This 1972 Vietnam Photo Scandal Reveals Why Freelancers Still Lose Credit for Their Work
FILM REVIEW & SPECIAL REPORT: Why Every Freelancer Should Watch The Stringer
This report examines freelance “credit theft” through an analysis of an iconic Vietnam War photograph. Plus, learn which industries freelancers can claim credit and financial remuneration in the form of residuals or loyalties, yet often don’t, and why
If you’ve ever felt that sting of seeing your work promoted, published, broadcast or produced without credit or even under someone else’s name, The Stringer, now viewing on Netflix, will feel uncomfortably personal.
This investigative documentary, directed by Bao Nguyen and led by acclaimed war photographer Gary Knight, co-founder of VII Photo Agency and Executive Director of the VII Foundation, revisits one of the most iconic images of the Vietnam War and asks an uncomfortable question about truth, authorship and power. Questions that freelancers in every industry grapple with.
“Napalm Girl”
The film centres on the famous 1972 photograph known as “Napalm Girl” (formally titled The Terror of War), showing nine-year-old Phan Thị Kim Phúc fleeing a napalm attack in Trảng Bàng.
For over five decades, credit for this Pulitzer Prize-winning image has gone to Associated Press staff photographer Nick Ut (born Huỳnh Công Út). But the documentary, The Stringer, presents what it claims is evidence that suggests the photograph was actually taken by Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, a Vietnamese freelance photographer—a stringer—who was paid just $20 for the image and then erased from history.
Rather than simply revisiting history, the documentary interrogates how that history was constructed and whose voices were excluded along the way.
The Stringer Economy: Where credit disappears
At the heart of the film is the figure of the “stringer”, a freelance or local journalist who provides material to major news organisations, often at great personal risk and with little recognition. The documentary’s investigation began when Carl Robinson, who served as an AP photo editor in the Saigon bureau in 1972, reached out to Gary Knight in 2022 with a confession that had plagued him for 52 years. “It’s time to clear my conscience,” Robinson says in the film.
Robinson recalls that day in June 1972, examining rolls of film from both Nick Ut and Nguyễn Thành Nghệ. According to Robinson, the iconic front-facing photograph came from a stringer’s film roll, not from Ut’s. Robinson had initially selected a more discreet side-angle shot for publication, but his supervisor—the renowned photojournalist Horst Faas, who served as AP’s Saigon chief of photos—overruled him. Faas chose the more powerful frontal image and then, according to Robinson’s account, issued a directive that would change history: “Make it Nick Ut.”
The film suggests various reasons why Faas might have made this decision: favouring an AP staff photographer over a freelancer, feeling guilty over the 1965 death of Ut’s older brother (photographer Huỳnh Thanh Mỹ, who was killed on an assignment Faas had given him), or institutional bias against “foreign-sounding” names. Faas died in 2012 and could not be interviewed for the documentary.
Two-year investigation
This isn’t just a journalism problem. It’s the reality for freelance graphic designers whose logos become corporate identities without attribution, ghostwriters whose prose becomes bestsellers under celebrity names, and software developers whose code powers platforms they’ll never be credited for building.
The Stringer explores how such contributors, particularly those from the Global South, have frequently been sidelined in favour of Western reporters working for powerful institutions.
Through the two-year investigation led by Gary Knight—alongside journalists and producers Fiona Turner, Terri Lichstein, and Lê Vân (a journalist in Ho Chi Minh City whose 2023 Facebook posts in Vietnamese photography groups helped locate Nguyễn Thành Nghệ)—the documentary presents ozens of interviews, archival footage, forensic analysis, and 3D reconstructions supplied by Paris-based research group Index that challenge the official account.
The film includes an emotional encounter between Robinson and Nguyễn Thành Nghệ, meeting for the first time at a California hospital where Nguyễn was recovering from a stroke. “I wanted to find (Nghe) and say sorry,” Robinson told the Sundance Film Festival audience. Nguyễn, now in his early 90s, states clearly in the documentary: “Nick Ut came with me on that assignment. But he didn’t take that photo.”
The documentary highlights the inequalities that have historically plagued the media industry when it comes to author ownership. However, the parallels extend far beyond photojournalism. That’s why we suggest freelancers who work in any industry consider watching the film.
For example, in advertising, freelance creatives routinely watch their campaign concepts win awards for the agencies that hired them.
In architecture, freelance draughtspeople and visualisers see their designs attributed solely to the principal architect.
In film and television, freelance script “doctors”, editors and researchers vanish from credits whilst their contributions shape the final product. The pattern is arguably consistent, whereby the person or company with institutional backing claims the glory; the freelancer becomes invisible.
Industries where credit matters most
Not all freelance work carries equal weight when it comes to attribution. Understanding which projects warrant your name in lights—and which battles are worth fighting—can define your career and financial trajectory.
Journalism and photography top the list
Journalism tops the list, as The Stringer shows us. Your byline or photo credit isn’t just ego; it’s your portfolio, your proof of capability, your ticket to better assignments.
Freelance journalists should demand credit on every article, photograph and video segment. When your work wins awards, your name should appear alongside the publication’s. Yet how often do Pulitzer Prizes go to staff reporters whilst the stringer who risked everything to get the story remains unnamed?
Creative industries
Writing, design, illustration and music composition present a complex web of talent entwined in a finished product. Ghostwriters knowingly trade credit for payment, but freelance content writers, copywriters and technical writers should insist on bylines or portfolio rights. Graphic designers and illustrators must negotiate whether their work can be used in self-promotion, even if the client owns the copyright. Without this, you’re building someone else’s reputation whilst yours stagnates.
Architecture and engineering
This industry often involves work-for-hire arrangements where the principal takes all credit, but freelance specialists contributing innovative solutions or technical expertise should negotiate at a minimum an “in association with” or “with contributions from” credit. When projects win industry awards, this matters enormously.
Film, television and theatre
This sector has established credit systems, but freelancers still get shortchanged. Script consultants, uncredited rewrites, additional editors—the list of invisible contributors is extensive. If your work substantially shapes the final product, fight for that credit. It’s not vanity; it’s career currency.
Tech and software development
This industry, in which many of The Freelance Informer’s readers work, perhaps presents the trickiest terrain. Open-source contributors build their reputations through visible commits and documentation, but freelance developers working under NDAs often sign away all attribution rights. At minimum, negotiate the right to list the project type (if not the client name) in your portfolio.
When credit becomes currency: Residuals and royalties
The question of ongoing payment for freelance work reveals even starker industry divisions. The Stringer reminds us that the photographer of that iconic image couldn’t control how it was used, sold or republished—nor could they claim ongoing royalties from its endless reproduction.
Where freelancers can claim residuals:
- In screenwriting, freelancers contributing to film or television scripts can negotiate residuals through Writers Guild agreements, earning payment each time the work is broadcast or sold.
- Music composers and songwriters registered with performance rights organisations earn royalties whenever their work is performed, broadcast or streamed.
- Photographers licensing rather than selling images can earn ongoing income through stock agencies or direct licensing agreements.
- Book authors, even those working with traditional publishers, retain certain rights and earn royalties on sales.
- Voice actors in commercials, film and television can negotiate residual payments through union agreements.
These industries have established frameworks protecting creators’ ongoing interests because collective action and professional guilds fought for them.
Where you typically sign away everything:
Most corporate freelance work involves a complete rights transfer. That logo you designed? The company owns it forever, will trademark it, build empires around it, and you’ll never see another penny beyond your initial fee.
- That marketing campaign concept? Signing the contract likely meant assigning all intellectual property rights to the client.
- Software code written as work-for-hire typically grants the client full ownership, including the right to modify, sell or patent your work without additional compensation.
- Freelance journalism for most publications involves signing over copyright, meaning the publisher can resell your article indefinitely, whilst you cannot.
Why this disparity?
Industries with strong collective bargaining have protected creators’ interests. Industries dominated by corporate clients and individual freelancers competing for work have systematically eroded creator rights through standard contracts that present rights transfer as non-negotiable.
The proof problem: Protecting your work
What makes The Stringer especially effective is its measured tone. Rather than sensationalising its claims, the film allows space for doubt, contradiction and ethical complexity.
The Associated Press conducted its own six-month investigation in response to the documentary and released a detailed 23-page report dated 15 January 2025 defending Ut’s authorship, concluding it has “no reason to believe anyone other than Ut took the photo.”
However, World Press Photo—which awarded Ut Photo of the Year in 1973—conducted an independent technical and forensic investigation and determined there was “enough evidence to suspend Nick Ut’s authorship from the award-winning photograph,” a first for the organisation.
In a statement released on 16 May 2025, World Press Photo’s Executive Director Joumana El Zein Khoury declared: “The level of doubt is too significant to maintain the existing attribution.” Their role, they state, is “not to act as a final judge or arbiter, but to foster space for difficult, honest conversations.”
Interestingly, AP’s second report dated 6 May 2025 revealed new information: analysis of the photograph’s negative concluded that “it is likely the famous photo was taken with a Pentax camera,” contradicting Nick Ut’s version, who has always insisted he shot the image with a Leica M2.
Nonetheless, AP concluded that the photo would remain attributed to Ut, stating:
AP’s standards say ‘a challenged credit would be removed only if definitive evidence … showed that the person who claimed to have taken the photo did not.’ All available evidence analysed by AP does not clear that bar.
Nick Ut, now in his 70s, did not participate in the documentary. Prior to the film’s release, it was reported James Hornstein, Ut’s lawyer, said in an email that “a defamation action will soon be filed against the filmmakers.”
The legal stance argues that the film provides no new documentary evidence, such as negatives, contact sheet, print or contemporaneous note, nor anything in a photographic archive to support alternative authorship.
Today’s freelancers must be vigilant about their work
Here’s the uncomfortable truth the documentary exposes: without documentation, your word means little against institutional power.
Decades later, proving who took that photograph required a two-year investigation, forensic analysis, and a documentary film rather than a simple matter of checking records. Why? Because the systems weren’t designed to protect the stringer’s authorship.
Modern freelancers must be more vigilant. Nguyễn Thành Nghệ’s story serves as a cautionary tale. He says Horst Faas gave him a souvenir print of the photograph, which his wife ripped up and threw away because she found it unnerving and indecent for her children to see. That act sparked significant unrest in the marriage, and the couple eventually divorced, according to The Stringer documentary.
When Nguyễn fled Vietnam in 1975 with only one suitcase, most of his photography equipment, cameras and negatives were left behind and lost. He stopped working as a professional photographer and spent decades developing feature films at FotoKem in Burbank, California, according to reports. The very evidence that might have proved his authorship was destroyed by circumstance, anger and displacement.
Don’t let this happen to you
Maintain timestamped files of all drafts and iterations. Keep all email correspondence discussing the project scope, your contributions and any agreed credits. For collaborative projects, document exactly which elements you created. Use version control systems that timestamp your contributions. Consider registering copyrights for significant work before delivery. Keep signed contracts specifying credit terms and usage rights. Take screenshots of your work as published or produced, including credits.
This isn’t paranoia; it’s professional survival. When disputes arise years later, when someone else claims your work, when an award is given, your contemporaneous documentation is your only defence.
The power dynamics freelancers face
Ultimately, The Stringer is about more than a single photograph. It is a critique of how history is recorded, who is allowed to claim ownership over it, and how institutional power can shape public memory. By drawing attention to overlooked contributors and questioning long-held assumptions, the documentary encourages viewers to look more critically at the media they consume and to consider whose stories remain untold.
For freelancers, this institutional power dynamic is a daily reality. They have legal departments; you have a contract you didn’t write. They can afford to fight; you can’t afford to lose the next assignment. They know you’ll likely accept their standard terms because bills are due and other freelancers are queuing up behind you.
This is why credit matters so much
It’s not ego. It’s not vanity. It’s the slow accumulation of proof that you did the work, that you have the skills, that you’re worth hiring and paying properly. Every uncredited project is a missed opportunity to build that case.
The documentary shows how a stringer’s contribution can shape global consciousness over war, while their name disappears from history. Multiply that by millions of freelancers across every industry, and you see how much invisible credit props up our creative and intellectual economy. You see how many talented people never build the reputations they deserve because their best work goes undocumented.
Gary Knight observed about the power imbalance between staff photographers and stringers:
Horst Faas would never have tried to take a photograph away from me. He would have known that as a Western photographer, I would have fought back. I would have been able to argue with him. But there are many instances of freelance photographers who are photographing their own country at war, during times when the coverage is dominated by the American press or the American military, who have absolutely no hope of being heard or listened to.
What this means for your freelance career
The film should be a warning and a reminder to freelancers of how important it is that they have all the necessary resources to prove ownership of their work. But it should also be a call to action.
Director Bao Nguyen, whose previous work includes the Emmy-nominated Netflix documentary The Greatest Night in Pop (2024) and Be Water, stated:
When I first heard Nguyễn Thành Nghệ’s story—a quiet Vietnamese photographer who believed he had taken a photograph that changed the world—I set out on a journey to listen, and to understand. I hope The Stringer opens a space for curiosity and reflection, giving a voice to a generation of Vietnamese who never thought their memories held value.
–Director Bao Nguyen
The documentary, which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in January 2025 (added to the lineup just days before as a last-minute selection) and was released on Netflix in November 2025.
It’s produced by Fiona Turner and Terri Lichstein, with executive producers including Gary Knight, Sue Turley, Grace Lay, Michael Y. Chow, Kevin Lin, and others. At the Sundance premiere, Nguyễn Thành Nghệ stood before the audience and said simply, through a translator: “I took the photo.” The crowd cheered.
Next steps
- Know your industry’s standards.
- What credits are typical?
- What are you entitled to negotiate?
- Where have other freelancers successfully fought for attribution?
- Join professional organisations that can advise on standard practices and contractual rights.
Negotiate before you start. Once the work is done, your leverage evaporates. Discuss credit, attribution and usage rights during the proposal stage. Get it in writing. If a client baulks at giving you credit, ask why. Their answer will tell you everything about how they value your contribution.
Understand what you’re signing. Work-for-hire contracts have specific legal meanings. Copyright transfer is permanent. Unlimited usage rights mean exactly that. If you don’t understand a clause, don’t sign until you do. Twenty minutes with a lawyer could save your career.
Build your proof trail. Document everything. Back it up. Store it securely. You’re not building a case against your current client; you’re protecting yourself against future disputes you cannot predict.
Support collective action. The industries where freelancers retain rights and residuals didn’t arrive there by accident. They organised. They unionised. They collectively refused exploitative terms until standards improved. Individual negotiation has limits; collective bargaining changes systems.
The Stringer asks us to reconsider who really captured that iconic image and why the answer matters. For freelancers watching, it matters because your work is your livelihood, your reputation and your legacy.
It matters because visibility leads to opportunity. It matters because the alternative is invisibility, exploitation and watching others build careers on your uncredited labour.
Watch The Stringer. Then look at your contracts, your portfolio and your documentation practices.
Ask yourself: if someone challenged the authorship of your best work tomorrow, could you prove it? If the answer is no, you’ve just learned the documentary’s most important lesson.
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