Michael Excel

The indomitable girl who captured him was waiting for him thirty years later On September 21, 1965, a 17-year-old Vietnamese girl named Nguyễn Thị Kim Lai was photographed escorting an enormous American airman through the countryside. His hands were tied behind his back. His head was bowed. She was carrying a rifle. His name was William Andrew Robinson. He was 22, a helicopter mechanic and flight engineer in the US Air Force. The previous day his helicopter had been shot down during a mission to rescue another American airman. Kim Lai was tiny. She weighed 37 kilograms. She had only finished seventh grade before joining the local militia. Her home province, Hà Tĩnh, was being bombed relentlessly by American aircraft. According to her recollection, she discovered Robinson hiding among the rocks in a forest. Frightened by his enormous size, she fired three warning shots. He surrendered. Other militia members arrived and tied his hands. A photographer named Phan Thoan captured the extraordinary contrast between the two. The photograph became famous throughout Vietnam. It appeared on postage stamps. A celebrated Vietnamese poet wrote a poem about it. The image travelled around the world, becoming a symbol of a small country resisting a superpower. Robinson was taken to prison. He spent 2,703 days in captivity. Seven years, four months and twenty-three days. Much of it in isolation, enduring brutal conditions and torture. He was finally released on February 12, 1973. Kim Lai became a nurse. She married, had three children and eventually became a grandmother. Thirty years after their first encounter, in September 1995, she was playing with her grandchildren at a neighbour's house when someone came to tell her that foreigners were looking for her. She returned home. Standing there was William Andrew Robinson. He had come back to Vietnam with a Japanese documentary crew. He had apparently wanted to find her for years but had never been able to afford the journey. She recognised him immediately. According to her recollection, he approached and embraced her before she could greet him. They talked about their lives. Their families. Everything that had happened since those few minutes in a Vietnamese forest. They even returned to the place where he had been captured. Robinson reportedly expressed the hope that there would never be another photograph like theirs. There is another photograph of them, taken during that reunion. She is looking up at him. Smiling. He is standing beside her, still towering over her. No handcuffs. No rifle. With no US government throwing away the youth of its own citizens to forcefully decide the future of Vietnam both can stand tall side by side.