🔗 Share this article

One of the most famous photographs of modern history depicts an unclothed young girl, her arms outstretched, her features contorted in agony, her body blistered and peeling. She appears running towards the lens as running from a bombing during South Vietnam. Nearby, youngsters are fleeing out of the bombed community in the region, amid a scene of dark smoke and the presence of troops.

This International Effect of a Seminal Image

Just after the release in June 1972, this photograph—officially called The Terror of War—became an analog sensation. Viewed and debated by millions, it is widely hailed with galvanizing public opinion against the US war during that era. A prominent critic afterwards observed how this profoundly indelible photograph featuring the child the girl in distress probably did more to heighten popular disgust against the war compared to lengthy broadcasts of televised barbarities. A renowned English photojournalist who covered the conflict described it the ultimate photograph of what became known as “The Television War”. Another seasoned photojournalist stated how the picture represents in short, a pivotal photos ever made, specifically from that conflict.

A Decades-Long Claim Followed by a New Allegation

For over five decades, the image was credited to Nick Út, a then-21-year-old local photojournalist working for a major news agency at the time. Yet a controversial new film on a global network contends that the famous picture—often hailed to be the peak of combat photography—was actually captured by someone else on the scene in Trảng Bàng.

As claimed by the documentary, "Napalm Girl" may have been taken by a freelancer, who provided his work to the news agency. The claim, along with the documentary's subsequent investigation, began with a man named a former photo editor, who states how a dominant photo chief instructed him to change the photograph's attribution from the freelancer to the staff photographer, the one employed photographer present during the incident.

The Quest for the Truth

The source, currently elderly, contacted one of the journalists a few years ago, seeking help in finding the unnamed cameraman. He expressed how, if he could be found, he hoped to offer an acknowledgment. The journalist reflected on the independent stringers he had met—seeing them as the stringers of today, who, like Vietnamese freelancers in that era, are frequently ignored. Their work is often questioned, and they operate amid more challenging situations. They are not insured, no long-term security, they don’t have support, they often don’t have proper gear, and they are highly exposed while photographing in familiar settings.

The filmmaker asked: How would it feel to be the man who made this iconic picture, if indeed Nick Út didn’t take it?” From a photographic perspective, he imagined, it would be profoundly difficult. As a student of the craft, specifically the celebrated documentation of the era, it could prove groundbreaking, possibly legacy-altering. The revered heritage of the photograph within the community meant that the creator whose parents fled during the war was hesitant to take on the project. He said, “I didn’t want to disrupt this long-held narrative that Nick had taken the image. And I didn’t want to disrupt the status quo among a group that always admired this achievement.”

This Inquiry Progresses

However both the investigator and his collaborator felt: it was necessary raising the issue. As members of the press are going to hold everybody else in the world,” remarked the investigator, “we have to can ask difficult questions within our profession.”

The documentary follows the journalists while conducting their inquiry, from eyewitness interviews, to call-outs in today's the city, to archival research from other footage taken that day. Their work finally produce a name: Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, a driver for a news network during the attack who also worked as a stringer to foreign agencies independently. According to the documentary, a moved the claimant, currently elderly based in the United States, attests that he sold the famous picture to the AP for $20 with a physical photo, only to be plagued without recognition for decades.

The Response and Further Scrutiny

He is portrayed throughout the documentary, reserved and reflective, yet his account became explosive within the field of photojournalism. {Days before|Shortly prior to