It Doesn’t Matter Who Took The Photo of Napalm Girl, Here’s Why

The Stringer: The Man Who Took the Photo is now on wider release on Netflix, and to say it’s a fascinating watch would be an understatement. The documentary follows photographer and co-founder of the VII Photo Agency, Gary Knight, as he investigates allegations that the famous award-winning photo known as ‘Napalm Girl’ wasn’t actually taken by AP photographer Nick Ut, as it was attributed, but by a Vietnamese freelance photographer (known as a Stringer) who was also on the scene that day.

These allegations have thrown the world of photojournalism into a bit of a tizzy this past year, since the documentary premiered. Both Associated Press (AP) and World Press Photo issued their own internal investigations, although the results are largely inconclusive. However, The Stringer poses some very compelling arguments that perhaps Nick Ut was not the man who clicked the shutter on that particular photograph.

The Background Controversy

The photograph commonly known as ‘Napalm Girl’ is actually titled ‘The Terror of War’, and was taken in Vietnam during the war in 1972. The image depicts children running from a napalm attack on their village of Trảng Bàng, most notably the girl in the photo, Kim Phuc, who runs naked, screaming down the road. The AP published the image, and it quickly circulated around the world. Fifty years and a Pulitzer prize later, it would not be an exaggeration to say that the image probably helped bring an end to that particular conflict, and has since been recognised as one of the most impactful war images ever taken.

The image has historically been attributed to AP photographer Nick Ut, who was on the ground that day, and has always claimed the image to be one of his. Kim Phuc has always corroborated this, saying that Ut even took her and the other children to the hospital afterwards. However, The Stringer claims that although Ut was certainly there on the day with his Leica (that is indisputable), he was not the author of that particular photograph.

The Argument Against Nick Ut

The validity of the photo’s author was first brought into question by Carl Robinson, who was a photo editor in the AP’s Saigon bureau in 1972. He distinctly remembers looking through the negatives from that day, which were given by Ut and two Vietnamese freelancers. He says that AP photo editor Horst Faas selected the image ‘Napalm Girl’ and told Robinson to attribute the image to Nick Ut, the AP photographer. Robinson says he contacted Knight because he felt guilty for covering up the real author of the photograph for all those years, and wanted to make amends for his part.

Eventually, the Vietnamese freelance photographer is tracked down, and we are able to hear his story of what happened that day and how he came to be cut out of the story.

Who Was The Stringer?

According to the film, the stringer who took the photo was Nguyễn Thành Nghệ. He was allegedly paid $20 for the image and given a print to take home (which his wife later tore up, presumably because it was a somewhat depressing photo to have pinned to the fridge). This was apparently just ‘how things were done’ at the time, with many local Vietnamese photographers working for cash payments and expecting little more in return.

Perhaps the most interesting part of the film is the so-called forensic analysis of the news film footage shot that day, along with all the photographs from various angles. A timeline and map are pieced together to create a virtual idea of what happened and where everybody was in relation to the subjects and local landmarks. It’s sort of like photography Cluedo with a handful of AI for good measure.

We know that Ut was shooting on his Leica with a 35mm lens, and that Nghệ was using a 50mm lens on his Pentax camera. My armchair analysis knee-jerk reaction is that the ‘Napalm Girl’ photo was taken with a 50mm lens; the Paris forensic team, rather gratifyingly, agree with me on that count. All the evidence is compellingly pointing towards the fact that Ut was not in the correct position to take that particular photograph. He did, however, take other photos that day.

We also hear fascinating accounts from Nghệ and his daughter, and from one or two other Vietnamese photojournalists around at that time. Both Nick Ut and Kim Phuc’s testimonies are glaringly absent.

The AP’s Investigation and Reaction

The AP issued a report following a 6 month internal investigation and rebutted the claims, saying that they would keep Ut’s credit on the photo. However, it later emerged that they did in fact admit that the photo looked as though it was likely taken on a Pentax camera.

World Press Photo has since suspended the official authorship attribution. Their internal investigation concluded that, “based on analysis of location, distance, and the camera used on that day, photographers Nguyễn Thành Nghệ or Huỳnh Công Phúc may have been better positioned to take the photograph than Nick Út.”

Does It Even Matter Who Took the Photo?

World Press Photo concluded by commenting that “the photograph itself remains undisputed, and the World Press Photo award for this significant photo of a major moment in 20th century history remains a fact.” On this count, they have a good point. In the end, the fact that the photo exists at all, is perhaps enough. Whoever took the image is merely a detail at this point in time, fifty years on.

The world was a very different place back in the 1970s, and we would be foolish to believe that internalised racism and prejudices had no part to play. There is speculation as to why Horst Faas would have made the decision to change the photo credit to Ut’s. There is a suggestion that he felt guilty for the loss of Ut’s older brother on a photo assignment that Faas sent him on, there is also the fact that Ut was the only AP photographer on the road that day, and perhaps attributing the photo to him just made sense.

Perhaps Horst Faas could predict the gravity the image would have on the world stage, and perhaps he also knew that changing the name of the photographer would give the photograph a greater chance of global recognition.

There is also the possibility that things genuinely got mixed up. Certainly the passage of time renders memories inaccurate, and the horror and general chaos of the events on that road that day would have contributed to this. Certainly, Kim Phuc has later admitted that she has no recollection of the face of the man who took her to hospital that day.

The fact is, that we just don’t know. We don’t know who took the photo, and we also cannot guess why the name would have been changed, if it was indeed Nghệ’s photo. Perhaps the real sadness is not just the story of the photograph itself, but one of missed opportunities, of a life unlived, one that could have been very different had circumstances changed. That goes for all the unrecognised photo journalists of the time, not just Nghệ.

This then, is a story of privelege and of how those without power are beholden to those with more. Even Faas could not possibly imagine how potentially life-changing owning the credit to that photograph might have been. And yet, the documentary invites us to consider this: had the rightful owner of the photograph been credited, could his life have been different? Would his name now reside among the others in the photography hall of fame?

What Does This Mean For Photography in 2025?

It’s certainly an interesting documentary, and one in which viewers will have to watch it and make up their own minds. We are currently living in an almost post-truth era full of AI slop, where we are constantly being asked to question the veracity of every image and video. Photography and photojournalism in partiuclar used to be the gold standard of upholding truth. Perhaps then, it is only correct that we are able to ask questions about some of these iconic photographs and not just accept everything at face value.

It’s interesting to note, however, that due to digital image credits and content credentials baked into the digital negatives, this would not be an issue if the same thing happened today. If a photo has been taken on a Leica, believe me, we all know about it!

I would also propose that these days the photographer’s credit isn’t nearly as important as it was back then. A single photograph (generally) no longer has the ability to change the course of a photographer’s life. The bar to entry is far lower now than ever before, and therefore becoming one of the greats, is far more difficult.

Of course, a single photograph still has the power to change the course of history, just as it did back in 1972. Perhaps then, that is why the photographer matters far less than the photograph. We shouldn’t get distracted by the details and instead, remind ourselves why this artform still exists and why it’s still important.

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