The Photojournalist's Bargain
Beware, there's strings attached.
You’ve seen the picture called “Terror of War,” made in Vietnam by Nick Ut in 1972. You know it better as “Napalm Girl” because that’s how great images work: they name themselves, and once seen, they find a home in your brain and live there forever.
Photojournalists are given both a gift and a burden. It’s like a wish granted by a genie, that comes with a price.
In the eyes of those who follow photojournalism, you and the picture become one and the same. You’re forever connected, answering the same questions, telling the same stories, and defending them from attack. In doing so, you protect both your work and the people it portrays.
Smile—you made this deal, whether you remember it or not. It’s the photojournalist’s bargain. Unlike most Faustian agreements, if you truly honor it, you might just avoid hell.
It’s a “for better or worse” situation, and divorce is not an option.
Annulment, however, might be on the table—not the Kennedy kind that one desperately wants, but the state- or church-ordered kind that nobody asks for.
Photojournalism has no funding, no infrastructure, no ruling body, no leadership, and no shared, ecumenical beliefs. It has no church. Like any failed state, all that’s left are a few small ideological tribes competing over an ever-shrinking pool of resources. Nothing will change until some of these tribes form a coalition powerful enough to govern the rest and heaven help us when they do.
They say history is written by the winners. If that’s true, then whoever can rewrite the past can rule the future.
Nick Ut is a legend of photojournalism. He created an image that lives at the highest level of visual history—think cave drawings to Goya. That’s where “Napalm Girl” resides. Unfortunately, Nick Ut is also a tremendously nice guy.
Most people like nice guys, but others see them as easy targets. Combine that with Nick’s legendary status, and you have a high-value target.
If toppled, it sends a clear warning to what’s left of the photojournalism industry: We took down Nick, a guy everyone loves, who made a picture everyone knows. You think we won’t do the same to you?
This is just my opinion, but here’s what I think is happening.
The coalition is simple, strategic, smart, and ruthless. These aren’t evil people. I think they’re misguided, self-centered, and willing to do whatever it takes to gain power, but not evil. That’s what fuels every political movement. And remember, like the poet said, there’s a reason the good guys always win: they write the history and they believe their own words. These guys think they’ll win.
Here are the players and my interpretation of their actions. I’ll keep it simple—these are my personal opinions. I have no insider information, and I won’t dive too deeply into the back-and-forth. Just my take, followed by a prediction.
Gary Knight, who seems to run the VII Foundation, is a key figure. VII was once a star-studded photo agency in the French model, but now it’s a nonprofit foundation, supposedly working for the public good.
Gary backed a documentary called The Stringer, which claims Nick Ut didn’t take “Napalm Girl.” Almost everyone from that day in Trang Bang is dead, except Nick, Kim Phuc (the girl in the picture) and David Burnett, who was there with Nick.
Burnett was approached by the filmmakers. They claimed Nick wasn’t in the right position to take the photo. Burnett countered that no one else WAS in position to make the image.
The documentary premiered at Sundance, but few outside the festival have seen it. The filmmakers haven’t made it widely available to journalism insiders who might challenge their narrative, and they’ve demanded nondisclosure agreements for early viewings. This includes the Associated Press, which, prompted by the documentary, investigated the photo’s authorship.
The AP’s yearlong investigation concluded that Nick indeed took the image.
While the film was secretly in production, Gary spent about three weeks with Nick in Vietnam. He could have informed Nick about the project, asked for an interview, or followed journalistic standards. Instead, he acted friendly—buddy-buddy—which feels snake-ish.
Gary is winning right now. He’s getting attention for his film. We’re all talking about him. He’s garnered publicity and possibly secured wide distribution. He might even get to make another film.
But I don’t think he’s helping the VII Foundation. Other members likely aren’t thrilled about the attention or the potential damage to their reputations. Gary’s personal gain seems to outweigh the film’s stated goal of “journalistic integrity.” Or perhaps he failed to learn a fundamental lesson from Vietnam: you can’t save a village by destroying it.
Santiago Lyon, a former Associated Press photographer and onetime Director of Photography there, actively supports the film. He’s significant because he sits on the VII Foundation’s board and heads Adobe’s Content Authenticity Initiative (CAI), which aims to “restore trust and transparency in the age of AI.”
In my opinion, Santiago is doubly motivated to support the film. As a board member, he’s invested in the VII Foundation’s success. The film also gives him a great sales pitch for CAI: “You know ‘Napalm Girl’? The wrong guy got credit. This wouldn’t have happened with Adobe’s seal of approval.”
That’s a slam dunk.
Joumana El Zein Khoury, director of World Press Photo (WPP), announced this week that WPP is suspending Nick’s credit for the image, stating, “The level of doubt is too significant to maintain the existing attribution.”
The photo won WPP’s top award in 1973—decades before WPP lost much of its prestige by awarding and defending staged, fake photojournalism.
The carrot of a WPP award has been replaced with a stick. They don’t want our respect; they want our fear: We can erase Nick and put an asterisk next to one of the most famous images ever. We can do it to you, too.
This is a big deal, but it’s just the start.
“Napalm Girl” is surrounded by extraordinary circumstances unlikely to be repeated, so the authorship axe may not swing against one of us again.
But power-hungry revisionists have other tools, even if they don’t yet realize it. They could dismiss entire chunks of history and the photojournalists who captured it by challenging other types of credentials. Maybe a photographer broke a law, like sneaking into a country without a visa. Maybe they wasted resources or burned fossil fuels chasing images or worse '“parachuted in”. Maybe they lacked the “proper” cultural understanding of their subjects. Had images printed in the wrong publication. Liked the wrong tweet. Maybe they have the wrong nationality or the wrong skin color.
It seems far-fetched, but once this starts, nothing is off the table.
That’s how power works.
Some commentators, in their worthy attempts to defend Nick, have unwittingly hinted at where this battle is heading, claiming white privilege and Asian hate is what motivate the attacks on Nick and his work.
The attack on Nick Ut and his work is motivated by two things, jealousy and a lust for power.
What photojournalism needs is a “city on the hill” built on merit and integrity by those practicing it. Skill, insight, understanding, and empathy should be the only qualifiers—not the validation of self-appointed judges with the power to erase one’s work along with the people it portrays.
The makers of “The Stringer” and its supporters will always be attached to it. They’re now one and the same. They’re winning now, a tiny victory to be sure, but the power they seek will eventually destroy them. That’s the photojournalist’s bargain and there’s no escaping it.