For over five decades, the iconic image of a young Vietnamese girl, her body scarred by napalm, has been hailed as one of the most powerful photographs of the 20th century. Officially titled "The Terror of War," it was published in June 1972 and instantly went viral, galvanizing public opinion against the US war in Vietnam. Susan Sontag later wrote that the image, taken by South Vietnamese photojournalist Huynh Cong "Nick" Út, probably did more to increase public revulsion against the war than a hundred hours of televised barbarities.
However, a new documentary on Netflix argues that the photograph was actually taken by someone else – Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, a driver for NBC who occasionally sold his photographs to international news outlets as a freelancer. The claim is based on an investigation by director Bao Nguyen and narrator Gary Knight, who spent years tracking down the unknown photographer.
According to Carl Robinson, a former AP photo editor in Saigon who alleges that Horst Faas, the bureau's domineering photo chief, ordered him to change the image's credit from Nghệ to Út. But how did this alleged misattribution happen, and what were the consequences for Nghệ?
The investigation reveals a complex web of factors, including the competitive nature of Saigon's bureau, the lack of leverage for freelance photographers like Nghệ, and possibly even personal guilt on Faas' part over his brother's death on AP combat assignment in 1965. The documentary also highlights how Vietnamese journalists have been erased from the narration of their own war, with Út being the only name widely known.
Despite the film's findings, both director Nguyen and narrator Knight state that they have little doubt about Út's authorship. However, they hope that viewers will come away from the film with an open heart and open mind, acknowledging the humanity of individuals like Nghệ who deserve recognition for their contributions to journalism.
The Stringer is a powerful reminder that even in the most iconic images, there can be hidden stories and unseen photographers. By asking difficult questions about our own narratives, we must also confront the darker aspects of our profession and strive for greater honesty and transparency. As Knight puts it, "If journalists are going to hold everybody else in the world to account, we have to be able to ask difficult questions of ourselves."
However, a new documentary on Netflix argues that the photograph was actually taken by someone else – Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, a driver for NBC who occasionally sold his photographs to international news outlets as a freelancer. The claim is based on an investigation by director Bao Nguyen and narrator Gary Knight, who spent years tracking down the unknown photographer.
According to Carl Robinson, a former AP photo editor in Saigon who alleges that Horst Faas, the bureau's domineering photo chief, ordered him to change the image's credit from Nghệ to Út. But how did this alleged misattribution happen, and what were the consequences for Nghệ?
The investigation reveals a complex web of factors, including the competitive nature of Saigon's bureau, the lack of leverage for freelance photographers like Nghệ, and possibly even personal guilt on Faas' part over his brother's death on AP combat assignment in 1965. The documentary also highlights how Vietnamese journalists have been erased from the narration of their own war, with Út being the only name widely known.
Despite the film's findings, both director Nguyen and narrator Knight state that they have little doubt about Út's authorship. However, they hope that viewers will come away from the film with an open heart and open mind, acknowledging the humanity of individuals like Nghệ who deserve recognition for their contributions to journalism.
The Stringer is a powerful reminder that even in the most iconic images, there can be hidden stories and unseen photographers. By asking difficult questions about our own narratives, we must also confront the darker aspects of our profession and strive for greater honesty and transparency. As Knight puts it, "If journalists are going to hold everybody else in the world to account, we have to be able to ask difficult questions of ourselves."
. I mean, can you believe that for so long we've been thinking that a Vietnamese girl was actually napalmed by the US? 
It's crazy how our narrative has been skewed like that! The fact that there were other photographers out there who contributed to this iconic image and never got any credit is just mind-blowing 
. I love how this docu is trying to shine a light on Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, the actual photographer 
. He deserves so much more recognition for his work! And can we talk about how our history has been manipulated? 
It's like, we need to be more honest with ourselves and each other, you know? This docu is giving me so many feels, but in the best way possible 
. I'm going to have to give a major shoutout to Bao Nguyen and Gary Knight for doing this incredible work 
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. We should all be thinking about how we can do better, not just as journalists but as a society, to make sure that everyone gets the recognition they deserve 
.
I'm kinda shook by this new doc on Netflix about who actually took that famous napalm girl photo 
. The more I think about it, the more I realize how messed up it is that Vietnamese journalists have been erased from history and only one name gets mentioned 
.
. It's a harsh reminder that even in journalism, we need to be honest with ourselves about our own narratives and not just regurgitate what's already been told 
. We need to hold ourselves accountable for telling the stories that really matter 
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. The idea that the famous napalm girl photo might not have been taken by Huynh Cong "Nick" Út but actually Nguyễn Thành Nghệ is mind-blowing 
. I love how the filmmakers dug into the complex web of factors surrounding the misattribution, from the competitive nature of Saigon's bureau to personal guilt on Horst Faas' part 
. I think it's great that the documentary aims to confront these darker aspects of our profession and strive for greater honesty and transparency 
. It's a powerful reminder that there are always more stories to tell and more perspectives to consider 
.
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. Can't they just get it right for once? Anyway, back to this documentary - it's wild that the real photographer's name might have been swapped out like that all those years ago. It's a good reminder that even in journalism, stories can be twisted and manipulated for attention. The fact that Nguyễn Thành Nghệ was basically erased from history is just another example of how Vietnamese voices are often overlooked. I guess what I'm trying to say is that this doc is more than just some conspiracy theory - it's about accountability and giving credit where it's due 
The documentary seems really thorough, but it's still sad that Nguyễn Thành Nghệ has been erased from history. 
like, why now 
i mean, i get it, he deserves some props but come on, 5 decades ago? 
and the investigation was soooo thorough 
yeah right 
all this stress & expense for a pic that's already made history 
. It's crazy to think that Horst Faas, the former AP photo editor, might have ordered a credit change because of his personal guilt 
.
. This doc is a great reminder that even in iconic images, there are often hidden stories and unseen photographers 
it's crazy that nobody knew Nguyễn Thành Nghệ's name all these years, especially when his contribution to journalism is so huge. it's not just about the photo itself, but also what it represents – the struggle of journalists everywhere for recognition and respect 
. It's wild how much history and context can be lost over time, especially when it comes to Vietnamese journalists. I'm glad that Netflix is bringing this story to light, even if it means re-examining the narrative of an iconic image 
. It's like, what did they hope to achieve by erasing Nghệ's name from history? 
that's wild how some iconic images can have a hidden backstory like this