A photograph ushers forgiveness
You've probably seen this photo, and possibly read about the recent 40th anniversary of the Pulitzer Prize image. The woman in front of the lens is Kim Phuc Phan Thi, fleeing a napalm strike during the Vietnam War, photographed by Nick Ut.
I read in another paper today that she thanked journalists, nurses and doctors for coming to her aid, which allowed her to survive and live today in Toronto.
She said that she thought she would "die of hatred" after going through the bombing, and having two cousins killed in the very fire she escaped. "In order to be really free, I had to learn to forgive," she said to the Canadian Press. "A moment captured on film turned one child's atrocity into a story of hope and survival."
I've been reading Calvin Seerveld lately on various aspects about creating art, having been introduced through a friend. He uses words like "nuanced cheer" and "proffer spilled perfume" to describe how he envisions the purpose of art, and his words have stuck on me like how wine refuses wash from cloth.
I wonder if the photographer had any idea what kind of impact his photograph of Kim Phuc would have on viewers. Probably nil. I presume that the shot was taken in the moment--how can you possibly anticipate a vulnerable moment like that--but Ut was there and showed the rest of the world what he saw.
It may not be "nuanced cheer" that this photo brings, but hearing Kim Phuc say that looking at this image forty years later no longer brings back the unbearable weight of historical and emotional turmoil--instead, eventual forgiveness--that must make the photograph worth more than the permanent lifetime of a Pulitzer.