A legendary World War II photograph from New Guinea, one of Australia’s most iconic, could have remained hidden from public view, if the efforts of Prime Minister John Curtin and his censorship board had succeeded. The image might not have left the warzone had a soldier not mistook the photographer for being deceased, and turned his body over with his boot. Had George Silk, the 26-year-old photographer, not covertly delivered it to the editorial team of Life magazine in New York, the photograph may have remained locked in the vast archives of Australia’s information department. Today, nearly eight decades since, the poignant picture is an enduring standout in Australia’s historical narrative.
The photograph, known as ‘The Blind Soldier’, features Raphael Oimbari, a Papuan ‘Fuzzy Wuzzy Angel’, compassionately guiding an Australian trooper, Private George ‘Dick’ Whittington, off the lethal battlefield of Buna along the Papuan shoreline, his eyes swathed in cloth. The date was December 25, 1942. The remarkable story surrounding Silk and his renowned photograph is the central theme of an upcoming book, ‘The Buna Shots’. Yet Silk’s tale only makes up half the narrative, penned with such skill and intrigue that it practically yearns to be dramatized.
The other protagonist of the story is George Strock, an American war photojournalist who, just a week after Silk’s iconic photo was taken near Buna, snapped a picture up the shore that gripped the American populace. The desolate, shocking image caused U.S. censors to balk at the idea of publication. After persistent advocacy, it took the personal endorsement of U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt himself for the photograph to finally be permitted for public viewing.
Known simply as ‘Three Dead Americans on Buna Beach’, upon publication, it marked a first in World War II – it was the inaugural instance of a photograph featuring deceased American soldiers being published. These two reflecting images, Silk’s ‘The Blind Soldier’ and Strock’s ‘Three Dead Americans on Buna Beach’, are credited for significantly augmenting public support for the embattled forces in both Australia and America, catalyzing a shift in the war’s trajectory.
Silk’s photograph, once it had reached American shores and garnered attention while still under Australia’s publication ban, was eventually ‘freed’ and appropriated by the Australian government to stimulate a Liberty bond campaign for the war effort, managing to collect tens of millions of pounds. This opportunistic usage was viewed with cynicism. The appalling mistreatment of Silk at the hands of Curtin’s administration led Damien Parer, a renowned combat cinematographer in Australia and a personal friend of Silk’s, to tender his resignation from the department of information in protest.
Silk’s alleged transgression lay in arranging for his work to be clandestinely sent to Life magazine. When ‘The Blind Soldier’ spanned a full page in the March 8, 1943 edition of the magazine, it summoned a torrent of correspondence from awestruck readers. One letter, originating from Dallas, Texas, acclaimed, ‘Never has a more stirring yet pathetic picture been published by any magazine or newspaper’.
The circumstances surrounding Silk’s capture of the image – a solitary shot of Whittington and Raphael Oimbari, before he plunged back into the front lines, on that fateful Christmas Day, are one among several riveting episodes that make this book a mesmerizing journey.
While Silk maneuvered through bullets with relative luck, he was not as fortunate when it came to a bout of malaria. Found by stretcher bearers, he was evacuated and airlifted to a hospital in Port Moresby. Thus ensued the dramatic and twisted saga of ‘The Blind Soldier’ photograph.
Just as the image was gaining notoriety and Silk was cornered into a resignation due to its publication, a fresh war zone beckoned. George Silk later became a US citizen in 1947, finding fame and fortune through his preeminent photographic work in celebrity and sports arenas. Silk passed away in Connecticut in 1988 without receiving any formal recognition or accolade from his native Australia.
Raphael Oimbari, on the other hand, ended up a national hero in Papua New Guinea, awarded an Officer’s title in the Order of the British Empire (OBE). Representing the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels as their official figurehead, Oimbari’s 1996 funeral saw the attendance of the Australian High Commissioner to PNG.
The story of Silk’s photograph, an image nearly erased from history by institutional censorship, yet saved from obscurity and ironically used as a tool of war symbolism, is a testament to the complex interplay of politics, art, and war.
His relatable narrative and the stunning imagery of ‘The Blind Soldier’ continue to evoke diverse responses and analyze the substantial consequences of media in framing public perceptions of war. To quote the dedication in ‘The Buna Shots’, ‘The first casualty when war comes is truth’ (Hiram W. Johnson, US senator, 1917).
In filmmaking, there’s a saying that ‘every frame tells a story.’ In the tale of George Silk and his now-legendary photograph, every pixel not only tells a story but has also shaped narratives of bravery, sacrifice, compassion, and political irony.