#waraintaesthetic

War photography is a scam. Yeah, I said it. It’s a beautifully curated scam that makes you believe you're staring at “the truth,” when in reality, you're only seeing what some dude behind a camera wanted you to see. It’s history with a filter on it—cropped, retouched, and wrapped in aesthetic agony. And when it comes to the Vietnam War, the world got an entire scrapbook of male suffering, while the horrors women went through? Ghosted. Unseen. Unsnapped. Unarchived.

Let’s play a game. Think of Vietnam War photography. What pops up? Probably Nick Ut’s "Napalm Girl" (1972)—that haunting image of a little girl running naked, her skin melting off from napalm burns. Maybe Eddie Adams’ "Saigon Execution" (1968)—a Viet Cong prisoner getting his brains blown out in broad daylight. Or Larry Burrows’ "Reaching Out" (1966)—a soldier clinging onto his dying comrade, war’s version of the ultimate bromance pic. Every single one of these images? About men.

So I’ll ask again: Where the hell are the women?

HERE.

Women were not side characters in the Vietnam War. They weren’t just mourning in the background like tragic props in some artsy grief porn. They weren’t just the brothel girls, the mothers cradling dead babies, the collateral damage. They were right in the thick of it. They were raped, tortured, enslaved, murdered. And yet, somehow, war photography decided they didn’t matter.

Vietnamese women endured some of the most stomach-churning war crimes ever, but where are the photographs? Where are the images of the 50,000+ women raped by US soldiers? Where are the snapshots of the military brothels where girls as young as 12 were trafficked and forced to "service" hundreds of men? Where’s the Pulitzer-winning photo of a woman post-assault, staring into nothing because war took everything from her?

Oh right. There isn’t one.

Because war photography has rules, and rule #1? Women’s suffering isn’t “iconic” enough.

THE THREE CATEGORIES OF WOMEN IN VIETNAM WAR PHOTOGRAPHY

When women do show up in Vietnam War photos, it’s almost always in three predictable, reductive roles:

The Mourner – Always crying, always holding a dead child, always making war look “poignant” instead of just straight-up demonic. The message? A woman’s suffering only matters if it’s attached to a man’s death.

The Prostitute – Either draped over an American soldier like a war-time Manic Pixie Dream Girl, or standing alone in the street, sexualized and pitiful, as if she existed purely to be used and discarded.

The Background Blur – A woman in a ruined village, staring numbly at the wreckage, just part of the scenery while a soldier bleeds out in the foreground. War photography always makes sure the man’s pain is the focus.

And before anyone says, "Well, maybe no one took those photos"—they did. They had to. There were thousands of photographers crawling through Vietnam like locusts, snapping everything that moved. If we got a hundred different angles of American soldiers looking angsty in jungles, we sure as hell could’ve had at least one of a woman bleeding out after being attacked by a platoon of men.

The fact that we don’t? That’s not an accident. That’s erasure.

📜 HISTORY AS A BOYS’ CLUB 📜

See, war photography isn’t about truth—it’s about control. It’s about shaping the official version of history, deciding whose pain gets immortalized and whose trauma gets shoved under the rug. John Berger, in Ways of Seeing, said that taking a photograph is an act of power. The person behind the lens decides what matters. And in Vietnam? The men holding the cameras decided Vietnamese women didn’t.

Susan Sontag, in Regarding the Pain of Others, argues that war photography makes suffering a spectacle—something for people to look at, gasp at, but never fully feel. And if that’s true, then it also means some pain is more “useful” than others. A soldier dying? Powerful. Marketable. Pulitzer-worthy. A woman brutalized in a warzone? Too messy. Too uncomfortable. Too easy to ignore.

So the images of raped women, enslaved girls, forced pregnancies, broken bodies? They didn’t make it into the archive because they didn’t fit the man-made script of war. Instead, war was framed as a male tragedy, a stage where men were heroes, victims, and villains all at once, and women? Just props.

THE PHOTOS THAT SHOULD HAVE EXISTED (BUT NEVER DID)

If war photography actually captured reality, these are the images we should have had:

📷 A 14-year-old girl moments after being dragged out of a brothel, her body hollowed out by violence she never asked for.

📷 A mother forced to give birth to an Amerasian child, knowing neither Vietnam nor America will ever accept him.

📷 A woman standing in the wreckage of her home, not just collateral damage—but the goddamn frontlines.

📷 A platoon of soldiers laughing, posing for a photo, minutes after leaving a village full of raped and mutilated women behind.

But we don’t have these photos. Because war is told through the lens of the victors, and victors only take pictures of their own pain.

SO, WHAT NOW?

If Vietnam War photography is the memory of that war, then we need to accept that it’s a lie. A half-truth at best, a propaganda reel at worst. If history books are built on these images, then they are built on a foundation of selective amnesia.

So, what do we do?

Question the hell out of every war photograph. Who took it? Who’s missing? What’s the frame hiding Demand a new archive. One that acknowledges the missing photos and the stories that were erased.

Stop worshiping war photography as “objective history.” It’s not. It never was. The Vietnam War didn’t just erase lives. It erased stories. And maybe the most horrifying thing isn’t just that the world watched Vietnam burn—it’s that the world chose what parts of the fire to remember.

Make it stand alone. No punctuation. No elaboration. Just—

Moment of silence.

This pause? It forces the reader to sit in the discomfort. No background score, no cinematic overture, just absence—mirroring the absence of women in war photography. It’s that gut-wrenching second where the reader expects you to provide a counterpoint, a name, a face—but there is nothing. And that nothingness is the whole damn point.

REFERENCES:

Assmann, A. (2010). Memory in Culture. Palgrave Macmillan.

Hirsch, M. (2008). The Generation of Postmemory. Poetics Today, 29(1), 103-128.

Lehrer, E. (2011). Curating Difficult Knowledge: Violent Pasts in Public Places. Palgrave Macmillan.

Nora, P. (1989). Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire. Representations, 26, 7-24.

Sontag, S. (2003). Regarding the Pain of Others. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Taylor, T. (2001). Vietnamese Women at War: Their Stories and Memories. University Press of Kansas.

Photographs References:

Napalm Girl (1972) – Nick Ut

Source: Associated Press

Execution of Nguyễn Văn Lém (1968) – Eddie Adams

Source: Associated Press

The Agony of War – Women Mourning in Quang Ngai (1967) – Philip Jones Griffiths

Source: Magnum Photos

Vietnamese Woman Holding Her Dead Child (1969) – Larry Burrows