and attitude will make a difference, too. In some countries, notably Taliban-ruled Afghanistan, photographing people may be viewed as evil; in others, people earn a living from posing for tourists.
Near Bombay (Mumbai) there are historic caves which are a popular day-trip destination. Climbing several hundred steps, you are assaulted by trinket sellers, café owners, monkeys and, most bizarrely, village women with empty metal water-pots on their heads. They run ahead of you to pose stiffly and insist that you take a picture. Then they ask for money. These women know what tourists want: an 'authentic' look. No plastic water containers please. Even their new metal ones have been deliberately dented to give a time-worn appearance. Inevitably, pictures of them, staged and rushed as they eye up other passing tourists, look awful.
While some argue that paying people for their pictures is demeaning and exploitative, what should never be disputed is the common courtesy of asking permission for close-up pictures. If the person says no, respect their wish and go without the picture. If they say yes, it does mean you may have sacrificed candidness, but spying on people with long lenses is tacky and, sometimes, risky. Whipping out a camera in someone's surprised face is even worse.
For general street scenes it's a different story. It's impossible to ask permission, but if you position yourself - without hiding - and wait for picture 'opportunities' to come along, you can at least reassure yourself that people had the option of avoiding you. But when there's a whole group of tourists doing this, as I saw recently in Cape Town's picturesque Bo Kaap district, residents must feel like ducks trying to escape a shooting party.
It helps to strike up some kind of rapport with people before talking about close-ups. In developing countries especially, this is easier if the person is the same sex as yourself and, sometimes, if they are of a similar age or younger. Engage in some non-photo graphic banter. Then ask permission, explaining why you want to take a picture. If the answer is a genuine yes (rather than resignation), keep talking as you photograph. Explain what you're doing. Joke, laugh, direct politely and keep taking pictures as the person relaxes and carries on with the activity that caught your eye initially. If you can't speak the language, an interpreter is invaluable. If the person you've been photographing is selling goods be gracious and buy something and, if you had negotiated it initially, pay a fee.
It is during such close-up shoots that I admit I can be duplicitous. With a wide-angle lens, you can photograph people who do not realise they are in the frame. Yet unlike spying from afar, they are usually aware of the picture-taking. Their observation often makes the picture.
It is always appreciated if you can also take an instant picture to give to your main 'subject'. An instant photograph is an excellent way to thank people. You will probably find that everyone else in the place will want pictures taken too.
More radically, you could consider not taking pictures at all. Leave the camera behind. It is a liberating experience, and, while mental images may not last as long as prints, they are much more vivid during the taking. If you can't bear to be without photos, ask others to take them.
If you befriend your hosts, you could ask if they would like to take part in a simplified photographic 'project'. You and your hosts will end up with pictures that they have taken. I did a full-scale version of this with children in the Solomon Islands for Save the Children. It entails giving disposable cameras to volunteers to take their own pictures. You may have to explain the technicalities of photography, and brief participants about possible subject matter, for example, 'a day in their life'. You then develop the films and give prints to the participants and - having explained in advance - keep a duplicate set for yourself. You will have a unique perspective on your hosts' environment: their own 'photo-voice'.
If you haven't got time for such an ambitious venture, then asking permission, being respectful and friendly, paying a fee when asked and giving an instant picture, all pave the way to good people photography.
Handled in the right way, photography doesn't need to be an abuse of power or something which distances you from the local people: it can provide a valuable insight and an excuse for interaction.
• Paul Miles won the Tourism Council of the South Pacific/Kodak Award for Excellence 1997. He will be speaking on photography at a Tourism Concern workshop, 7-8 April at Hulme Hall, Manchester University (tickets £15 on 020 7753 3330).
