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When you're photographing with film,
there’s always some mystery.
But what you do know
is what you didn’t take.
After two runs, it became obvious
that the Skyraiders had picked the wrong target,
and were bombing their own positions.
In the distance, we could see South Vietnamese troops
frantically scrambling across the highway to safety.
As we watched, they gestured to a group of civilians to join them.
It was then that the Skyraider made the third run.
They dropped four canisters of napalm on those civilians and troops.
After few moments, a group of we press men, who’d been watching,
moved cautiously down the road into the smoke.
The sights which greeted us were awful.
After black smoke,
I saw one woman running first.
Then another woman carry the baby.
She called, "Help me, help me. My grandchild."
Stopped by all the media,
and the boy died like one second after I shot my picture.
Almost the first person we saw
was a little girl aged about nine,
running up the road.
She hadn’t got any clothes on.
She’d presumably torn them off when they caught fire.
When I looked through the camera, I saw the girl.
Hold her arms like this, running.
I took a picture of her.
When she passed me, I saw her skin come off,
the body burned so badly,
I said, "No, I don’t want no more pictures of her, I think she'll die in minutes."
This was a picture that five of us,
or six of us, were looking at in one moment,
and 24 hours later, probably a billion people had seen that picture.
It was printed all over the world.
It was such a shocking image, that it seared itself
into the collective consciousness of the American people.
For Nick, it meant the Pulitzer Prize.
Pulitzer Prize and the 1973 World Press Photo of the Year.
Ladies and gentlemen, Nick Út.
The very famous AP photographer, Nick Út.
Nick Út.
One of the most influential and recognizable
photographs in history.
It was 35 years ago…
Forty years have passed.
The fiftieth anniversary of an iconic image.
Pope Francis personally met the woman
known as Napalm Girl,
and the photojournalist whose work transformed both of them
into symbols for peace.
How do you reconcile something so tragic,
yet something that has brought fame?
Good luck.
Dear Gary, I have carried
this burden for the past 50 years,
and never gone public.
I was AP's Saigon photo editor, back in 1972,
at the time of Nick Út shooting the famous Napalm Girl photo.
Simply put, Nick didn’t really take that famous picture.
It was actually a stringer, or freelancer.
There's a lot more to this story.
It’s time to clear my conscience.
I was a freelance photographer for two decades.
It’s a fragile existence.
All you have is the authorship of your work.
It’s your income and it’s your legacy.
Some photographs just transcend all others.
They capture something, they represent a story,
a moment in time, in a way that other photographs
simply don’t reach.
It’s difficult to explain, actually,
but you kind of know it when you see it.
One day in December 2022, I received an email…
Dear Gary…
…from someone called Carl Robinson,
I have carried this burden for the past 50 years. Simply put,
Nick didn’t really take that famous picture.
That’s a hell of an allegation,
and I was stunned.
While I was certainly complicit…
He was the AP photo editor.
He was in the room.
…like a repetitive nightmare.
And he said, "I’m ready to tell my story,
I’m ready to share it with the world,
and I’d like you to help me."
The photograph of Kim Phúc is perhaps the most iconic,
famous photograph of a war ever made.
It’s sort of sacred ground,
and the idea that it might have been made
by somebody else other than Nick Út
was devastating, actually.
So, I thought, well, you know,
that is an accusation that needs to be investigated,
for sure,
and it might turn out to be incorrect,
it might turn out that we’ll never know.
but it’s certainly a question that demands some answers.
I needed to sit down with Carl.
These were serious allegations.
Even though we have friends in common,
I didn't really know Carl.
Would I believe him?
Or is this just a long-held grudge?
Hey, Carl.
- How are you? - Good to see you.
My whole past is right in front of me here.
No kidding!
Carl, let’s dive straight into Trảng Bàng, June 8th 1972.
Tell us, how did your day start?
I was usually at work by about 7:30 in the morning,
looking over the wires, from overnight
and early reports on what needed to be covered.
We did not hear in the AP office,
that something that happened at Trảng Bàng.
We didn’t even know that anything was going on up the road.
You guys are all back in Saigon.
What happened, when you got back from lunch that day?
I came back a bit later than usual,
like about three o’clock.
Horst Faas and Peter Arnett were still having lunch
at the Royale Hotel,
and Jackson had already processed the film.
Jackson said, "Hey, have a look at this."
And it was the picture of this naked young girl,
running down the road.
And our first reaction was we really can’t use that.
We never show any frontal nudity of children.
I went through the film as well,
I checked the bylines on who had shot what.
We had a double-logging system
in a school exercise book.
We had about four rolls of film,
we had Nick Út’s film,
and from two other stringers, as I recall.
The full on front picture was from a stringer,
I checked his name.
There was a picture from Nick Út,
that showed the girl running by
from a side angle, and that was actually my pick,
because it was discreet.
And that’s when Horst Faas came back from lunch.
Horst Faas, the legendary AP photographer,
I guess you’d call him a hulking sort of guy,
he was a real pro.
The lab that he had set up there
in the Associated Press office was world-class,
but he was a hard taskmaster, too.
You never wanted to get offside with Horst.
He had a real temper.
The picture was lying right there on the desk,
and he saw that, and it was like, bang!
That’s what we’re going with.
There was no question about it.
It was his call, and he was the boss.
And then I started writing the caption.
And I was getting to the end of it,
I had about four lines,
and you’d put "STF/" for staff photographer,
and for a stringer, you would put "STR/" and the name.
And I glanced over to the notebook,
and Horst Faas, who had been standing right next to me,
said, "Nick Út, make it Nick Út.
Make it staff."
"Make it Nick Út," those were his words exactly.
And those have been with me the rest of my life,
those words.
But why didn’t you turn round to Horst and say no?
I’ve struggled with that
for the rest of my life, frankly.
I mean, I owed my job
to Horst Faas.
I had been married three years
and we had two kids,
and this was my job, this was my living.
I-I didn’t argue, I just did it.
And I’ve always felt bad about that,
my whole life, that I didn’t,
that I wasn’t courageous enough.
You know, it’s just one of those things that preyed on me,
you’re right, you know, culpability.
I remember he came back really late that night,
and he was very upset,
and he’d go on and on about it's
this little girl with, you know, burns and everything.
I recall that he mentioned that Horst wanted me to put
Nick Út’s name on this picture,
but it’s not Nick Út taking it, somebody else did,
and he was very upset.
That’s all I remember.
Whenever I come through the office,
the Vietnamese always come and talk to me.
What did they say?
They said, "That picture is not Nick Út."
Would it be fair to say it was like an open secret
amongst the Vietnamese--
- Yes. - …photographers?
Carl, we’ve looked through these pictures
and we can identify most of the people in them,
the NBC group, Nick Út,
but there is somebody who appears in these photographs,
I’ve never seen photographs that have been credited to…
Do you know who that is?
I suspect this might be the guy we’re looking for.
So, your hypothesis is that this man is the stringer
who photographed Kim Phúc from the front?
Yes, exactly.
An unfamiliar stringer,
he wasn’t part of our regular army of stringers.
It wasn’t a name I was familiar with.
So, I didn’t remember it.
Fifty years, and I’m going to be eighty years old.
It’s something I really want to do,
before I pass away,
is find the real photographer
and, what, just say sorry, right?
I know sorry is never enough.
At least set the record straight, right, that I,
you know… I think an apology is the best thing I can do at this stage.
Perhaps the only thing you can do?
Exactly.
Nick Út’s status as the photographer
is almost as well-known as the photo itself.
Hold the arms like this, running.
Then I run right away…
Nick’s brother, Win Tan Mi,
was an actor and photographer
who was killed on assignment for AP in 1965.
The narrative of a village boy
who steps out of the shadow
of his talented elder sibling…
AP is my family now.
…and wins a Pulitzer Prize at the age of 21,
is the stuff of legend.
A legend the AP have promoted for fifty years,
including in their book and film, 'From Hell to Hollywood.'
I came to LA in 1977
I look at Hollywood and I said, "My God,
Vietnam and Hollywood big difference."
He's a natural in his ability to get himself
in a good position to take that shot.
Turning that legend over would be rewriting history.
If Nick Út didn’t take it, who did?
This is where the AP offices were, right here.
This is going to be impossible.
We’re never going to be able to find this guy.
We have no information about who he is.
We don’t know if he’s alive,
if he’s still in Vietnam,
if he’s in another country.
I worked here much later so I didn't know those people.
He doesn’t know anyone working in the AP.
All he knows is the photographer club.
My name is Lê Vân,
and I am a journalist living in Ho Chi Minh City.
At first this story captured my curiosity
but I wasn't sure if the story was true or not.
I wanted to know, if it is true,
then how could it have been hidden for so many years?
When Mr. Carl told me that he wanted to
find the true author of the photo to say sorry to him -
he sent me a few photographs of the person
who he thought was the author of the photo.
And from that I started to look for him.
Morning, how are you?
Good to see you. You well?
My generation was always trying
to live up to the mythological presence of the photographers of Vietnam.
AP’s photographic legacy in Vietnam
is built on the four Pulitzers it won there:
Malcolm Browne’s self-immolating monk,
Horst Faas’s photo essay from 1964,
Eddie Adams’ Vietcong execution,
and the photograph of a nine-year-old girl
running from a napalm attack in Trảng Bàng.
She ran out from the temple, out to the road, in the middle,
then they all ran here. Where we are now.
They first bombed in this area, this one, then continued to others.
This was the first attack.
So this would be the napalm
that burned the children?
Yes, napalm
This was me with Kim Phúc's family.
Here's Kim Phúc.
Tâm.
All family. These too, all family.
Is this you here?
And where are you, you’re here?
Yes, that's me.
Here?
Here, my sister was leading my brother.
There was a lot of screaming.
I stayed calm and peeled off the bomb pieces
that stuck like burnt rice on them.
So, where were you when the bomb dropped?
I was running.
Then as I was running, the bomb dropped.
I ran with Unit 25 while Kim Phúc was with her grandmother so she got burned.
So you came out with Kim Phúc?
We ran together. Each group of each side of the bridge,
running, tumbling screaming.
And ran up to the journalists?
Did you understand who the journalists were,
or what they were doing?
Did you know they were journalists?
No, I didn’t know. I didn’t know who was taking pictures either.
So, this is when some of the last photographs were taken?
The injured children, they were taken to the hospital.
Do you have any recollection, how that happened?
And how did the children get to hospital?
Specifically, how did Kim Phúc get to hospital?
I saw them putting her in a vehicle.
Who put her in a vehicle?
People around, people helped each other and put her in.
Who were they?
There were many people?
But they were civilians or soldiers?
Civilians, they put her in a vehicle.
Back then, anyone who looked neat, white and fair-skinned,
we thought they were Americans.
We just said, let them take her to save her. And it's true, she was saved.
Pàk, is this the man who you saw take Kim Phúc in the car to hospital?
No. No.
The person was just a well-dressed civilian.
That's all we remember.
The past is the past, just let it go.
Okay, alright, thank you.
Ladies and gentlemen, Nick Út.
You know, she shouldn’t have survived.
It was only because Nick put his camera down,
and he drove her to a hospital.
I picked her up, put her in my company car - the van
and all the kids inside they cry all the time for 40 minutes, 35 minutes.
We stopped at Cu Chi hospital -
when I showed my media pass, it worked very well.
They take her inside right away.
That photo had a profound impact
on the history of my country.
The "napalm girl" photo helped the anti-war movement in Vietnam.
And that was extremely meaningful to the Vietnamese people
who had experienced a long wartime period, of pain, and loss.
Because of this, the person who was able to
bring this moment and image to the world is a hero in Vietnamese history.
I saw the entire Vietnam War, you can say,
from '68 onwards, in black-and-white film.
One thing that I think outsiders didn’t realize was
how competitive that Saigon press corps is.
It was more than a thousand accredited journalists
from all around the world.
If you heard that there was an important battle,
you would get up really early in the morning,
to be the first to get on a helicopter to go there.
You’d be very pleased if there wasn’t an AP guy
or Reuter's guy there.
Journalists had the honorary rank of major,
so if you wanted to hop on a helicopter,
and there's some captain waiting in line,
you could just tell them to buzz off.
For a young journalist,
it was a real adventure playground.
I have to confess, I was more interested in the adventure, perhaps,
than the actual human impact of the war.
And the more time I spent,
I realized how horrific it was.
During the operation, 53 enemy were killed,
856 suspects were detained.
There was a kind of camaraderie of the press
going out during the day,
maybe going into a battle situation,
and then coming back at night,
totally separated from the vulnerability of the people.
It was surreal,
and you could see the bullets being fired all around the city,
and you were sitting watching,
and having a gin and tonic.
Carl and I were friends,
but we were a different breed.
We were local hires.
We both had Vietnamese wives.
We would go out at night and drink beer,
and just be with the Vietnamese.
And we both had a respect for the richness
of the Vietnamese culture, and the vulnerability of the people.
The Associated Press office was an amazing school,
an amazing place to learn, as I did myself.
The Easter Offensive,
which had begun in March, April '72
a lot of the U.S. ground troops had already been pulled out.
As part of the wind down,
Western news agencies were also cutting back on staff.
By that stage, I was actually the photo editor.
So when the offensive broke,
we were short-handed, right?
In a bit of trouble there, you could say.
We lost a plane, a UPI.
So Horst Faas came back from Singapore,
and he basically took over photos for me.
There were key figures of the Saigon press corps.
Horst Faas, who was a legendary figure.
His word was law in the AP bureau.
He’d worked with Peter Arnett, and other Pulitzer Prize winners,
and so it would surely matter.
Horst was this beefy guy
with this wonderful Bavarian accent,
drank a decent amount, ate well,
was a tremendous photographer.
Nothing came between Horst and a good picture.
We had our corps of Western
and a few Vietnamese staff photographers.
And then we had Faas’ army of stringers,
or freelancers, all over the place.
They relied so heavily on Vietnamese photographers
who would go out, days on end,
into the field, laden with film,
you know, perhaps come back a week or two later.
Mostly South Vietnamese Army photographers,
who wanted to make a bit of money on the side,
they’d give us the film.
You’d type a receipt, get them to sign it,
and then give it to the office secretary,
and she would pay them in green back,
twenty dollars, green.
Carl, this photograph…
at what point in the AP office,
did you realize what this photograph represented?
Well, the immediate reaction was the very next morning,
when it had indeed gone out to the world,
and the reaction was coming in.
That’s when we realized, bang,
that really is going to be a big story.
The children seen in this photograph were victims today
of the South Vietnamese Air Force.
One, two, three, four. We don't want your fucking war!
This picture didn’t have impact in Vietnam at that time.
If, a big if,
we got the news about a girl
burned by napalm bombs,
it was just a scan,
passing by very fast.
It was much less important
than the news about, say, one, ten,
a hundred, even a thousand people killed a day.
I think I got a call from Carl,
if I could come to the AP office
to help him find someone in a hospital.
AP was demanding a follow-up story and
I had to go out and find this napalm girl
wherever she was,
and Nick Út wasn’t saying, hey, I’ll go with you on that.
He didn’t tell us in the office where she was.
Tom Fox and our other staff photographer,
the three of us went out on our motorbikes.
I do remember clearly finding Kim Phúc,
standing at her bed with Carl.
She was fully bandaged, surrounded by a net,
and she was conscious.
I was feeling outraged,
and being so moved by this tragedy,
and by the smell.
She reeked of burnt flesh,
which was just very, very, very difficult.
Very, very difficult.
Through Tom, I interviewed her father
and got the whole story.
There was never any story like Vietnam.
Vietnam took something out of us.
So, Carl, where did you learn the name of the stringer?
In 2010, we had a reunion called Vietnam Old Hacks.
The Old Hacks has revealed aspects of Carl
that none of us suspected.
And my wife, Kim Dung, was sitting with a combat photographer
in the Saigon press corps who'd heard the name.
The reunion was quite big, a lot of catching up.
In the distance, Nick Út would show up something.
Somebody else said to me, "Did you hear this new one?"
"We know the name of the guy now."
Could you repeat the name for me?
Nghệ. Nghệ.
A very rare Vietnamese name.
Finding the stringer will be difficult
because this story took place so long ago.
The people who could possibly know have either passed away
or resettled to a foreign country, and their whereabouts are unclear.
When we posted on Facebook, the information was very vague.
So, I didn’t have high hopes.
"Gary, I enjoyed chatting with you yesterday,
but my legal counsel has advised me not to be in the film.
I’m sorry, but I keep declining,
you keep pushing, but I can’t really do more than I’ve done."
That’s just so disappointing.
He is the second Western journalist
that we’ve approached, that agreed to an interview
and has then backed out.
So, who do we think was on the road that day?
In this photograph, accredited by AP to Nick Út,
we identify the NBC crew,
the British ITN crew,
the New York Times reporter,
the Chicago Tribune reporter,
and several who we believe are freelance or military photographers.
So, for everyone just joining us,
I have David Burnett here, world-renowned photojournalist.
David Burnett, he was both in Trảng Bàng at the time,
and then he was also in the AP office that afternoon.
Everybody thinks that's me on the right.
- It's not you? - No, that's not me.
That's not you. Okay.
David has repeatedly said he has no doubt
that Nick took the picture.
We could see people running out of the smoke,
up the road toward us, and
Nick and another journalist just took off running
down the road immediately.
You know, it took me another 30 seconds…
to get my camera loaded.
In those 30 seconds, that's where Nicky made his picture.
But David, by his own account,
didn’t see who took the photograph,
And I remember being in the office room of the AP photo section,
when the techie came out with this little 5x7 wet print.
And Horst Faas says, "Well, you did good work today, Nick Út."
Go send it.
So, in the same way that Peter Arnett always says,
you know, hey, I was in the AP office,
I know what happened, Peter wasn’t a witness
to what went down in the photo room.
There were very few witnesses
to what went down in the photo room.
To undermine AP in Vietnam,
and to undermine Horst Faas, is a big deal,
and all of their legacies are wrapped up in that memory.
Okay, so then what about the Vietnamese that haven't talked to us?
We’ve got the NBC guys.
Võ Sửu and Trần Văn Thân.
Võ Sửu has said no.
I did call ---- up one day, and I asked him about this
and he said, "Talk to Carl. He's telling the truth." That's all he would say.
Okay.
He wouldn't go beyond that.
The whole story is not about Nick stealing a picture,
it was something that happened to Nick.
Well, he was never consulted, right?
- No. - As far as we know from Carl.
It was just given to him, so it’s a suicide pass, you know?
Somebody threw him a hot rock.
He’s, in many ways, a victim too.
And we have to treat him with the, you know,
appropriate dignity and respect, right?
- Terri? - Yeah.
So, this Skyraider is dropping the napalm here,
we can see the line of press here,
the explosions, we can see Nick Út here,
with his camera bags and the poncho,
his helmet, very obvious,
and he’s always said that the grandmother came out first,
and this man’s carrying the second baby.
And then, that’s the image,
and this is the subsequent frame.
Here, this is a picture by Nick Út,
but, interestingly, it’s taken from the Saigon side,
facing towards all of the smoke,
and then the row of photographers is turned around,
the children have run past,
and then, you see who we see here?
We can see Nick Út,
but he’s actually not with the group of media
who have captured the image of Kim Phúc
running up the road, and are now coming towards…
Towards Saigon, away from the temple.
Yeah, yeah.
- So, if we give this sequencing-- - Yeah.
- to the forensic experts-- - Right.
they should be able to help us in
determining who was the person
who was in the position to take the photograph.
- With some probability. - Right.
There's a leading forensic group in Paris,
called INDEX Investigation,
who could look at this for us.
Even if they’re inconclusive,
the fact that you’ve tried
means that you’re honest brokers, right?
When the photograph, you know, nine months later,
a year later, when the photograph went on
to win the Pulitzer, the World Press Photo Award,
the Overseas Press Club Award,
wouldn’t that have been a time for you to come out,
and tell the truth?
It was all too late by then, I dare say.
We shoved it under the carpet.
We never talked about it.
Why?
Horst Faas was not really the sort of guy
you’d want to argue with.
I wasn’t in a position to make a fuss about it.
But why wait until Horst was dead?
I don’t think it’s very fair that I was waiting
until he passed away.
I mean, I have talked about it privately
over the years with people.
Horst Faas was like my superior.
I was just typing the caption "STF slash…"
At Vietnam Old Hacks,
and I reached out to Arnett, to say, look,
I don’t know if you know this story,
but this is what really happened.
It was like I was pouring out my heart to him.
And I’ve got to hear, you know,
something from Arnett, Peter Arnett,
legendary Pulitzer Prize winning
AP correspondent from the Vietnam War,
a very close pal of Horst, who says:
“Dear Carl, frankly, I’m shocked by your story.
You must be aware that the AP,
with all its resources,
and Horst, and his many friends
along with Nick Út himself,
and his Vietnamese associates,
will do everything possible
to discredit you and your assertions,
and challenge all of what you say.”
That’s pretty heavy.
In fact, pretty remarkable from Arnett.
What’s the date on that?
August 5th, 2009.
And again, in 2015, on a public forum,
you heard from Arnett.
"The AP Management is well aware of Robinson's patently false
private claims made over the past few years.
And will robustly defend Nick's reputation
based on witness statements
and AP photographic records of that period
if he decides to go public."
Peter Arnett claims that senior AP management
are aware of your accusations.
Have they ever reached out to you?
No. They’ve never approached me.
Did you ever think of contacting Nick,
and, you know, addressing this with him directly?
When Nick retired formally from the AP,
I sent him a personal email,
and said, "Look, you know that I know the real story here."
You want to just get off the stage
and enjoy your retirement.
But he just kept going…
I think in a Vietnamese way,
he should have just been a lot more
humble about it, humility.
Which is better, which is right?
The myth that comes with the injustice?
Or poking that myth for truth?
There is a whole side of the story
that is not being recorded,
and that’s the person who took the picture.
And from the day he took the picture,
was excluded from reality,
and what is that like?
And what is that like for his wife and children?
That story deserves justice.
One of my friends, he post that thing on the Facebook.
First of all, I recognized the name right away
because Nghệ is my close friend and co-worker too.
And I read the story, and I see the picture.
I called Nghệ right away, and I said, "Nghệ, your story come true!"
He said, "Really? Some people are looking for me?"
So he got very, very excited.
"Oh, my God! People are going to know the truth very soon."
The only thing we could do was wait.
But about three days later, three or four days later,
after we posted on Facebook, while I was sitting at a café,
my phone rang, and I received a call.
I'll always remember this moment,
and I had to ask him to repeat it twice.
He said, "Mr. Nghệ just called me.
This is Nghệ. I'm the one you're looking for."
And after that I took off my glasses, and put my head down,
and sobbed.
He was only going to be in Vietnam for one more month.
That's why I felt I had to leave immediately to meet him.
He had been waiting for us since early morning
when he learned we would come to visit.
He hadn't eaten anything, just sat and waited.
So, when I saw him, a real life person
standing in front of me, an elderly man…
it's difficult to describe how I felt at that moment.
Which photo was yours?
The one with the naked girl whose clothes were burned.
The one that won the Pulitzer later on?
That's the one, yes.
Nick Út came with me on that assignment. But he didn't take that photo.
He just took some pictures from afar.
That photo was mine.
The AP guy accepted the photo
and gave me a print and the rest of the film.
I gave the rest to a journalist in Saigon.
Who did you sell it to?
The boss. Then the next day I went back and
he gave me a print -- this big --
and he gave me $20 and said, "I'll take this photo."
I took the $20 and took the other guys for a drink. That's it.
Normally when a news agency bought photos from you,
did they credit your name when publishing them?
No, rarely. Only on some special occasions.
Normally after I get back from a shoot, I would just give them all the film.
They do what they do, and I wouldn't question them.
After meeting Nghệ, I felt incredible joy.
I wake up one morning
and I see the news on WhatsApp.
We’ve got an iPhone recording of Nghệ,
and it is indeed him
that takes the photograph.
Incredible news.
We shared our search for Nghệ with his daughter.
I called him, I said, "What’s up, Dad?"
He said, "Guess what?
You won’t believe, somebody’s looking for me.
They knew about my picture," he said.
"I went to lunch with them,
they told me they want to do the story.
They know about me and everything.
Would you believe that?"
What happened afterwards
was very strange and unbelievable.
I texted Mr. Nghệ to see how he was and keep in touch,
but I didn't get a reply for a whole night and the next morning.
The next day I tried to reach him again.
I called all night and all morning, but I still didn't get a reply.
I call again, but he didn’t answer.
I kept calling, calling, calling.
So, the next afternoon I called again.
Mr. Nghệ's friend answered the phone
and told me he just had a stroke.
She said he might go into a coma, and his condition was serious. Very serious.
It made me so emotional
thinking of him lying in the hospital,
with life and death so precarious.
I remembered something he told me:
"If I don't have any evidence, then I'm zero,
while the other person is a hero."
My father,
he was born by the mistress of my grandfather.
They didn’t want him,
so, they gave him away to the family
who worked for my grandparents,
who loved him very much.
My dad left the village, and he went to Saigon.
So, he enrolled himself into the photography school.
That’s where he met my mom.
She was a hairdresser just next door.
So, they got married, and then they had three of us.
He joined the army, but he just takes the picture.
The army sent him to the U.S. to study,
and that’s where he got the certificate.
They promoted me to Lieutenant because
I had that certificate from the Psy-Ops Bureau.
I worked in the film department for news gathering.
When in 1975 did you emigrate to the U.S.?
One month before the North arrived.
Because I worked for the U.S. Embassy,
they prioritized the people who were in charge of important jobs.
I remember very clearly my dad,
he just like, "You have to get ready,
we are leaving."
They make the announcement that you are not on vacation,
you are leaving your country.
So, that’s how we got here.
Hi, Gary, how are you? Very nice to meet you.
Fantastic to see you. You look great. How are you?
Okay, I’m okay. How are you?
I’m very good, very happy to see you in good shape.
Fantastic. Shall we head in?
- Yeah. - After you, man.
- You look really wonderful. - Thank you, thank you very much.
Come on, Gary.
I wonder if we could take you back to the war.
On June the 8th, 1972,
could you talk me through a little bit
what you did that day, and why?
Well, there’s a channel,
I don’t know which, but they called me to go film.
Because they said the Việt Cộng have come to Trảng Bàng already.
They’re in a temple in Trảng Bàng.
They didn’t have a driver. So I said, “I’m a driver too.”
Then I rented a car and I drove there.
When I got there, I saw planes flying overhead,
indicating that there was going to be trouble.
I called a few guys over and said,
“You’re going to have work to do.”
I thought civilians were hiding there.
Then the planes dropped two bombs.
Since that is the main road, they have to run out that way;
there's nowhere else to run.
I prepared everything in advance.
I saw the photo in that moment and just took it.
And I managed to capture that moment,
and I knew I got the money shot.
So, Nghệ, is this the kind of camera
you were using that day?
Yes, that's the camera. It was a Pentax.
Yes, a 50 mm lens.
Normal.
When did you see that picture again?
After I sold the photo, about six or seven months later.
Someone inside AP told me,
"Your photo went to the U.S.
It has won awards.
Do you want to file a complaint?"
I looked back and thought, I don’t have any proof of it.
Let me go home and check.
And I saw that my wife had ripped up the print the guy gave me and threw it away.
Nghệ, did you think that that was a mistake at the time,
how the names had been changed on the photograph?
Did you think it was done on purpose?
No, intentional.
I knew it right away.
It's my profession, I knew.
On that day, Út was the only one who was staff for AP.
So the AP guy credited that photo to Út.
Have you ever seen him since,
and discussed this with him?
I've met him, but I didn't greet him, and he didn't greet me either.
I felt upset.
I worked hard for it, but that guy got to have it all.
He got the recognition. He got awards.
He was celebrated in Vietnam.
I remember on that day my dad came home.
He sat down, and he pulled from his pocket the film,
and he threw it over here and say,
“Oh, I sold this today,”
and he just threw that picture on the fridge.
After my dad left, I and my younger brother,
we tiptoed and we flipped it back, you know,
and my brother, the younger one,
he’s the one who did it first, and he put it back.
And he’s like silently, "Don’t say anything."
And I’m like, oh, I’ve got to see it, right?
So I did the same thing,
and I put it back right away.
Then we both looked at each other.
We were so much in shock,
like, she’s about my age.
And why is she naked?
And why is she screaming?
Then when my mom was cleaning,
she were like, mumbling to herself,
like, "Why did your dad bring this kind of picture into the house?"
Tore it up, and threw it in the trash bin immediately.
Remember, my mom was the traditional Vietnamese lady.
After that, my dad was panicked.
He was saying, "See?
If you didn’t throw it away,
look, I can have something to prove it."
On and on, on and on, until they got divorced.
Gary, would you like something to eat?
Sure. That’s fantastic, thank you.
When were you born, Anthony?
- I was born in 1961. - ’61?
- Yeah. - Right, right.
So, your whole childhood was during the war, right?
Yeah, yeah, the whole time.
So, did you spend much time with Nghệ during the war?
- He was working, right? - Yeah, but he always came back
so I can wash his car.
I'm the one washing my car.
Washed your dad’s car.
Anthony, we’ve been talking about the photograph
that your father took.
How do you feel when you see that photograph?
Every time I see that picture,
I say, "Oh, that, my dad took the picture."
That’s about it.
But, him, it’s another story, though.
He always have like something here, man,
why nobody noted me?
It’s me, I’m the one taking the picture.
- That's what… - I’m sorry.
Are you okay?
No. I’m sorry.
Well, you know, it’s kind of like a losing battle.
And I think he’s tried to put that in the back of his mind,
to like, okay…
you know, because there is no help, no recourse.
I cannot understand, for the life of me,
why they would give Nghệ
a print of a photograph that he made,
they would give him proof that he made this photograph.
- Yes. - To give him the proof
of something that you’ve taken from him,
- it’s a very strange act. - Yeah.
For me, fundamentally, you know, there is an injustice,
just a general injustice here.
I don’t think they would have done that
to a Western photographer,
an American, a Frenchman,
- or an Englishman. - Yes.
So, I think your father has really been taken advantage of,
as many photographers,
and many freelance journalists from majority world countries,
from the global south, have been taken advantage of
before and since.
And I think that needs to be addressed, actually.
Yeah. You know what, I keep thinking about it.
A lot of people know that he’s the one
who took the picture.
I know my uncle,
my auntie,
all his fam that work for CBS, NBC,
everybody knows.
Why nobody have gut to say something about it?
So, what would be a good resolution for you now?
I want AP to tell
the true story,
the story of my dad.
Dad and I, we talk about it many times.
If only the person
who did what he did
would make a confession,
then everybody would know.
But other than that, that…
is not going to happen.
Impossible.
My dad is getting older.
Like an angel on earth
is knocking on my dad's door,
and tell him this is the time
I’m going to tell the truth for you.
You know, when we spoke to Nghệ,
what we discovered is that nobody
has reached out to him.
He hasn’t spoken to anyone.
His story hasn’t been influenced
by anyone on the outside.
He has lived a quiet, humble life,
in perfect isolation
in California with his family.
This is a man who’s spent his entire life
in the photographic and film industry,
had trained as a cinematographer.
So, on that day, Nghệ is the most accomplished,
highly trained war photographer
standing on that road.
- Hi, Gary! How are you? - Lovely to see you.
I would like you to meet my uncle.
Very nice to meet you, Thân, very nice to meet you.
Thank you very much, very nice to meet you, Sir.
I used to be a soundman for NBC News.
- That’s right. - Yeah, for many years.
And when did you retire?
I retired when I was 63, but now I am 92.
- That’s pretty incredible. - Yeah, thank you.
So when you were filming this scene here,
this is the famous photograph here,
who was with you on the road?
Yeah, in the middle of the road,
and the girl was coming to us.
I was in the middle holding the microphone.
And Nguyễn Thành Nghệ was on my left side taking a picture of that girl.
Was Nick Út there at that time?
- No. - Oh, okay.
So, when you left Trảng Bàng, you drove back to Saigon?
- Saigon. - And what did you do next?
After filming, I told Mr. Nguyen Than Nghệ
that the AP office was next to mine.
The buyer of the film was Mr. Horst Faas.
I don't know how to spell his name in English, but people called him Horst Faas.
After developing the film, he cut off the one of the burned girl,
set it aside, and said, "I'll buy this film."
He also gave me an enlargement of the burned girl. 8 x 10 inch.
So, Thân, when you found out
that they had given the photograph to Nick Út,
did you say anything to anybody at that time?
I didn’t say anything, because…
nobody…
care.
And also I am an employee,
I need money
for my family living,
and I don’t want any trouble.
But I understand, the bureau chief of AP,
and my bureau chief, NBC News bureau chief,
they are close friends.
I cannot open my mouth.
If I get fired,
how can my family live?
I have to keep my mouth shut
for more than 50 years.
My conscience is not at peace.
Every time I think about it, I can't eat or sleep well.
I'm reliving that moment from 50 years ago.
On that day,
the truth that I suppressed inside,
deceiving myself,
left me feeling unrest.
Requiem, an exhibition that honored
all the photographers from Vietnam and overseas
who had died during the war.
It was an act of remembrance.
Horst was really the driving force behind that project.
I knew Horst, he was complex,
a paradox, tough, competitive,
and yet capable of great compassion.
Út’s brother, Huynh Thanh My,
was one of those killed while working for the AP.
Horst had been responsible for hiring Nick,
to ensure that the family had some income.
Do you know why Horst would have
made the decision to add
Nick Út’s name to the caption?
Horst was torn up by My’s death,
and I thought this was his way of
paying a tribute to him.
I can understand how Horst would have felt bad
about that his whole life, about what happened.
Right? He sent him on that assignment.
Was it normal for stringers to be given prints of the images
that AP bought from them?
Yeah, that was fairly common, yes.
If we had an extra print or two, and like in this case, we had several.
There's something a little troubling for me, though,
that if AP had taken
the photograph from the stringer,
put somebody else’s name on it,
why would they have given him a print, ergo evidence,
of the same image?
Well, that would have been Horst who did all that,
but that was very unusual,
I must say, especially after the byline switch on it.
Unusual, or maybe he was just
confident that Nghệ would never say anything?
Exactly. Faas was nothing if not confident.
We finally heard back from Võ Sửu
He and his brother, Win, were cameramen
for the U.S. networks,
filmed some of the iconic footage from the war.
Vo Suu wasn’t in Trảng Bàng,
but he well understood the world of the freelancer.
If you were a freelance military reporter
and you went out and took pictures,
you would then submit them to AP.
Especially those in the military, they were poor, you understand.
They just gave them the photos to earn a little money
fame was not important.
This means they didn't go to AP to claim that picture
because they thought once they were paid, that picture belonged to AP?
Yes, that's AP's policy.
So, there could be many pictures taken by other people,
that happened.
I think when it comes to Nick Út's photo,
determining the real author is very difficult.
Nick Út must know whether he really took it or not.
We obtained an internal document from AP.
Horst explains how difficult it was
to get the New York office to place Vietnamese names on their photo.
He says,
“Vietnamese names were ridiculed by the Americans.
If they weren’t called slants,
they were not taken seriously, because they had funny names.
So, there was a reluctance here
to credit the Vietnamese what was due to them.”
Hi, thank you for taking the call.
We are reporting allegations
that Nick Út is not the author of
the famous Pulitzer Prize winning photograph.
I’d sort of love to collaborate with AP, right?
I’d like to involve you in this investigation,
if we’re allowed into the archive,
and share information with you.
Yeah…
But also I just want to press upon AP,
if I may, other former AP employees,
not the whistleblower, obviously,
have used AP’s name
to suppress the information,
and then they’ve said that AP management
are aware of the allegations, and will discredit
the whistleblower.
Yeah…
Thanks, and take care. Thank you.
She was just trying to find out a little bit of what we know.
And she was pretty open. She said, "Look, I have to go back
and report this.
Uh, and we'll be in touch."
But there was nothing defensive at all.
They were very, very open.
Yeah. Just wait and see.
Since Carl first told you about this story,
he’s subsequently written a book
where he didn’t mention this at all.
Yeah. My response was very clear…
Carl, you’ve got to tell the story.
You’ve got to tell the truth.
Was he honest with you and did he say, in the end,
look, I don’t have the strength, or whatever?
What did he say to you?
First of all, he said, "I won’t be believed.
Horst Faas is dead."
He said, "It’s too easy, they’ll always say,
why did you wait? You’re an opportunist."
And he lined up all the reasons,
and I don’t know that any one of the reasons was enough.
It wasn’t enough for me.
I just kept pushing him to do it.
And he would send me drafts of the true story,
and say, "I want you to see this,"
and then I’d say, "This is the story you need to tell,"
and then I got the final book,
and it wasn’t in there.
I said, "You’re not being honest again.
You’re still not telling the truth."
And so he sends me this email on January 20th, 2018.
“Dear Tom, shit, man.
It would have been better if you’d just agreed
with how I revised the damn Nick Út stuff.
I am haunted by this entire fucking story.
I fucking hate it.
How many times, how many,
am I going to keep this going
to a climactic and very public finale,
as a one-day wonder in the New York Times,
pissing off almost every one of my erstwhile colleagues,
most of whom, let’s face it, I loathed,
and with whom I never truly fit in,
me, just a local hire off-the-street guy,
just a bloody photo editor,
like I’m just asking for a good hiding here, is that it?”
This is a tormented Carl,
with this demon inside
that he’s trying to release and can’t,
and he’s pissed at me for not letting up,
and I tried, but he’s a friend.
Carl has nothing to gain from telling this story.
He has everything to lose, in fact.
I think that’s…
it makes him a very genuine source, actually.
I can’t imagine someone making up a story
that would…
haunt him for the rest of his life.
He’s trying to expel this
by wrestling with the truth.
It’s a strong, compelling darkness.
We get this horrible news
that Nghệ's come down with a stroke.
We didn't know what to do.
I just wanted to meet him, and say I am sorry.
That’s something I personally had to do.
Hello, Nghệ.
How are you?
I feel bad that we stole your name, right?
So I want to say sorry.
You are my proof, and I am your proof.
One brief moment
captured all of us
into this kind of victimhood.
Thank you for standing by me all this time.
This is a sad, sad story.
The smallest of acts
can have a huge consequence.
Can we just review what Nick’s narrative is?
Here’s what he says. He says that morning,
he went in an AP van with a driver.
I and another man named David Burnett from Time Magazine.
I and a Vietnamese man named Hoảng Vãn Doanh,
a freelance reporter for AP and UPI,
and there was another man, Nghệ, who was a driver for NBC, he was not media.
He was driving a car with the journalists.
He drove a friend of mine, Lê Phúc Đinh,
a cameraman who captured the entire scene of the bombing.
Nobody disputes that he was there,
nobody disputes that he took pictures that day.
Kim Phúc has always said that she was in shock,
and can’t really remember the incident.
The photographer who took my picture,
unfortunately, I don’t remember his face.
The first person to run out was an old lady,
at least 70 years old. She ran out first.
Then the children ran out.
Nobody disputes that he photographed the grandmother…
…and the baby dying.
Does he state, unequivocally,
that he takes the famous photograph
after he photographed the grandmother?
- Yes. - Right, so that’s his sequence?
- That’s his sequence. - Okay.
I had just taken a photo. I looked through the viewfinder and
suddenly saw girl, arms outstretched, running and ask myself,
"Why isn't she wearing clothes?"
I had to run close to her and take the photo
And according to Nick’s narrative,
that he shoots on his Leica
he uses a 35mm lens, that’s what he had.
Then he puts water on her.
- Everyone leaves. - Yeah.
And he takes Kim, the girl, and her brother,
to the Cu Chi Hospital,
which is the closest hospital…
In the AP van, he’s said multiple times.
It was then that Kim Phúc's uncle ran out
and asked me if I could take the children to the hospital.
I had a van. I opened the door.
I carried Kim Phúc and put her on the floor of the car
because her back was burned badly, so she couldn't lean back.
Then three kids jumped in.
However in a 1984 documentary,
Kim Phúc's mother tells a different story.
She was burned badly we didn't know how to save her.
There was an uncle who carried her on his back and ran.
He took her down to Bắc Hà, Củ Chi.
From there, a plane took her to the Children’s Hospital.
- Yeah. - Right.
Then, Nick claims…
- he goes to AP. - Mm-hmm.
…that he goes into the darkroom
to develop the film with Jackson.
Yet Carl says that Nick wasn’t there when he arrived,
and then Nick came in later in civilian clothes.
Horst says, um, “Good job, Nick.”
Yeah, “You did a good job.”
That’s what David Burnett says.
- Nice to meet you. - Yeah, I know.
Hey, guys. Nice to meet you.
- Hello, Gary. - Nice to see you.
So, to take you through the process and the methodology we’ve used
to analyze the footage that you’ve shared with us,
from that sort of weaving together
of these different threads and clues,
I think a coherent overall picture appears.
We started by examining
the photographs and film clips you provided us,
all captured by reporters in Trảng Bàng on that day.
We used a November 1972 satellite image
to understand the area’s layout,
and began matching landmarks between the photos
and the satellite image, to pinpoint
where each photograph was taken.
The sequence we focus on begins
with the aerial dropping and explosion of napalm bombs,
around the Cao Dai temple in Trảng Bàng.
This moment was captured in film footage
by a British ITN News crew.
In a photograph taken shortly after,
a group of reporters can be seen
near a checkpoint and bridge,
matching this location on the satellite image.
They are facing the temple,
which is about 500 meters,
or a third of a mile away.
This is the first picture where we see Kim Phúc
among a group of other children.
They are emerging from a field
onto the main road, accompanied by soldiers.
Behind them, we distinguish a dirt path
perpendicular to the main road,
which appears to match this location
on the satellite image.
The next available photograph is the one known as "Napalm Girl."
Kim Phúc and the other children
are walking up the main road,
moving away from the temple
and the site of the explosion.
Drawing on a range of visual cross-references,
we determined an approximate position
for the photographer on the road,
as represented in our 3D model.
The original negative of the photograph
confirms that the subsequent image.
was taken by the same photographer
who captured the Napalm Girl picture.
The next available shot of the children comes from an ITN news clip.
As they continue up the road,
the footage captures them running past the news crew.
The cameraman pans to follow Kim Phúc.
In this frame from the ITN footage,
we now see Kim Phúc and another child from behind.
Two figures face them.
The one on the right is capturing the reverse shot
showing the group of children in front of a line of reporters.
Among them, we can distinguish, three film cameramen,
two soundmen, and on the right,
a single photographer with a stills camera,
which we have identified as the stringer.
These reporters stand a short distance up the road
from the spot where, just seconds earlier,
the Napalm Girl photograph was captured.
In the shot from the ITN footage, at that same moment,
we can make out another figure in the background
approaching from farther back,
who seems to be carrying gear.
After a cut, the ITN footage shows a close-up of Kim Phúc
receiving water from the journalists.
The distant figure carrying gear is now closer.
He’s wearing a helmet, and appears to be holding a camera.
This exact moment has also been captured
by the photographer we’ve seen approaching from afar.
This photograph is attributed to Nick Út by AP.
Another picture captures the scene shortly after,
while Kim Phúc is still in front of the ITN cameraman.
A figure looking towards them
is visible on the left side of the frame.
We notice he's wearing a helmet with a fabric tag
short sleeves, and a jacket hanging on his right side.
These details are consistent with the photographer
we saw approaching from a distance
in the ITN footage.
In the next available image,
the same figure is visible as he’s taking a photograph,
most likely this photograph of Kim Phúc,
also attributed to Nick Út by AP.
Finally, a reverse shot of the same scene is taken,
where we can positively identify Nick Út
as the photographer wearing a helmet and carrying gear,
first seen in the distance in the ITN footage.
By revisiting this footage, we can now establish
that just seconds after
the Napalm Girl photograph was taken,
Nick Út appears at a considerable distance
from the running children,
walking towards them from the opposite direction.
Therefore we can conclude that it is highly unlikely
that Nick Út took the Napalm Girl photograph.
It doesn't really make sense
that a few seconds after the picture was taken
that he would be so far away and coming back
if he was the person that had taken the picture at that time.
I think what we have, though, we have two people…
who claim to have taken the photograph.
- Mm-hmm. - Only two.
One is Nick Út, and one is Nghệ, the stringer.
And what you're telling me here,
is that Nick Út wasn't in the right place
to have taken the photograph.
Which would mean the only person
who was in the right place to take the photograph
who claims to have taken the photograph,
would be the stringer.
- That's correct. - Mm-hmm.
In our model, in our virtual cameras,
Napalm Girl picture
is most likely taken by a camera of 50 mm.
At least the virtual camera…
- our model… says it. - Yep.
And the stringer, Nghệ,
is using a 50 mill lens on a Pentax.
That's remarkable.
- Thank you. - Thank you.
Regarding the photograph
of the grandmother holding the baby,
if we look at the smoke in the background,
we notice that it is significantly less dense
than in the series of photographs of Kim Phúc
walking down the road.
This suggests that the photograph
of the grandmother was likely taken
minutes after the Napalm Girl photo.
We found another clue in the ITN footage.
When the camera follows the grandmother,
we can see in the crowd, at the checkpoint,
the figure of a seemingly naked girl
in all likelihood, Kim Phúc herself,
as well as the other children on the right,
indicating their arrival ahead of the grandmother.
…just seconds after the Napalm Girl photograph was taken,
Nick Út appears at a considerable distance
That’s Nick Út.
So you’re saying he’s too far back?
Just watch, the direction he’s coming from.
So, he’s way out of position.
We know that photography is all about positioning.
You can’t get the picture if you’re not there,
and he’s not there, and we know that
because we see him too far out of position
to have been there.
Nick Út, we know where his pictures are.
The UPI guy, we know where his pictures are,
but what about this guy here?
Nobody has his pictures.
That’s amazing.
You know, there will be people, I’m sure,
who still maintain that Nick must have taken that photograph,
but to believe that,
you have to not believe anything Carl said,
not believe the stringer,
not believe his children,
wonder why Horst, or someone at AP,
gave him a print to put on his fridge.
You have to disbelieve the evidence of the photograph,
the evidence of the video.
You have to disbelieve everything and everybody,
and only believe Nick or Arnett,
who believes that Nick took the picture,
because Horst told him Nick took the picture.
All of the evidence actually comes from Horst’s mouth.
As a former DOP of AP, um,
you know, you’re as well-placed as anybody to understand
what we’re looking at here.
So if we take this to AP,
what does that mean for the image?
What does it mean to AP?
Nobody’s calling the veracity of the image
into question, right?
So, the veracity and the power of the image still stands.
AP’s ownership and distribution of the image still stand.
There’s a lot of spatter.
A lot of people are going to get spattered by this.
The people who have, you know, defended this to the death.
Yeah.
In some ways it’s the Vietnamese
reclaiming the narrative of something
that happened in their country,
as opposed to having,
with regards to the crediting of the picture,
a narrative foisted on them.
It’s not easy to unpack a narrative
that’s sort of stuck in people’s collective conscience
for so long.
How is Nick Út going to stick up his hand and say,
I think there was a mistake, I didn’t make the picture?
You know, as time goes on, and that narrative sinks in,
it becomes even harder.
Like you either do that at the moment, or…
- You never do. - Or you never do it, right?
For Nghệ,
it’s justice,
it’s justice.
That’s pretty powerful.
I think the AP is the big elephant in the room here,
and I find it very difficult to believe that,
when presented with this evidence,
that they won’t engage.
It’s off the record, so, obviously I can’t disclose, you know, very much,
but, um, I think we’ve done the right thing
by talking to AP.
Uh, whether AP do the right thing remains to be seen.
For 52 years Nick Út had always been believed to be
the photographer who captured the "Napalm Girl" photo.
However, a recent revelation has challenged
the greatest achievement of his photography career.
This iconic photo is at the center of a growing controversy.
The “Napalm Girl” with questions the world will never forget.
But is this shot really one of his?
The story of a probable usurpation
which will have lasted 50 years.
In the AP report, they state…
"a challenged credit would be removed only if definitive evidence showed
that the person who claimed to have taken the photo did not."
They concluded the true authorship…
"cannot be proven definitively
due to the passage of time,
the death of many of the key players involved
and the limitations of technology.
Thus, the photo attribution will remain as is."
Yes, that’s the camera. It was a Pentax, yes.
Using material revealed in AP's report,
we can now refine our conclusions.
First, we have analyzed this photograph by David Burnett.
Nick Út appears in the foreground,
while Kim Phúc is still in the fields beside the main road.
The long lens compresses perspective,
making them seem closer than they are.
A barbed wire fence visible beside Út
shows he's still at the checkpoint.
Namely, about 170 meters from the spot
where the Napalm Girl photograph will soon be taken.
At this moment, Kim Phúc is only 60 meters away from that spot.
Our next photograph shows that
for Út to have taken the famous picture,
he would have needed to run three times
the distance traveled by Kim Phúc
in the same brief interval.
Next, we examine a three-second piece of NBC footage
shot immediately after Napalm Girl.
A careful analysis of the water marks visible on the road
in different images allows us to determine Kim Phúc's movement.
From her position in the Napalm Girl photograph,
she has advanced approximately 40 meters up the road
by the time she appears from behind in this frame of the ITN footage.
Based on her estimated speed, about 15 seconds have elapsed
since the famous shot.
Our 3D reconstruction of this frame
places Nick Út at the distance of about 50 meters
from the ITN cameramen at this moment.
In other words, about 15 seconds after the photograph was taken,
Út is visible approximately 75 meters, or 250 feet away
from the spot where Napalm Girl was shot,
still walking down the road from the opposite direction.
For Nick Út to have taken the photograph,
he would have had to sprint 170 meters down the road
from his position at the checkpoint.
Then sprint back 75 meters, turn around,
and finally reappear moments later
calmly walking back towards the scene.
This appears as an extremely implausible scenario.
New research asserts that Nick Út is not the author of this iconic photograph.
And this prompted deep reflection within World Press Photo
and a subsequent investigation.
I would now like to invite the director of World Press Photo Foundation,
Joumana El Zein Khoury, to the stage.
Please give her a big round of applause.
In line with our judging procedures,
and our values,
we cannot, with the amount of doubt that exists,
continue to say that the photo is attributed to Nick Út.
What we have done is suspend
the attribution of the authorship to Nick Út.
We think authorship is very important.
We think that the truth is very important.
We think that accuracy is very important,
and we think that our public and our community
deserves to have that, especially…
What we accept as the official record
is often shaped more by power than by perspective.
But even the most entrenched histories deserve to be reexamined.
Countless Vietnamese photographers and reporters
worked in anonymity during the Vietnam War,
not out of choice,
but because their work was credited to others.
They accepted it because they had no choice.
They were outsiders in their own country,
and they knew no-one would listen.
My mom passed away nine years ago.
A few weeks ago, I was thinking of her,
and I decided to go through
the red case in Mom’s closet,
and the last thing I saw
was a-- …was a piece of an old newspaper,
carefully cut and folded neatly.
An iconic photo
that Mom threw it away many years ago,
but she kept the newspaper photo,
and she saved it,
secretly, silently.
Silence isn't truth,
and as years pass, the silence beats louder.
Challenged by time, memory is imperfect.
But it matters who pressed the shutter, not just for one man's legacy,
but for what it says about who gets remembered and who gets erased.
When the truth is disregarded,
that's when society becomes corrupted.
The truth is the truth, it cannot be twisted, or torn apart.
Because if so, it's no longer the truth, and we will have lost our moral compass.
After fifty years I hope that people will no longer see
Vietnamese children through that photo
but through other brighter, happier images.
My hope is that the truth will be restored to its rightful place
and that Nick Út himself will feel a sense of relief and peace.
The photograph of a nine-year-old girl
called Phan Thi Kim Phúc,
and four other children
running towards a photographer,
burning and screaming, in June 1972,
which became one of the most important
photographs ever made,
was created, I believe, by a man called Nguyễn Thành Nghệ.
I've held onto this truth for more than 50 years.
I was the one who took the photograph.
Now I have a voice.