My name is Kim Phuc, though you likely know me by another name. It is one I never asked for, a name I have spent a lifetime trying to escape: 'Napalm Girl.'
Interpretation
The quote reflects on the profound impact of an identity shaped by trauma and the struggle for personal recognition beyond that identity.
Phan Thi Kim Phuc, known to many as 'Napalm Girl' due to a famous photograph that captured her painful moment during the Vietnam War, shares her complex emotions surrounding this label. While it brought her into the global spotlight, it also represents a haunting past she wished to overcome. This statement illustrates the challenge of reconciling one's true self with a painful public persona, emphasizing the courage it takes to seek healing and redefine oneself despite a traumatic history.
In practice
This quote can be shared during a discussion on the effects of war on identity at a peace conference.
I wished I died in that attack with my cousin, with my south Vietnamese soldiers. I wish I died at that time so I won't suffer like that anymore... it was so hard for me to carry all that burden with that hatred, with that anger and bitterness.
People ask me a lot, 'How can you smile all the time?' I tell them, 'I was never angry. God created me this way. He created me laughing and smiling.'
I never thought that the child who was a famous symbol of war would one day be invited to become a symbol of peace.
My dream is that one day, all people will live without fear, in real peace, with no fighting and no hostility.
For years I bore the crippling weight of anger, bitterness and resentment toward those who caused my suffering. Yet as I look back over a spiritual journey that has spanned more than three decades, I realize the same bombs that caused so much pain and suffering also brought me to a place of great healing. Those bombs led me to Jesus Christ.
The more I prayed for my enemies, the softer my heart became.
My life wasn't beautiful and creative before I became politically active. My life was totally changed when I began to struggle.
It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.
When I was taken to the concentration camp of Auschwitz, a manuscript of mine ready for publication was confiscated. Certainly, my deep desire to write this manuscript anew helped me to survive the rigors of the camps I was in.
So it was that the war in the air began. Men rode upon the whirlwind that night and slew and fell like archangels. The sky rained heroes upon the astonished earth. Surely the last fights of mankind were the best. What was the heavy pounding of your Homeric swordsmen, what was the creaking charge of chariots, besides this swift rush, this crash, this giddy triumph, this headlong sweep to death?
After doing this work or the past twelve years and watching scarcity ride roughshod over our families, organizations, and communities, I'd say the one thing we have in common is that we're sick of feeling afraid. we want to dare greatly. We're tired of the national conversation centering on "What should we fear" and "Who should we blame?" We all want to be brave.
Pride is not just any summer festival. It is a celebration - but it is also a manifestation of human rights. It is serious - and joyful. It is a reminder of the progress that has been made - but also of everything that still remains to be done.
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