Introduction
War is difficult to understand from a distance. Those who only consult maps, figures and statements can see the strategy, but not the human element. Catherine Leroy chose to bridge that gap. Not to depict heroism, but to stand at the intersection of fear, concern and duty. Armed with her Leica camera, her petite stature and an unwavering focus on the human element, she found herself at the heart of conflicts that shaped the twentieth century. This blog explores her decision to get close up — and what it revealed.
Catherine Leroy is the third photographer whose work was featured in the Women on the Front Line exhibition. I was not familiar with her work, but, as with the other photographers, I was deeply impressed by her images. Like Lee Miller, who documented the Second World War, Catherine Leroy is often classified as one of the so-called ‘Pioneers’. At first glance, this is remarkable: Catherine Leroy was born in Paris in 1944 and did not experience the war first-hand. Yet it is precisely this post-war context that would prove to be of great importance to her later work.
Motivation
Catherine Leroy grew up in a Europe that wanted to look ahead after World War II and leave the recent past behind. There was a collective silence and an unspoken agreement not to dwell on the past. This silence made her sensitive to the hidden consequences of unresolved conflicts. For her, silence was not a sign of peace or reconciliation, but an indication that tensions remained beneath the surface. This realization was an important factor in her decision to document wars first-hand and not shy away from danger by placing herself at the heart of the conflict.
And so she did. She sold her Vespa, bought a ticket to Saigon and took her Leica M2 with her. It is an image that stays with me. Her goal was clear: to capture the Vietnam War from the inside. This may seem like an almost naïve step, but for Catherine Leroy, it was an expression of deep conviction. She believed that ‘if you don’t know the face of fire, you can’t assess the extent of the wound’. For her, distance was not an option — only proximity could provide insight.
Vietnam and the choice for proximity
The Vietnam War arose from the conflict between the Vietcong, supported by North Vietnam, and the South Vietnamese regime, supported by the United States. That regime was led by Ngô Đình Diệm, a devout Catholic and outspoken anti-communist. While a large part of the population was Buddhist, political power was in Catholic hands and Buddhists were systematically disadvantaged. Protests increased and were harshly suppressed. The country became deeply divided.
For the United States, the growing influence of the Vietcong was a threat that had to be contained at all costs. In 1966, the conflict escalated into a large-scale war. The number of American troops increased rapidly, bombing intensified, and chemical agents such as napalm and Agent Orange were deployed. Yet it proved impossible to control the Vietcong. It was a war without clear front lines, in which civilians, soldiers, and the landscape constantly overlapped.
It was in this context that Catherine Leroy arrived in Vietnam in 1966. Not as an embedded photographer with American units, but as a freelancer, with her Leica M2, an accreditation for Associated Press (AP), and a strong conviction. She didn’t want to view the war from a safe distance; she wanted to understand the impact of violence on people first-hand. She also knew that she had to stay alert and not allow noise or chaos to overwhelm her. Her position was precarious, but that was precisely where her strength lay: being present without being sensational; vulnerable, yet determined.
Working method
Catherine Leroy was small and, wanting to create perspective, would often jump onto muddy hills or even into the air while taking photographs. She regularly used longer shutter speeds to create a slight blur, which made the physical shock of explosions palpable. While some editors saw this as a technical error, she defended it as the visual imprint of fear and disorientation.
She photographed not only the battlefield, but also field hospitals, bombed villages, improvised roadside funerals and the expressions of soldiers and ‘enemies’. Her approach was centred on intimacy. To her, a conflict could be encapsulated in the torn hem of a shirt or the rust stain left by chemical rain on a tank. She believed that details convey more than panoramas because horror must permeate the everyday to be believable.
Image description: Battle of Hill 881, Khe Sanh (1967)
The book ‘Women War Photographers’ contains amongst others two black-and-white photographs depicting this scene. One shows US Navy Medic Vernon Wike kneeling next to a seriously wounded Marine. The sky is grey and the vegetation is low and ragged. The earth still seems warm. I am struck by a feeling of closeness, as if I myself were lying low on the ground.
The photo was taken from a position just below the line of fire. At the bottom of the image, you can see the flattened stems of plants that Catherine Leroy must have pressed down as she crouched as low as possible. The battle is still raging. You can feel it. Wike’s gaze shifts between concern and concentration, duty and awareness of impending loss. In the second photo, Wike is lying on top of the dying soldier’s body in a protective gesture that reveals his grief. Together, the images convey the reality of war: not as an abstract concept, but as something terrible.
The Vietnam War at its Peak
Catherine Leroy was working in Vietnam when the war reached its political and social breaking point. From 1968 onwards, opposition to the conflict in the United States grew strongly, and there was increasing pressure to reduce the military presence. Influenced by this shift in public opinion, the decision was made to gradually withdraw the troops.
On 27 January 1973, the Paris Peace Accords were signed. These stipulated that North and South Vietnam would be reunited through free elections, and that American forces would have to leave the country. In July 1976, Vietnam was officially reunited.
Years later, Robert McNamara — then US Secretary of Defense and one of the main figures responsible for American involvement — described the war as part of the Cold War, essentially making it a civil war. For photographers such as Catherine Leroy, who witnessed first-hand the consequences of that policy, this political redefinition was hardly relevant. Her images show the impact of war on people, regardless of ideological frameworks.
After the Vietnam War
Catherine Leroy spent three years photographing the Vietnam War up close. In 1969, she returned to Paris, exhausted both physically and mentally. She suffered from severe migraines and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which manifested itself in sleepless nights. That same year, she photographed the famous Woodstock festival — a moment of collective freedom and utopia — which stood in stark contrast to the violence she had captured in recent years.
In 1975, she returned to Vietnam when news emerged that North Vietnamese troops and National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam units were advancing on Saigon. The regime was expected to fall soon. Catherine Leroy was present on 30 April 1975 when the first columns entered the city and the war came to an end. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, she travelled the world documenting wars and other stories in countries such as Northern Ireland, Somalia, Libya, Kenya, Gabon, Afghanistan, Pakistan, Japan and China.
She spent a lot of time in the Middle East, particularly in Egypt, Gaza, Iran, Iraq, Jordan and Lebanon. In 1983, she returned to Paris and temporarily put her camera aside. She worked as an archive editor for press agencies and gave lectures warning against the trivialization of violence. In the 1990s, she refocused her attention on conflict zones, including Bosnia, Kosovo, and Chechnya.
Remarkable
Catherine Leroy was the first woman to have several exceptional military experiences. In 1968, she became the first female photographer to take part in a combat parachute jump, jumping from a height of approximately 4,000 meters over Khe Sanh. Soon afterwards, she was wounded while embedded with a Marine unit in the demilitarized zone. She was also briefly captured by North Vietnamese troops during the Tet Offensive.
Awards
- 1968: George Polk Award for News Photography for her coverage of the Battle of Hill 881 (1967).
- 1976: Robert Capa Gold Medal (first woman) for her coverage of the Lebanese Civil War.
- 1987: NPPA Picture of the Year Award for her coverage of the Tripoli bombings.
- 1997: Honor Award for Distinguished Service in Journalism, University of Missouri.
Books and publications
One-Way Ticket to Vietnam (1966–1968): posthumously published book in which Catherine Leroy is both the subject and author. It contains 91 black-and-white photographs, 25 color photographs and approximately 40 documents and personal archival items.
Under Fire: Great Photographers and Writers in Vietnam: edited by Catherine Leroy. This book showcases the work of Catherine Leroy alongside fifteen other war photographers, emphasizing their collective role in revealing the human consequences of war.
God Cried: Catherine Leroy and journalist Tony Clifton documented the conflicts in Lebanon together, including the siege of Beirut and the Sabra and Shatila massacres.
You Don’t Belong Here: How Three Women Rewrote the Story of War: by Elizabeth Becker. This book is about three female war journalists, including Catherine Leroy, who defied existing rules and developed new narrative forms.
Close-Up on War: The Pioneering Photojournalist Catherine Leroy in Vietnam: by Mary Cronk Farrell. This accessible book is suitable for young people and adults and covers her life and work.
Film and digital projects
Operation Last Patrol (1972): A documentary co-directed with Frank Cavestani about veteran and anti-war activist Ron Kovic.
Under Fire: Images from Vietnam (2002): a website featuring the work of leading Vietnam correspondents compiled by Catherine Leroy.
Ultimately
All female war photographers considered themselves journalists first and foremost. They created sensitive, powerful and humane images that transcended their function as news illustrations. Through their sense of composition and timing, they revealed the essence of events without reducing violence to spectacle. Writing this blog about Catherine Leroy was my way of discovering the background, motivation and perseverance of a photographer who ventured into the midst of violence. My admiration for her courage, and for that of all these war photographers, runs deep.
In my next blog post, I will focus on Françoise Demulder. A photographer from a different generation, she had a background in philosophy and also went to Vietnam. She later documented conflicts in Cambodia, Angola, Lebanon and Iraq. Her life and work provide an intriguing continuation of the question central to both her and Catherine Leroy: what does it mean to look and be seen in the midst of war?
Johanna, 22 December 2025
