Original subtitles

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.

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."

I came to LA in 1977.

I look at Hollywood and I said, "My God,

Vietnam and Hollywood big difference."

I worked here much later so I didn't know those people.

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.

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.

Yes, napalm.

This was me with Kim Phúc's family.

Here's Kim Phúc.

Tâm.

All family. These too, all family.

Yes, that's me.

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.

We ran together. Each group of each side of the bridge,

running, tumbling, screaming.

No, I didn’t know. I didn’t know who was taking pictures either.

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.

No. No.

The person was just a well-dressed civilian.

That's all we remember.

The past is the past, just let it go.

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.

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.

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.

He wouldn't go beyond that.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

Yes, that's the camera. It was a Pentax.

Yes, a 50 mm lens.

Normal.

After I sold the photo, about 6 or 7 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.

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.

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 was in the middle holding the microphone.

And Nguyễn Thành Nghệ was on my left side taking a picture of that girl.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The first person to run out was an old lady,

at least 70 years old. She ran out first.

Then the children ran out.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Yes, that’s the camera. It was a Pentax, yes.

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.

I've held onto this truth for more than 50 years.

I was the one who took the photograph.

Now I have a voice.