The Photograph That Changed a War
One of the most recognisable images of the 20th century depicts a naked nine-year-old girl, her skin scorched and peeling, fleeing a napalm attack in South Vietnam with her face contorted in agony. Known officially as The Terror of War but colloquially as Napalm Girl, the photograph taken in June 1972 became an instant symbol of the horrors of the Vietnam War and is widely credited with shifting public opinion against American involvement.
For over five decades, the credit for this Pulitzer Prize-winning image has belonged to Huynh Cong "Nick" Ut, a 21-year-old South Vietnamese photojournalist working for Associated Press in Saigon. The photograph cemented his reputation and became what many consider the pinnacle of war photography achievement.
A Documentary's Controversial Claims
Now, a new Netflix documentary titled The Stringer directed by Bao Nguyen and narrated by British photojournalist Gary Knight is challenging this long-held narrative. The film presents evidence suggesting the iconic photograph was actually taken by a different man present at the scene in Trảng Bàng that day.
The investigation began when Carl Robinson, a former AP photo editor now in his eighties, contacted Knight in 2022. Robinson alleged that Horst Faas, the bureau's powerful photo chief, ordered him to change the image's credit from an unknown freelancer to Ut, the only AP staff photographer on site.
Robinson sought help in finding the unknown photographer, wanting to offer an apology if the man was still alive. This sparked an investigation that would take Knight and fellow journalists across the United States and to present-day Ho Chi Minh City.
The Search for Truth
The documentary team's investigation eventually led them to Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, an 80-year-old man living in California who worked as a driver for NBC on the day of the napalm attack. Nghệ occasionally sold photographs to international news outlets as a freelancer, known in the industry as a "stringer."
In emotional interviews, Nghệ claims he sold the photograph to AP for $20 and a print, only to spend decades haunted by the lack of credit. His appearance as a surprise guest at the Sundance Film Festival premiere of The Stringer, where he assured the audience through a translator that "I took the photo," sent shockwaves through the photojournalism community.
The AP responded with a lengthy report disputing the film's account, describing Robinson as a "disgruntled" former employee and standing by Ut, who retired from the organisation in 2017 after a distinguished career. Several prominent photojournalists dismissed Nghệ's claims and campaigned against the film's distribution.
Forensic Analysis and Institutional Responses
In May, AP released a more extensive visual analysis that acknowledged some inconsistencies - notably that the photograph was probably taken with a Pentax camera rather than the Leica Ut had long claimed to use. However, the internal study concluded that while it was "possible" Ut took the photo, there wasn't "definitive evidence" meeting their standards to change the credit.
World Press Photo, which awarded Napalm Girl the 1973 Photo of the Year award, conducted its own independent investigation and reached a different conclusion. The organisation rescinded Ut's credit but left official authorship unknown, stating: "This remains contested history, and it is possible that the author of the photograph will never be fully confirmed."
The documentary's final forensic analysis, conducted by French NGO Index and updated from the Sundance version, presents what they consider compelling evidence. Based on images taken by and of Ut that day, they argue the AP photographer would have needed to sprint approximately 560 feet forward, snap the famous photo, then run back 250 feet and turn around to be seen walking toward NBC News cameramen - "an extremely implausible scenario." Their conclusion places Nghệ in the correct position for the shot.
Broader Implications for Journalism
Beyond the question of individual credit, the filmmakers see larger issues at stake. Knight notes that when he asked journalists in London to name any Vietnamese war journalists besides Nick Ut, none could. "Vietnamese journalists have really been erased from the narration of their own war," he observed.
Nguyen, whose parents emigrated during the conflict, initially hesitated to take on the project, concerned about disrupting a narrative important to the Vietnamese-American community. However, both he and Knight ultimately believed the pursuit of truth justified the investigation.
"If journalists are going to hold everybody else in the world to account," Knight argued, "we have to be able to ask difficult questions of ourselves."
The documentary suggests several factors that might explain the alleged misattribution: the competitive nature of the Saigon bureau, the marginal status of stringers within the profession, and the power dynamics that left Vietnamese journalists without leverage or recourse.
Regardless of where viewers ultimately land on the question of authorship, The Stringer raises important questions about how history is narrated, who receives credit, and whose stories are preserved. The film is now available for streaming on Netflix, inviting audiences to reconsider one of the most famous photographs ever taken and the complex truth behind its creation.
