The main point here is, however, that, whatever the reason, Vietnam was the freest war to cover. In other wars, for example the Yom Kippur War in Israel, the tendency was to clamp down, impose censorship, and make the life of a correspondent as difficult as possible; in Vietnam this was never the case. 'You from Times in Timbuktu - have a helicopter and a girl interpreter' could be taken as the slogan of the American public relations' attitude to media people. There were occasional exceptions - some photographers, including Philip Jones Griffiths, were banned from returning to Vietnam after they had published material which compromised the Americans. But on his first visit, as soon as the correspondent or photographer could produce evidence that he had a platform for his copy or his images -that they would be printed -he was accepted and on the whole was offered a great deal of assistance. For war photographers, Vietnam was in the nature of a 'promised land' which they are unlikely to find again.
 

This new tendency for war photography to be undertaken to satisfy extrinsic market demands rather than for intrinsic reasons - aesthetic or documentary -is in part a result of the improvement in the quality of the photographs themselves, for technically the photographer is now capable of achieving more or less whatever effect he desires. But in the main it is the inevitable corollary of the omnipresence, the ubiquity of war in our time. Vietnam contributed to this state and provided us with more than its share of pictures of a shocking or atrocious nature.

There is yet another aspect which has to be considered which contributed to the importance of the Vietnam War in the history of photography. With the exception of W. Eugene Smith and George Rodger, both of whom refused to photograph any more wars, all the greatest living war photographers came to Vietnam at one time or another. Because of the importance of the war itself and because of the sheer volume of images it provided, Vietnam helped to raise war photography to a new status. We can look back to the pictures of the war in the Pacific by W. E. Smith and David Douglas Duncan's photographs of Korea as the starting point, but it was in the images of Vietnam that the relatively new medium of war photography attained the status of a recognized art form.
 

Vietnam provided for McCullin, Burrows, Griffiths, Duncan, Leroy and many others the chance to achieve something more than mere records of fighting. It helped to create a new style, a new visual awareness; it helped to produce icons, symbols of the terrifying essence of war. Many photographers were given the opportunity to analyse and dissect, and thereby to understand, the nature of their work in relation to the war itself, and their depth of understanding and compassion enabled the public in general to see the deeper strata of man's emotions as well as his inhumanity. This introspection and the insights it engendered led to the Vietnam War being a stage for intense exploration, for looking at war with an even more penetrating eye. War photography started with a cautious glance from a safe distance; it ends with a keen gaze through a microscope.

The Prologue – Indochina

The strange and unreal siege of Dien Bien Phu, which ended with the surrender of the French on 7 May 1954, marked the close of a seven-year struggle in Indochina. It was, to all intents and purposes, a classic confrontation between the colonial power of France, exhausted and not yet fully recovered from the ravages of the Second World War, but anxious to re-establish her lost prestige, and the Vietnamese insurgents with their communist-inspired militant nationalism. The Viet Minh, the League for the Independence of Vietnam, under the leadership of the communist-trained Ho Chi Minh, pitted themselves against French troops in a protracted guerilla campaign. The war dragged on interminably; the flower of the French Military Academy of St Cyr, constantly foiled and outwitted by the tactics of the Vietnamese, liberally soaked the Indochinese soil with their blood.

The battle for Dien Bien Phu, which was supposed to end the war decisively, was a courageous but ill-conceived gamble. A French regiment was parachuted into the centre of enemy-held territory in the north west of Vietnam in an attempt to lure into battle and destroy the guerilla forces of the Viet Minh. Instead, the venture turned into a 169-day siege, until the French were finally blasted out by Vietnamese artillery brought on the backs of peasants all the way from China.

The long struggle which lead up to Dien Bien Phu was hardly reported at all. The attention of the press was focused on the Korean War. But the siege of Dien Bien Phu brought an invasion by the press, although the battle itself was extremely difficult to cover from the outside. It was 100 miles from Hanoi and with Vietnamese anti-aircraft fire daily gaining strength and accuracy, a flight to the battle area was a very hazardous mission indeed. Only one photographer managed to get through, a French paratrooper, Daniel Camus, but his pictures show little of the dreadful conditions and the final humiliation of the French crack troops. But the fall of Dien Bien Phu served to bring the war and Indochina to the world's attention, and a number of photographers and correspondents stayed on to record and report the winding up of the French involvement. One of them was Robert Capa.

John Mecklin, a Time/Life correspondent who worked with Capa in Indochina, tells the story of Capa's last assignment. They both came to Indochina during the siege. As no pictures by Capa of the siege exist, presumably neither of them managed to get near the beleaguered garrison. But they stayed on after the surrender and on 25 May were working together in the Red River delta during the last stages of the French occupation. The cease-fire was to be signed in Geneva seven days later.
 

The Enactment – Vietnam

The Vietnam War was a war fought 'for the minds of men'. With France, a useful buffer in Indochina, out of the way, China was spreading its communist tentacles even wider. The United States, therefore, decided that a stand should be made, not so much for military bases, but rather to prevent the total spread of communist ideology in Asia and instead to plant the seeds of democratic materialism. Unfortunately, although the Americans never lacked for an abundance of material goods - guns and butter - they were singularly lacking in tact and finesse. The Vietnamese, for their part, were quite willing to accept all that they were given, but they were far less inclined to swallow the ideology and western values that were served along with the abundant goods.
 

The first half of 1963 suddenly threw the Vietnamese arena into sharper relief, and the international press immediately took notice. In January the first real battle of the war took place, in Ap Bac, where three Americans were killed. Soon after, Buddhist opposition was highlighted by the dramatic and public immolation of a Buddhist monk, witnessed and photographed by Malcolm Browne of Associated Press. The American build-up of troops, especially helicopter pilots, began in earnest in 1964, and in February the following year, the bombings of Hanoi were ordered by President Johnson. A month later, detachments of Marines were regularly disembarking in Vietnam. Early in 1968 the number of troops reached and exceeded half a million.
 

What attracted the vast number in the first place, apart from the interest in the war itself, were the freedom of reporting never before experienced and the complete lack of censorship. Whatever other faults the Americans displayed in Vietnam, they did not lack respect for freedom of the press. Correspondents might have been harassed at times, or in some cases not allowed entry visas, but once they were there, their work was never censored.   Indeed,   what   the   American authorities attempted vis-a-vis the horde of pressmen from all over world was not to check their copy or their films, but to convert them to the American cause by the most skilful and widespread public relations campaign ever mounted. Not only did they provide lodging, transport, meals, specially conducted tours and presents, but they also employed all kinds of more or less subtle inducements to win favourable copy. Appeals were made to the patriotism and loyalty of the American press representatives, and many smaller papers and some foreign correspondents were even helped financially to travel to Vietnam and report on the war.

But as with the Vietnamese population, where wooing had failed to convert, these methods also foundered in the long run. There were, indeed, a number of correspondents and photographers who took the bait and could not but feel a certain amount of gratitude for such lavish hospitality. Even if no reports were completely biased or falsified, much was concealed and glossed over for a considerable period. For example, the extent of corruption and graft among the US troops, their drug addiction and lax morals, their numerous instances of cruelty and savagery towards foe and allies alike.

The press appreciated their freedom. Accreditation was easy to obtain provided the correspondent or photographer could show that his work would be published and that he had some backing or support from a newspaper or magazine. Simple formalities were all that was needed to acquire a press card. After which the correspondent was free to go virtually wherever he or she pleased. The American servicemen were themselves acutely publicity conscious and would go to almost any lengths to secure a mention or a picture in print.

At no stage of the war was there a well-defined front line. Most of the fighting was sporadic and fairly unpredictable. But whenever there was a newsflash about a skirmish, a battle or planned sortie of either US or South Vietnamese detachments on a 'search and destroy' mission within a reasonable distance of Saigon, all a photographer had to do was go to a taxi rank, mostly of old American vehicles, and hire a cab for the day. This was common during the Tet offensive. Within an hour's taxi ride the photographer could hear the sounds of battle. When the fighting was farther away, he could get a lift in one of the numerous helicopters; there were also daily flights from Saigon to Danang in the northern theatre of operations with up to fifteen places a day reserved for the press corps. Helicopters were on permanent stand-by to fly pressmen virtually anywhere within a 100-mile radius of Saigon, provided that at least three people wanted to go to the same place. As the television crews consisted of a minimum of three people, a photographer could join them and find himself in the locality of his choice with relative ease. Such facilities were not just a matter of extravagant generosity on the part of the Americans, for by them they were able to obtain a great deal of publicity at a relatively low cost and also gain additional training for their pilots.

 

Because of the ease with which they could get to the fighting, writers and particularly photographers were exposed to considerable physical risks. Many died. Forty-five war correspondents were killed in Vietnam, and a further twenty were listed as missing, believed dead. Philip Jones Griffiths dedicated his book, Vietnam Inc., to four close friends who lost their lives in the war: Larry Burrows, Henri Huet (see image above), Kyochi Sawada and Keisaburo Shomamoto. ( See Daily Mail illustrated article on Larry Burrows and Time Life exhibition)
 

Faas spent eight years in Vietnam working for AP from 1962. He had a permanent base in Saigon and covered all the significant phases of the war. He received the Pulitzer Prize for his war pictures in the early period, as well as the Robert Capa Memorial Award in 1965. With his unemotional approach and totally professional attitude, Faas was an ideal war photographer for the magazines. His operations were always planned in detail. To gain the confidence of the South Vietnamese soldiers and the civilian population, he used to carry a small polaroid camera and distribute instantaneous pictures. His dedication and professionalism were exemplified by the way in which he would assess the fighting potential of the soldiers he chose to accompany. He invariably refused to go on missions with platoons he considered to be not entirely reliable either due to their lax discipline or slovenly behaviour. He always maintained that he did not mind taking necessary risks, but he never left anything to chance -not even his choice of battle companions. Like Larry Burrows, he designed for himself a special combat outfit, which included a custom-made aluminium waterproof container for his 35-mm Leicas. (Below Faas 1964)

By 1966 Faas was in charge of the whole of the Associated Press outfit in Vietnam. He hired many young photographers as 'stringers', often local Vietnamese, and used them quite ruthlessly. He would buy their pictures, which they had frequently taken at great personal risk, for paltry amounts; the pictures were not even credited to the individual photographers on publication. He developed a depersonalized assembly-line method of picture production. In such a situation a certain amount of exploitation is perhaps inevitable. As, for example, when a negative is bought. Usually, it is 'clipped' with the adjoining negatives on either side. How is a photographer to know that only the centre negative will be used? Perhaps too protracted a contact with death and danger does change a man. One cannot escape the notion that the brave, tough war photographer, Horst Faas, developed a hardened attitude, especially towards enemy soldiers whom he came to hate and disdain. Whether he was able to maintain a balanced, unprejudiced viewpoint at the same time is debatable.

Such cynicism was prevalent among many of the correspondents, and also among the majority of American soldiers. Philip Knightley quotes John Shaw, a war correspondent: 'Things which shocked you when you first went there six weeks later slide over you.' The process of dehumanizing the enemy reached such an extreme that a 'gook' was no longer a human being but a thing - a big hunt trophy. Knightley quotes many terrifying instances: heads cut off and arranged in decorative patterns, parts of bodies preserved as souvenirs, even lampshades made of skin. Collecting 'interesting' snapshots of dead or dying Viet Cong became a hobby with some GIs. Marines were photographed posing with one foot on the chest of a dead enemy. Killing became a distorted game. Specially printed visiting cards were left on bodies: 'Congratulations - you have been killed through courtesy of the 361st' or 'Call us for death and destruction, day or night'. This practice was applied equally to the bodies of women and children.

Not too fine a distinction was made between armed soldiers of the Viet Cong and peasants who might simply have been North Vietnamese sympathizers. Philip Jones Griffiths relates in his book how he went on one of the notorious 'search and destroy' raids with a detachment of inexperienced and rather nervous young soldiers. The moment then saw the figure of a Vietnamese farmer in the distance, they fired and missed. 'The next farmer was not so lucky. Soon he lay dying among the ripening rice in a corner of the paddy field, the back of his skull blown away. He was somewhat conscious, making a whimpering sound and trying to squeeze his eyes more tightly shut. He never spoke and died with the fingers of his left hand clutching his testicles so tightly they could not be undone. "Got him in the balls, knew I hit him," cried the boy from Kansas, until someone took him to one side and explained that they do that to relieve the pain from elsewhere.'
 

When we read his story of this devastating half hour and his account of his own reactions while taking the pictures, we find it impossible to comprehend his actions. His pictures are gratuitous. He appears to have taken them purely for the sake of photographing an atrocity, spurred on by the hysteria of the moment. He seems to have had no thought that they could be used as an indictment of the action. On arriving back at base, he simply gave the black and white film to his army unit, and kept the colour shots. They were not made public until a year and a half later, after the details of the massacre itself had come to light.

The events at My Lai were brought to the attention of the authorities by a persistent series of letters to many prominent people in the USA, including the President, from a helicopter gunner who had heard some details of the massacre while still in Vietnam. Most of his letters remained unanswered, but Senator Morris Udall took the matter up with the result that Lieutenant Calley, the commanding officer of C Company, was eventually court-martialled. The whole matter was played down and the papers only published small items about it.
 

There are two or three series of pictures in this book which are masterpieces of the métier, unsurpassed by anyone else. The last stories that Burrows shot in Vietnam are suffused with sadness. One is a story about a ten-year-old boy, Nguyen Lau, who had been paralysed from the waist down by a mortar fragment. He had received medical treatment for two years in the States, and his homecoming was photographed by Burrows. His rejection by his family and by his erstwhile playmates led him to leave his native village for good. Burrows’ story stands as a symbol of the futility of the American involvement in Vietnam. The last shots Burrows took were of the accidental bombing of South Vietnamese soldiers by US navy planes. A hundred of them were killed - yet another symbol of failure and misunderstanding. Three days later, Burrows himself died, shot down by enemy artillery over Laos.

Many photography critics maintain that Larry Burrows was the greatest of all war photographers. For total commitment and involvement in the subject, as well as for the sheer power and beauty of his images, it would be hard to find his peer. But if we consider the medium of photography to be a supreme witness and recorder of the world and the life we have fashioned upon it, no one has photographed to better or more incisive effect than Philip Jones Griffiths.
 

The war in South Vietnam was over-exposed and over-documented. Its effect on the North was hardly revealed. One day, perhaps, a book of pictures or a film taken by a Viet Cong photographer will emerge, but there is little indication that such photographs were taken or preserved. One Western photographer did, however, manage to get a glimpse of the adversary fighting in the South.

During the Tet offensive in 1968, the North Vietnamese for a short time occupied the city of Hue. Unaware that Hue was in enemy hands, Catherine Leroy flew there in the company of a journalist. They arrived in the evening and were able to enter the city where they spent the night in the cathedral. There were some 3000 refugees in Hue at the time and the church was full. The priest was rather taken aback at the presence of two 'whites', but did not object to their staying. They left the safety of the cathedral the following morning and, in spite of carrying a large sign with the words, in Vietnamese, 'French press from Paris', were promptly surrounded and arrested by the 'green men', who tied their hands behind their backs and confiscated their cameras. They were taken to a nearby villa and confined in the servants' quarters. Eventually, a Viet Cong officer arrived who untied them and returned their cameras. He even agreed to an interview and posed for photographs. Leroy and the journalist were later released and allowed to go back to their own side. Leroy's pictures were subsequently reproduced throughout the world.

Very few Western correspondents or photographers were allowed to visit North Vietnam itself. Two who did manage to make the trip were James Cameron and Romano Cagnoni, (see his website) who thus became the first photographer to visit communist Vietnam for eleven years, since the fall of Dien Bien Phu. They travelled as freelances, paying their own fares. Lengthy negotiations were required before the North Vietnamese authorities agreed to their visit. The decision to admit them may have been influenced by the fact that both Cameron and Cagnoni professed to be ideologically uncommitted. As Cagnoni says, they favoured unification of Vietnam, rather than an American victory. They had applied for visas just after the start of the massive American bombing raids on North Vietnam in February 1965. The visas were granted in the autumn and they arrived in Hanoi in November. They stayed in the North for twenty-six days.

Their visit was regarded as something of a test case by the North Vietnamese for they were the first non-communist journalists from the West. Although their tour was largely conducted and supervised, they had some freedom of movement, especially in Hanoi. Cagnoni's first ten films were confiscated; they were later returned to him half-ruined by rough processing. However, he was allowed to take the rest of his film out of the country uncensored. He does report that from time to time during his stay a 'large red hand' was raised in front of his camera to prevent him from taking a photograph. Neither Cagnoni nor Cameron were allowed to accompany units on combat missions, but Cagnoni did experience several US bombing raids which he was encouraged to photograph. His pictures were in great demand on his return to the West. Life, Stern and the Observer gave him extensive spreads and an exhibition of his pictures took place in London.

Cagnoni is one of the foremost of the world's photo-journalists. As a war photographer he ranks alongside Duncan, McCullin, Griffiths and Burrows. But whereas Duncan and Burrows have had their pictures prominently and   regularly   displayed   in Life  and McCullin in the Sunday Times, Cagnoni has always remained a completely independent freelance. Although his pictures have appeared in the leading magazines, including Life, Stern, Look and the British colour supplements, and although he is well known to the world's picture editors, his name is not so familiar to the general public. Hopefully, one day a book of his will appear to demonstrate his stature fully.

After Cameron's and Cagnoni's pioneering visit, a few other Western journalists were also invited to North Vietnam. Among them was Marc Riboud who went to Hanoi in 1968. The photographs that he took on that occasion are published in book form, entitled Face of North Vietnam.