15 May 1997 Edition
Television: A forgiving legacy of war
As every good rebel knows, the Americans lost the Vietnam war because a small group of badly-trained and under-equipped local kids wearing pyjamas were patriotic, resourceful and smart enough to whip the US army's sorry ass.
But as every British army black propagandist in Lisburn knows, the war might have dragged on for even longer had it not been for one Pulitzer-Prize-winning photograph of Kim Phuc.
You've seen it a hundred times: 9-year-old girl running down the road, naked and in pain. Everyman (BBC2 10.45pm, Sunday) did what RTE can't seem to manage these days; it spent the time and money to make an interesting documentary.
The programme started with the aerial attack, ordered by the US Air Force, on Kim's village. They had footage, and the ITN journalist, Chris Wain, who saw it happen.
``The released four cannisters of Napalm straight across the road, and everyone we could see just vanished. It turned into an incredible fireball.''
Afterwards, there was fire, and silence. The ITN crew filmed a mother and child - Kim's aunt and cousin - emerging from the fireball. The baby looked as if it had burnt clothing stuck to its tiny limbs. In fact, it was skin.
Then came Kim, her clothes and skin burnt off by the Napalm.
``I saw a fire in my body. I felt so scared. And I kept running and running, and crying,'' she recalls.
The ITN man grabbed her, and poured water over her shoulders to stop the burning. She fell unconscious.
``It's one of the most terrible things I've ever seen,'' he said, 25 years later.
She had third degree burns to 50 percent of her body. Later, when Chris Wain tracked down the hospital she was in, the nurse said: ``Oh, she'll die maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.''
Some 14 months and 17 operations later, she was released from hospital, still very much alive.
Soon, the last US military aircraft flew the Vietnamese skies, ferrying diplomats and Vietnamese Sean O'Callaghans to safety. Kim went back to her village.
In 1980, Germany's Stern magazine wanted to do a story about the end of the war, five years on. The authorities allowed them, and others, to return to Vietnam.
``Unfortunately, the government found me,'' says Kim. ``I was `the girl in that picture'. They let foreign journalists come in, and I had a lot of interviews, a lot of filming.''
In 1986, she was studying in Cuba, where she met her husband to be. They married, and went to Moscow on their honeymoon. During a stopover in Canada on the way back to Cuba, the pair defected.
``I feel so happy. I've got my freedom,'' says Kim.
The couple now live in a two-room flat in Toronto, and have a baby boy. This year, Kim went to California, where she met for the first time in 25 years the doctors who saved her life, and the photographer, Nick Ut, who took the picture.
The Everyman team also followed her to a Chicago university, where she told her story to a group of students. One of them, a black man, said: ``My father went to jail for six years because he didn't want to go to war. I have three uncles and a cousin who went, and two of my uncles are paralysed...you are a help to me.''
Then, she went to the Veterans' Day commemoration in Washington DC. She told the ex-soldiers, many of whom fought in Vietnam: ``We cannot change history. I only want you to remember the tragedy of war in order to do things to stop fighting and killing around the world.''
In the crowd was Capt John Plummer, the man who ordered the attack on Kim's village that day in 1972. Now a Methodist minister, he has been tormented by guilt, and suffered years of alcoholism and broken marriages.
``Every time I saw that picture, I heard a voice inside saying I did that to her, I'm responsible,'' he said.
He managed to get a note sent up through the ranks. It read: ``I am the one. I would like to speak with you.''
The programme cut to the two, Kim and the captain, sitting very close, hand in hand, smiling.
She looked in his eyes and said: ``I want to let you know, that from my heart, I forgive that.''
He said: ``The entire world has been lifted off my shoulders. That's what this means to me.''
Tá cuimhní deasa ag Séamus O Fitheallaigh ar an am a chaith sé in Dílleachtlann Naomh Sheosaimh sa Chlochán, Contae na Gaillimhe. Ach tá uaigneas ina chroí chomh maith, uaigneas a bhfuil tuiscint ag dílleachtaí amháin air.
Sa chlár tochtmhar seo ba léir go raibh an uaigneas domhain fós air. Bhuail sé lena mháthair dhá uair tar éis gur chuir sé é sa dílleachtlann - bhí lagar iar-bhreith uirthi agus ní raibh sí in ann a leanbh a choimeád. Sa chlár thug sé cuairt ar a huaigh don chéad uair agus bhuail sé lena leasdeirfiúracha nár bhuail sé leo riamh. Bhí an cruinniú sin príobháideach ach tar a éis labhair Séamus agus bhí an cumadh air go raibh cuid dó féin a bhí caillte aige, faighte arís. Sár-teilifís.
By Michael Kennedy
But as every British army black propagandist in Lisburn knows, the war might have dragged on for even longer had it not been for one Pulitzer-Prize-winning photograph of Kim Phuc.
You've seen it a hundred times: 9-year-old girl running down the road, naked and in pain. Everyman (BBC2 10.45pm, Sunday) did what RTE can't seem to manage these days; it spent the time and money to make an interesting documentary.
The programme started with the aerial attack, ordered by the US Air Force, on Kim's village. They had footage, and the ITN journalist, Chris Wain, who saw it happen.
``The released four cannisters of Napalm straight across the road, and everyone we could see just vanished. It turned into an incredible fireball.''
Afterwards, there was fire, and silence. The ITN crew filmed a mother and child - Kim's aunt and cousin - emerging from the fireball. The baby looked as if it had burnt clothing stuck to its tiny limbs. In fact, it was skin.
Then came Kim, her clothes and skin burnt off by the Napalm.
``I saw a fire in my body. I felt so scared. And I kept running and running, and crying,'' she recalls.
The ITN man grabbed her, and poured water over her shoulders to stop the burning. She fell unconscious.
``It's one of the most terrible things I've ever seen,'' he said, 25 years later.
She had third degree burns to 50 percent of her body. Later, when Chris Wain tracked down the hospital she was in, the nurse said: ``Oh, she'll die maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day.''
Some 14 months and 17 operations later, she was released from hospital, still very much alive.
Soon, the last US military aircraft flew the Vietnamese skies, ferrying diplomats and Vietnamese Sean O'Callaghans to safety. Kim went back to her village.
In 1980, Germany's Stern magazine wanted to do a story about the end of the war, five years on. The authorities allowed them, and others, to return to Vietnam.
``Unfortunately, the government found me,'' says Kim. ``I was `the girl in that picture'. They let foreign journalists come in, and I had a lot of interviews, a lot of filming.''
In 1986, she was studying in Cuba, where she met her husband to be. They married, and went to Moscow on their honeymoon. During a stopover in Canada on the way back to Cuba, the pair defected.
``I feel so happy. I've got my freedom,'' says Kim.
The couple now live in a two-room flat in Toronto, and have a baby boy. This year, Kim went to California, where she met for the first time in 25 years the doctors who saved her life, and the photographer, Nick Ut, who took the picture.
The Everyman team also followed her to a Chicago university, where she told her story to a group of students. One of them, a black man, said: ``My father went to jail for six years because he didn't want to go to war. I have three uncles and a cousin who went, and two of my uncles are paralysed...you are a help to me.''
Then, she went to the Veterans' Day commemoration in Washington DC. She told the ex-soldiers, many of whom fought in Vietnam: ``We cannot change history. I only want you to remember the tragedy of war in order to do things to stop fighting and killing around the world.''
In the crowd was Capt John Plummer, the man who ordered the attack on Kim's village that day in 1972. Now a Methodist minister, he has been tormented by guilt, and suffered years of alcoholism and broken marriages.
``Every time I saw that picture, I heard a voice inside saying I did that to her, I'm responsible,'' he said.
He managed to get a note sent up through the ranks. It read: ``I am the one. I would like to speak with you.''
The programme cut to the two, Kim and the captain, sitting very close, hand in hand, smiling.
She looked in his eyes and said: ``I want to let you know, that from my heart, I forgive that.''
He said: ``The entire world has been lifted off my shoulders. That's what this means to me.''
Ar Thóir Mo Shuaimhnis
TnaG, De Luain 9.30pmTá cuimhní deasa ag Séamus O Fitheallaigh ar an am a chaith sé in Dílleachtlann Naomh Sheosaimh sa Chlochán, Contae na Gaillimhe. Ach tá uaigneas ina chroí chomh maith, uaigneas a bhfuil tuiscint ag dílleachtaí amháin air.
Sa chlár tochtmhar seo ba léir go raibh an uaigneas domhain fós air. Bhuail sé lena mháthair dhá uair tar éis gur chuir sé é sa dílleachtlann - bhí lagar iar-bhreith uirthi agus ní raibh sí in ann a leanbh a choimeád. Sa chlár thug sé cuairt ar a huaigh don chéad uair agus bhuail sé lena leasdeirfiúracha nár bhuail sé leo riamh. Bhí an cruinniú sin príobháideach ach tar a éis labhair Séamus agus bhí an cumadh air go raibh cuid dó féin a bhí caillte aige, faighte arís. Sár-teilifís.
By Michael Kennedy