Uncovering Truth: The Documentary Challenging a Famous War Photo

A new documentary, The Stringer: The Man Who Took the Photo, is now available on Netflix and challenges the long-accepted narrative surrounding one of the most iconic images of the Vietnam War. The photograph, often referred to informally as “Napalm Girl,” depicts a young Vietnamese girl, severely burned and naked, fleeing from a napalm bombing amidst chaos. While widely attributed to Associated Press photographer Nick Ut, filmmakers Bao Nguyen and Gary Knight present compelling evidence suggesting that the true credit belongs to freelancer Nguyen Thanh Nghe, raising important questions about authorship and recognition in war journalism.

The photograph in question was captured on June 8, 1972, during a tragic incident of friendly fire in Trang Bang, Vietnam. South Vietnamese pilots mistakenly bombed a group of soldiers and civilians, leading to a horrific scene where children fled from the flames. Among them was nine-year-old Kim Phuc, whose image became a symbol of the war’s brutality. Journalists on the scene documented the event, and the photograph entered the annals of history as a pivotal moment in war photography.

The documentary reveals that the photograph was taken from rolls of film submitted to the Associated Press by various local freelance photographers, including Nghe. Although AP photo editor Carl Robinson initially credited the photo to Ut, Robinson has since expressed regret for not contesting that decision. In seeking the truth, Knight launched a two-year investigation, interviewing individuals present during the incident and exploring the backgrounds of those involved.

Knight’s efforts led him to Nghe, who now resides in California. Nghe recounted his experience of taking the photograph, being compensated for it, and receiving a print that later became a source of tension within his family. His children recalled the emotional turmoil surrounding the image, which their mother ultimately discarded, eliminating Nghe’s only tangible proof of authorship.

To corroborate their findings, Knight engaged a team of forensic investigators to analyze the circumstances of the photo’s capture. Utilizing film footage, still images, and geographical data, they reconstructed the events of that day. Their findings lend support to Nghe’s claim as the true photographer, though Ut did not participate in the documentary.

The documentary also touches on broader themes within the journalism profession. It delves into the power dynamics that often prioritize established staff photographers over freelancers, who may face challenges such as lack of job security and benefits. Knight suggests that this hierarchy can obscure the contributions of those like Nghe, who operate on the fringes of the industry.

Several interviewees point out the racial and class biases that may have influenced editorial decisions at the time. This raises ethical questions about representation in journalism and how stories are told and retold. The documentary emphasizes the importance of accountability in the media, illustrating how past decisions can have lasting consequences.

While some viewers may question the validity of Nghe’s claims, the film invites audiences to consider the complexities of truth in historical narratives.

“The past is the past, just let it go,”

one witness notes, reflecting on the painful memories stirred by revisiting traumatic events. Yet, the pursuit of truth remains paramount, as Knight and Nguyen strive to illuminate the realities behind one of the most famous photographs in history.

In summary, The Stringer serves as a thought-provoking exploration of authorship, ethics, and the responsibilities of journalists. It poses critical questions about how stories are shaped and whose voices are amplified. For those interested in the intersection of history and journalism, this documentary offers a captivating narrative worth exploring.