The Statue of Shinran Shonin

“Did I ever tell you about the story about how I drunkenly apologized—on behalf of humanity—to the statue down the block from me?” My friend asked me a couple months ago. Intrigued, I questioned why he would apologize to a statue on behalf of humanity. He responded that this statue was of a Buddhist monk that was shipped to America years after surviving the Hiroshima atomic bombing completely unscathed. Recently, I decided to visit the statue for myself while I was in the area waiting to meet my friend. Located in a quiet residential area of Riverside Drive between 105th and 106th street, the statue of Shinran Shonin stands tall outside of a Buddhist Church.

          The statue is not readily noticeable from the vacant sidewalk as one walks past because it is fenced in upon a five-foot rock platform that is in line with the rest of the row houses. As I walked up from the side of 105th street I was immediately overwhelmed and awed by the sheer height of the statue. My immediate feeling of the statue was ominous—perhaps because I was aware of the dark history that led to its placement in New York City as well as the intimidation of its towering height. Yet, the statue’s appearance is not intended to be intimidating. Rather, it is a statue representing the common people based on the Japanese peasant garb and sandals.  As I stared longer I began to view the statue as a watchful protector of the storefront church. It is notable that every sign or plaque explicitly indicated that the building was not a temple, but a Buddhist “Church”—perhaps enforcing the idea of the assimilation of Buddhism as a religion welcome to Americans rather than being too foreign.

          This statue reminded me of the events John witnesses in his vision during his conversion in James Baldwin’s Go Tell It on the Mountain. The peak terror John witnesses in his vision is the history of suffering and slavery of African Americans. However, the despair John witnesses is not absolute. There is a hint of hope that these individuals were not totally given in to despair and crushed by their history. Light emerged from the darkness and a voice rose from the despair. African Americans were able to endure this history and continue living and raising their voice against it—heard in the voices of his family. Similarly, the energy and the vacant stare of this statue emits this fusion of feelings. The silence of the empty street in such a big city seemed deafening as if one was transported to a time of the aftermath of total decimation in Hiroshima. Yet, among the ashes of years long past this statue remained tall and intact—a witness to the destruction. Aided by the large walking stick, the Shinran statue made its journey to America where on this quiet street he remains formidable.

Ironically, this statue was given a home in the place that caused the destruction of Hiroshima. Although such an object should be a constant reminder of the capabilities of the atomic bomb, especially currently with the high political tension in America with other countries. However, on a small street like this, the statue is often neglected by the small number of passers-by. Many wandered by without glancing at the statue. If they did look at the statue, it was mainly only a momentary glance—not fully comprehending what the statue was. Perhaps they had simply seen it so many times as they walked down the street that they have grown apathetic to the statue, similar to the reactions of Americans as horrible violence such as the continuous mass shootings remain prominent in the news.

Nevertheless, there is always that beacon of light and hope. The woman pictured in the red coat stopped to look at the statue. She was also in awe of the statue, citing its magnificence.  She said to me, “This is what I love about New York City, there are so many sites and history to discover. I’ve probably walked down this street before, but I don’t normally. If you weren’t standing here taking photos though, I would have walked right past it.”