ON THE STREET
"The Little Girl" in Manhattan: A Theological Reading of a Comfort Women Statue with Korean Immigrants
by Hyunwoo Han Koo
Hyunwoo Han Koo is a Ph.D. student in practical theology at Boston University School of Theology. He holds an M.Div. from Boston University and an M.T.S. in comparative religion from Harvard University. His current research interests include socio-cultural and religious experiences of Korean immigrants in the U.S.1
Hyunwoo Han Koo is a Ph.D. student in practical theology at Boston University School of Theology. He holds an M.Div. from Boston University and an M.T.S. in comparative religion from Harvard University. His current research interests include socio-cultural and religious experiences of Korean immigrants in the U.S.1
There were comfort women.2 They were the sexual slaves to comfort Japanese soldiers during World War II. According to historians—including Bonnie B. C. Oh—between 80,000 and 200,000 women from Korea, China, and other parts of Asia, such as Indonesia, Thailand, Vietnam, Singapore, and the Philippines, were recruited forcefully, and stationed at comfort stations, where they were abused physically and verbally, raped repeatedly, and even murdered.3 As Chung Hyun Kyung says, their bodies and souls were “literally torn, choked, bruised, and killed” when they were between the ages of 11 and 25.4
Their tragic stories were thoroughly obscured until the 1990s, particularly in Korea.5 According to Keith Howard, comfort women from Korea, which comprised between eighty and ninety percent of the entire population of victims, were forced into silence by their families, neighbors, and government.6 The Confucian-oriented culture was ill-prepared to embrace the suffering of the victims, and the victims were not yet ready to come out to society, as some have still considered the history of comfort women to be shameful. A former comfort woman, Kim Yoon-shim testified, “Korea was liberated, and all the Japanese left our land, but I couldn’t be happy. All these years I have lived in secret, in shame, and in pain.”7 Thus, those who experienced one of the most violent forms of Japanese colonialism chose to be silent rather than expose their identity and risk having their lives destroyed by a secondary and continuous victimization by their own people.8
On August 14, 1991, Kim Hak-Soon, a survivor of Japanese colonialism, first revealed she was a comfort woman, sharing her experiences in front of a group of journalists, human rights lawyers, social activists, and religious leaders.9 Since Kim’s disclosure, the issue of comfort women finally began to be explored in Korean society. Before long, other former comfort women, including Pak Kyung-soon, “felt [they] had to swallow the shame and step forward to reveal the truth,” and started to share their narratives.10 Among them, a group of thirty- five Koreans appealed to the Tokyo District Court in December 1991, seeking a sincere apology and respectful compensation from the Japanese government.11 Accordingly, feminist activists, scholars, and religious leaders initiated a strong movement to offer the invisible victims a “social and political shape.”12 Many social organizations and international institutes, including the United Nations (UN), have acknowledged the tragic history, publicly condemned Imperial Japan’s war crimes, and supported the surviving victims.13
As a part of the movement, two Korean artists, Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung Kim, designed a statue to symbolize the pain, wounds, and hope of the comfort women.14 They created a 1,100-pound, 52-inch-tall sculpture that embodies the victims’ stories, calling it, Statue of Peace: The Little Girl.15 The size and face of the figure depicts a young teenager, the average age of the victims during the war.16 The sculpture has been facing the Japanese embassy in Seoul since 2011, awaiting a response, with the surviving comfort women and their advocates who gather weekly.17 On October 13, 2017, another statue of The Little Girl was erected at the Korean American Association of Greater New York located in Manhattan, New York.18 This full-size replica of the original statue in Seoul, produced by the same artists, mediates between the historical victims of Japanese colonialism and current sufferings of Korean immigrants in America and her siblings at Glendale, California; Southfield, Michigan; and Brookhaven, Georgia.19
This paper will explore Johannes Baptist Metz’s theology on the memories of suffering (memoria passionis) and of resurrection (memoria resurrectionis), as well as reciprocal solidarity rooted in the narratives Christians share. It will also examine the concept of dangerous memories and the notion of Jesus as Mother. Revealing how the feminine image of Jesus speaks to extreme sexist violence is one of the points of this project. Finally, each section provides theological implications of how Korean immigrant communities, especially those who reside in the Eastern United States, might interact with The Little Girl in New York.
Tiptoes and Clenched Hands
Their tragic stories were thoroughly obscured until the 1990s, particularly in Korea.5 According to Keith Howard, comfort women from Korea, which comprised between eighty and ninety percent of the entire population of victims, were forced into silence by their families, neighbors, and government.6 The Confucian-oriented culture was ill-prepared to embrace the suffering of the victims, and the victims were not yet ready to come out to society, as some have still considered the history of comfort women to be shameful. A former comfort woman, Kim Yoon-shim testified, “Korea was liberated, and all the Japanese left our land, but I couldn’t be happy. All these years I have lived in secret, in shame, and in pain.”7 Thus, those who experienced one of the most violent forms of Japanese colonialism chose to be silent rather than expose their identity and risk having their lives destroyed by a secondary and continuous victimization by their own people.8
On August 14, 1991, Kim Hak-Soon, a survivor of Japanese colonialism, first revealed she was a comfort woman, sharing her experiences in front of a group of journalists, human rights lawyers, social activists, and religious leaders.9 Since Kim’s disclosure, the issue of comfort women finally began to be explored in Korean society. Before long, other former comfort women, including Pak Kyung-soon, “felt [they] had to swallow the shame and step forward to reveal the truth,” and started to share their narratives.10 Among them, a group of thirty- five Koreans appealed to the Tokyo District Court in December 1991, seeking a sincere apology and respectful compensation from the Japanese government.11 Accordingly, feminist activists, scholars, and religious leaders initiated a strong movement to offer the invisible victims a “social and political shape.”12 Many social organizations and international institutes, including the United Nations (UN), have acknowledged the tragic history, publicly condemned Imperial Japan’s war crimes, and supported the surviving victims.13
As a part of the movement, two Korean artists, Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung Kim, designed a statue to symbolize the pain, wounds, and hope of the comfort women.14 They created a 1,100-pound, 52-inch-tall sculpture that embodies the victims’ stories, calling it, Statue of Peace: The Little Girl.15 The size and face of the figure depicts a young teenager, the average age of the victims during the war.16 The sculpture has been facing the Japanese embassy in Seoul since 2011, awaiting a response, with the surviving comfort women and their advocates who gather weekly.17 On October 13, 2017, another statue of The Little Girl was erected at the Korean American Association of Greater New York located in Manhattan, New York.18 This full-size replica of the original statue in Seoul, produced by the same artists, mediates between the historical victims of Japanese colonialism and current sufferings of Korean immigrants in America and her siblings at Glendale, California; Southfield, Michigan; and Brookhaven, Georgia.19
This paper will explore Johannes Baptist Metz’s theology on the memories of suffering (memoria passionis) and of resurrection (memoria resurrectionis), as well as reciprocal solidarity rooted in the narratives Christians share. It will also examine the concept of dangerous memories and the notion of Jesus as Mother. Revealing how the feminine image of Jesus speaks to extreme sexist violence is one of the points of this project. Finally, each section provides theological implications of how Korean immigrant communities, especially those who reside in the Eastern United States, might interact with The Little Girl in New York.
Tiptoes and Clenched Hands
Even today, I feel numb and cannot sleep when I remember.20
—Pak Du-ri (deceased in 2006)
—Pak Du-ri (deceased in 2006)
As manifested in Pak’s testimony, victims tend to suffer from their traumatic memories, even well after the initial events. Their lives easily become vulnerable to the repeated violence generated from their memories. However, Johann Baptist Metz suggests a foundational doctrine of theology that could help resolve these problems of unavoidable and difficult memories by identifying a significant link between human memory and God. In A Passion for God, Metz argues that theology cannot and should not pretend the tragedies in history never happened.21 Instead, despite the challenges involved, theological language may be used to help individuals recall and face historical memories “with practical and political intent.”22 For Metz, therefore, theology is not a tool to forget, but an instrument to remember our stories, to redeem the pain in them, and to frame and reproduce the ethical lessons that may be found in them.23
The co-artists of The Little Girl sought to embody the complex characteristics of comfort women’s painful memories in their project, as well. According to their explanation, the impossibility of forgetting the suffering is visualized through the feet of the statue. Many comfort women were not allowed to feel at home anywhere during the war, and were unable to stay with their families. They were ignored, excluded, and expelled from the places they called home. Painful memories from events like these have continuously victimized them, preventing The Little Girl from putting her feet on the ground, or from sitting comfortably. The statue’s heels do not touch the ground, symbolizing her anxiety and fear.24
Metz emphasizes the importance of remembering. The resolve to face agonizing memories is indicated through the tightened hands of the statue.25 In the first versions of the statue, the hands were placed modestly on the girl’s lap with the desire to express how innocent the young victims were through the simple gesture.26 However, after experiencing the Japanese government’s attempts to interrupt the project, the artists decided to create a resilient pose for the statue. Even though the victims were naïve and powerless sixty years ago, The Little Girl today shows her confidence with hands clenched, expressing her resolve not to forget her sufferings from the past.
The artists’ struggle for the solidification of memory has become more active in the years since the first statue was installed. Since then they have established replicas throughout the country and around the world. As of May 2017, there are fifty-four sisters of the original statue.27 According to the artists, all replicas of The Little Girl are produced only when it is fully funded by the local community requesting the statue.28 Accordingly, it is the people and the message of The Little Girl itself that establishes her where she is needed, and not through any government or company-based funding. This challenging image of memory, which holds the reproduction of solid remembrance, resonates with Chung’s theological notion of Jesus the Mother. For Chung, Jesus is not only the one who resides with the oppressed, but also one who gives birth to new humanity.29 In other words, Jesus does not passively parent her children in a limited space and time; she rather overcomes the pain by the reproduction of memories.30 Likewise, the bronze bodies of The Little Girl not only contain the painful stories of the comfort women, but these sculptures also share and renew the memories for Korean communities who have invited her to take a place among them.
As Pak and many other sufferers have testified, it is clear that the memories of comfort women are painful. These memories have affected their lives for decades in negative ways. Solidifying the memory without “practical and political intent,” according to Metz, could deepen the mental and spiritual wounds of the victims.31 How can the memories of suffering be redeemed? What is the expected direction of reproduction of memory, beyond the physical spread of the statue? How does this visualized and multiplied form of historical memory serve the comfort women? What is the significance for Korean immigrants when hosting a replica?
Bird and Shadow of an Aged Woman
The co-artists of The Little Girl sought to embody the complex characteristics of comfort women’s painful memories in their project, as well. According to their explanation, the impossibility of forgetting the suffering is visualized through the feet of the statue. Many comfort women were not allowed to feel at home anywhere during the war, and were unable to stay with their families. They were ignored, excluded, and expelled from the places they called home. Painful memories from events like these have continuously victimized them, preventing The Little Girl from putting her feet on the ground, or from sitting comfortably. The statue’s heels do not touch the ground, symbolizing her anxiety and fear.24
Metz emphasizes the importance of remembering. The resolve to face agonizing memories is indicated through the tightened hands of the statue.25 In the first versions of the statue, the hands were placed modestly on the girl’s lap with the desire to express how innocent the young victims were through the simple gesture.26 However, after experiencing the Japanese government’s attempts to interrupt the project, the artists decided to create a resilient pose for the statue. Even though the victims were naïve and powerless sixty years ago, The Little Girl today shows her confidence with hands clenched, expressing her resolve not to forget her sufferings from the past.
The artists’ struggle for the solidification of memory has become more active in the years since the first statue was installed. Since then they have established replicas throughout the country and around the world. As of May 2017, there are fifty-four sisters of the original statue.27 According to the artists, all replicas of The Little Girl are produced only when it is fully funded by the local community requesting the statue.28 Accordingly, it is the people and the message of The Little Girl itself that establishes her where she is needed, and not through any government or company-based funding. This challenging image of memory, which holds the reproduction of solid remembrance, resonates with Chung’s theological notion of Jesus the Mother. For Chung, Jesus is not only the one who resides with the oppressed, but also one who gives birth to new humanity.29 In other words, Jesus does not passively parent her children in a limited space and time; she rather overcomes the pain by the reproduction of memories.30 Likewise, the bronze bodies of The Little Girl not only contain the painful stories of the comfort women, but these sculptures also share and renew the memories for Korean communities who have invited her to take a place among them.
As Pak and many other sufferers have testified, it is clear that the memories of comfort women are painful. These memories have affected their lives for decades in negative ways. Solidifying the memory without “practical and political intent,” according to Metz, could deepen the mental and spiritual wounds of the victims.31 How can the memories of suffering be redeemed? What is the expected direction of reproduction of memory, beyond the physical spread of the statue? How does this visualized and multiplied form of historical memory serve the comfort women? What is the significance for Korean immigrants when hosting a replica?
Bird and Shadow of an Aged Woman
I felt like a living corpse. When soldiers came to my room and did it to me one after another,
it was done to a lifeless body. Again. And again. And again…32
—Kim Young-shil
it was done to a lifeless body. Again. And again. And again…32
—Kim Young-shil
When Metz claimed that theology requires victims to remember their narratives of suffering, he was not referring to a meaningless or naïve remembrance. Securing painful memories must accompany “practical and political intent” to be productive and healthy.33 According to Gaspar Martinez’s reading on Metz, one of the core memories that Christians share is the story of Jesus’ passion.34 He continues, “This memory of suffering and passion [memoria passionis]… enables Christianity to be wholly solidarity, that is, to account for those who have died and have been defeated and destroyed.”35 Miroslav Volf holds a related but a more radical perspective on the memory of suffering. For him, healing is not merely one of the procedures or fruits of the process; it is an essential requirement for remembering. Volf argues that remembering unhealed memories are “potentially ruinous—for the wounded and their neighbors.”36 Hence, he proclaims, “Remember so as to heal.”37
Chung’s conception of Jesus the Mother also features the character of the healing Jesus:
Chung’s conception of Jesus the Mother also features the character of the healing Jesus:
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Like a mother who laments over her dead son who died in the wars in Indochina, like many weeping Korean mothers whose sons and daughters were taken by the secret police, Jesus cried out for the pain of suffering humanity. . . . Jesus is like [a] little girl’s mother. Jesus’ heart breaks anew when he hears the cry of humanity.38
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In the context of comfort women, those who were previously enslaved are seen as the victims, the suffering, and the wounded. These are the ones who need to be healed and the ones who are deceased. Chung claims that many died from starvation, venereal disease, exhaustion, or wounds from the abuse of the Japanese soldiers.39 These deaths are not limited to physical death, but include social and spiritual deaths. For Chung, Jesus feels the pain of comfort women, as she understands sacrifice and shares the suffering of all peoples.40 She also cries for the victims, including her deceased children, as she is God of the living and the dead.
The artists of The Little Girl placed multiple Jesus-like symbols in the statue to emphasize the various aspects of a healer: for example, the bird on the shoulder and the colored shadow of the sculpture, which portrays an elderly woman’s appearance. Even though birds symbolize freedom and peace in many cultures, the bird on The Little Girl is seen as more of a messenger or a medium connecting this world and the world to where the deceased comfort women have gone. Koreans say she or he “went back to the sky” when someone passes away. Thus, this sacred animal of the sky might hold messages from those who died following the intense pain of war or from the suffering of silence. The bird can also be seen as delivering healing letters from this world to those who “went back to the sky.”
Another notable point of the statue is the shadow. Instead of depicting the little girl’s appearance, the artists placed a shadow of a grandmother on the ground. According to Kim and Kim, this discordant image presents a visual comparison spanning ages, illustrating both the times when the victims were kidnapped and the present day when they have all become old or have passed away, waiting and wanting restoration to their wounded bodies and souls.41
A core theological conception in Metz’s Faith in History and Society is “Christian solidarity in memory.”42 He explains that the solidarity that Jesus showed through her suffering is mystical in two ways. By remembering the divine passion, the human creature both experiences/receives and commits to practice solidarity.43 In other words, when Jesus heals her children through the solidarity in the memory of suffering, she requires them to show solidarity to others through the stories of her pain. In the same vein, the sculpture, especially through the bird on her shoulder and through her ironic shadow, not only captures the longing of comfort women for transcendent healing but also reminds others to commit to solidarity for the victims. In particular, The Little Girl in Manhattan demands immigrants to unite in shared memory and to become active in the process of a redemption of the victims’ traumatic narratives.
Butterfly and Empty Chair
The artists of The Little Girl placed multiple Jesus-like symbols in the statue to emphasize the various aspects of a healer: for example, the bird on the shoulder and the colored shadow of the sculpture, which portrays an elderly woman’s appearance. Even though birds symbolize freedom and peace in many cultures, the bird on The Little Girl is seen as more of a messenger or a medium connecting this world and the world to where the deceased comfort women have gone. Koreans say she or he “went back to the sky” when someone passes away. Thus, this sacred animal of the sky might hold messages from those who died following the intense pain of war or from the suffering of silence. The bird can also be seen as delivering healing letters from this world to those who “went back to the sky.”
Another notable point of the statue is the shadow. Instead of depicting the little girl’s appearance, the artists placed a shadow of a grandmother on the ground. According to Kim and Kim, this discordant image presents a visual comparison spanning ages, illustrating both the times when the victims were kidnapped and the present day when they have all become old or have passed away, waiting and wanting restoration to their wounded bodies and souls.41
A core theological conception in Metz’s Faith in History and Society is “Christian solidarity in memory.”42 He explains that the solidarity that Jesus showed through her suffering is mystical in two ways. By remembering the divine passion, the human creature both experiences/receives and commits to practice solidarity.43 In other words, when Jesus heals her children through the solidarity in the memory of suffering, she requires them to show solidarity to others through the stories of her pain. In the same vein, the sculpture, especially through the bird on her shoulder and through her ironic shadow, not only captures the longing of comfort women for transcendent healing but also reminds others to commit to solidarity for the victims. In particular, The Little Girl in Manhattan demands immigrants to unite in shared memory and to become active in the process of a redemption of the victims’ traumatic narratives.
Butterfly and Empty Chair
I have no possessions, relatives, or offspring. I am alone.44
—Jin Kyung-paeng (deceased in 2006)
—Jin Kyung-paeng (deceased in 2006)
The memory of resurrection (memoria resurrectionis) is a companion conception to memories of suffering and passion (memoria passionis) in support of Christian solidarity according to Metz in Faith in History and Society. Remembering pain without any eschatological promise leads to stories that lack hope, while future-oriented narratives that lack honest encounters with the past become rootless ideologies.45 Consequently, the memories of passion and resurrection are innately linked to each other. This correlation between memories of suffering and rebirth gives the deceased a new status: because of the memory of resurrection, they do not remain hopeless. Memory becomes more important in the past-present-future dynamic.46 In other words, linking memoria passionis with memoria resurrectionis can play a meaningful and critical role for the construction of the present and the future.
Metz’s model of passion and resurrection narratives reframes the understanding of solidarity in memory. Because the living and the dead maintain coordinate status, the subject and object of solidarity become reciprocal.47 Narratives of history can transform actions, hopes, and agendas in the present through shared memories.48 Therefore, the living Koreans are not the only group who practice solidarity in the context of comfort women. The vanquished, the defeated, and the deceased who suffered in the past also hold power, showing their solidarity by shaping the present and future in relation with the living.
In the sculpture, the white butterfly in the shadow manifests these mutual solidarities in memories. The artists described the butterfly as a symbol of rebirth.49 They said their principal reason for including the sacred insect in the mosaic was to ease the resentment of the deceased victims who died without any apologies from the offenders. With this, the artists also signified that the butterfly invites the souls of the dead to communicate with the living.50 Belief in rebirth and the returning of the departed allows the living to maintain more bonds with the dead victims, nourishing the dynamic of having solidarity in memory.
The chair also profoundly signifies solidarity between the living and dead:
Metz’s model of passion and resurrection narratives reframes the understanding of solidarity in memory. Because the living and the dead maintain coordinate status, the subject and object of solidarity become reciprocal.47 Narratives of history can transform actions, hopes, and agendas in the present through shared memories.48 Therefore, the living Koreans are not the only group who practice solidarity in the context of comfort women. The vanquished, the defeated, and the deceased who suffered in the past also hold power, showing their solidarity by shaping the present and future in relation with the living.
In the sculpture, the white butterfly in the shadow manifests these mutual solidarities in memories. The artists described the butterfly as a symbol of rebirth.49 They said their principal reason for including the sacred insect in the mosaic was to ease the resentment of the deceased victims who died without any apologies from the offenders. With this, the artists also signified that the butterfly invites the souls of the dead to communicate with the living.50 Belief in rebirth and the returning of the departed allows the living to maintain more bonds with the dead victims, nourishing the dynamic of having solidarity in memory.
The chair also profoundly signifies solidarity between the living and dead:
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The empty chair next to the girl . . . represents the absence of the deceased grandmothers. . . . [Anyone] might sit next to the girl, imagining the experiences of these grandmothers when they were young, sharing their demands and aspiration[s].51
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The empty chair is for both the living and the dead. It is the space not only for the living to commemorate the past but also for the deceased to encourage the current and future. In its representation of mutual solidarity, it becomes the mediator between the two worlds.
As the compassionate and sensitive image of Jesus the Mother stays with her children, shaping their lives through commemoration of suffering and resurrection, the shared memories between past victims and current advocates transform the present.52 Memories recorded and retold via The Little Girl, therefore, infuse the life of its interlocutors through memories of suffering and rebirth. Hence, the statue in Manhattan not only represents the pain from this history, it also demonstrates the need for healing and the hope of spiritual care for Korean immigrants in America. As Jesus becomes the ultimate healer for Christians, as she is considered “the One who shared the suffering of all humankind,” the statue becomes the symbol of communal healing for Koreans since it embodies the colonial suffering that almost all Koreans share.53 The empty but filled chair, with the butterfly at the heart of the shadow, transmits the support from the historical victims of colonialism, imperialism, sexism, and militarism to Koreans who are living through postcolonial American classism, racism, sexism, and neo-colonialism.
Japanese Embassy and Korean American Association
As the compassionate and sensitive image of Jesus the Mother stays with her children, shaping their lives through commemoration of suffering and resurrection, the shared memories between past victims and current advocates transform the present.52 Memories recorded and retold via The Little Girl, therefore, infuse the life of its interlocutors through memories of suffering and rebirth. Hence, the statue in Manhattan not only represents the pain from this history, it also demonstrates the need for healing and the hope of spiritual care for Korean immigrants in America. As Jesus becomes the ultimate healer for Christians, as she is considered “the One who shared the suffering of all humankind,” the statue becomes the symbol of communal healing for Koreans since it embodies the colonial suffering that almost all Koreans share.53 The empty but filled chair, with the butterfly at the heart of the shadow, transmits the support from the historical victims of colonialism, imperialism, sexism, and militarism to Koreans who are living through postcolonial American classism, racism, sexism, and neo-colonialism.
Japanese Embassy and Korean American Association
This should never happen again in this world.
I hope the Japanese people will also join [humanity’s] march for justice and peace.54
—Ms. K
I hope the Japanese people will also join [humanity’s] march for justice and peace.54
—Ms. K
“Memories which make demands on us . . . memories in which earlier experiences break through the center-point of our lives and reveal new and dangerous insights for the present” are what Metz calls “dangerous memories.”55 According to Metz, such memories are powerful manifestations of history. They are memories that the people who live in the present are called on to manage with future-oriented contexts.56 Martinez specifies Christian stories as examples of dangerous memories. According to him, the memories that celebrate Christian values—including passion, suffering, the stories of victims, and resurrection—are dangerous because they challenge and unmask the triumphant groups and individuals by showing the injustices and victims they created.57 These types of memories are dangerous not only because they are difficult and painful to remember but because they subvert the oppressive authorities. In short, dangerous memories are a theological instrument that intimidates the oppressors while opening the eyes of the living through the stories from the past. Therefore, Thomas Groome defines the concept as “the memories that call [things into] question and offer new life to the present.”58
South Korean Christian theologian Chung Hyun Kyun agrees with Martinez and Groome’s understand of dangerous memories, and she approves of Martinez’s argument that Christianity itself offers dangerous memories to the world. According to Chung, Jesus the Mother is also the ultimate liberator, revolutionary, and political martyr. Jesus has worked and continues to work for the liberation of Asian women from violent forms of oppression, such as political corruption, military dictatorship, and the economic injustice that creates poverty.59 Jesus also participates in the suffering of protest movements to free Asian women, remaining with the political martyrs. She died when other martyrs were executed (memoria passionis) and then led the resurrection of those martyrs (memoria resurrectionis).60 The memories of these stories of suffering and resurrection have always been dangerous for the oppressors as they record the unjust history and inspire the living to fix the reality. Moreover, the mutual solidarity between Jesus, the memories of her children in the past, and those who are currently working for freedom and justice have finally summoned their exodus with the hope of resurrection.61
The original version of The Little Girl has been set up in front of the Japanese embassy. She does not actively or physically attack the Japanese or speak up for her rights. Instead, the statue stares at the building with her deadpan expression.62 Nevertheless, the Japanese government has repeatedly voiced how uncomfortable it is with this visual art project. Japanese officials continue attempting to require the Korean people, those living victims who are in constant communication with the past, to remove the statue from its place facing the Japanese embassy.63 The sisters of the original statue have also been seen as dangerous to the Japanese. For example, the Mayor of Osaka, Japan, warned their sister city, San Francisco, to remove a statue commemorating comfort women.64 These aggressive reactions seem to show that the biological or spiritual descendants of the offenders and oppressors see The Little Girl as a dangerous memory to them.
Just as the passion and resurrection of Jesus are dangerous memories that Christians still observe, the sufferings of comfort women serve as a dangerous memory postcolonial Koreans share today. With The Little Girl, the surviving former comfort women and their advocates have been able to collect, store, and redeem their memories of the past. The statue, therefore, has become a sacred avenue where victims—deceased and living—practice interactive solidarity by communicating with each other.
When I was first visiting The Little Girl in New York, a staff member at the Korean American Association invited me to sit on the empty chair. I tried, but I could not. Instead, I stood in front of the statue and cried, unable to bear the complex guilt of having done nothing and of being male. The staffperson later told me that I was not the first man who could not sit next to the statue.
NOTES
A note on positionality: The issue of subjectivity is a foundational concern of this paper since it touches the tragic experience and legacy of comfort women. As Jaco S. Dreyer confesses that he “cannot escape [his] colonial baggage in a postcolonial context,” I have realized I cannot escape my sexist baggage. My baggage, inherited from a male-oriented culture and society, has generated my subjectivity, bias, positionality, and reflexivity as a researcher and “colors every action that I take.” I acknowledge the limitations in my work. Due to my positionality, this project inevitably contains fundamental flaws. My ontological stance as a male may weaken the legitimacy of the paper. See Jaco S. Dreyer, “Knowledge, Subjectivity, (De)Coloniality, and the Conundrum of Reflexivity,” in Conundrums in Practical Theology, eds. Joyce Ann Mercer and Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 90-109 (quote page 97).
CAPTIONS
Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung, Statue of Peace: The Little Girl in New York, 2017, Bronze, The Museum of Korean American Heritage, New York, NY, Photo by Hyunwoo Koo.
(top left and bottom left) Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung, Statue of Peace: The Little Girl in Seoul, 2017, Bronze, Seoul, Korea (on the street), Photo by Sunwoo Koo.
South Korean Christian theologian Chung Hyun Kyun agrees with Martinez and Groome’s understand of dangerous memories, and she approves of Martinez’s argument that Christianity itself offers dangerous memories to the world. According to Chung, Jesus the Mother is also the ultimate liberator, revolutionary, and political martyr. Jesus has worked and continues to work for the liberation of Asian women from violent forms of oppression, such as political corruption, military dictatorship, and the economic injustice that creates poverty.59 Jesus also participates in the suffering of protest movements to free Asian women, remaining with the political martyrs. She died when other martyrs were executed (memoria passionis) and then led the resurrection of those martyrs (memoria resurrectionis).60 The memories of these stories of suffering and resurrection have always been dangerous for the oppressors as they record the unjust history and inspire the living to fix the reality. Moreover, the mutual solidarity between Jesus, the memories of her children in the past, and those who are currently working for freedom and justice have finally summoned their exodus with the hope of resurrection.61
The original version of The Little Girl has been set up in front of the Japanese embassy. She does not actively or physically attack the Japanese or speak up for her rights. Instead, the statue stares at the building with her deadpan expression.62 Nevertheless, the Japanese government has repeatedly voiced how uncomfortable it is with this visual art project. Japanese officials continue attempting to require the Korean people, those living victims who are in constant communication with the past, to remove the statue from its place facing the Japanese embassy.63 The sisters of the original statue have also been seen as dangerous to the Japanese. For example, the Mayor of Osaka, Japan, warned their sister city, San Francisco, to remove a statue commemorating comfort women.64 These aggressive reactions seem to show that the biological or spiritual descendants of the offenders and oppressors see The Little Girl as a dangerous memory to them.
Just as the passion and resurrection of Jesus are dangerous memories that Christians still observe, the sufferings of comfort women serve as a dangerous memory postcolonial Koreans share today. With The Little Girl, the surviving former comfort women and their advocates have been able to collect, store, and redeem their memories of the past. The statue, therefore, has become a sacred avenue where victims—deceased and living—practice interactive solidarity by communicating with each other.
When I was first visiting The Little Girl in New York, a staff member at the Korean American Association invited me to sit on the empty chair. I tried, but I could not. Instead, I stood in front of the statue and cried, unable to bear the complex guilt of having done nothing and of being male. The staffperson later told me that I was not the first man who could not sit next to the statue.
NOTES
A note on positionality: The issue of subjectivity is a foundational concern of this paper since it touches the tragic experience and legacy of comfort women. As Jaco S. Dreyer confesses that he “cannot escape [his] colonial baggage in a postcolonial context,” I have realized I cannot escape my sexist baggage. My baggage, inherited from a male-oriented culture and society, has generated my subjectivity, bias, positionality, and reflexivity as a researcher and “colors every action that I take.” I acknowledge the limitations in my work. Due to my positionality, this project inevitably contains fundamental flaws. My ontological stance as a male may weaken the legitimacy of the paper. See Jaco S. Dreyer, “Knowledge, Subjectivity, (De)Coloniality, and the Conundrum of Reflexivity,” in Conundrums in Practical Theology, eds. Joyce Ann Mercer and Bonnie J. Miller-McLemore (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 90-109 (quote page 97).
- I have tried to let the victims and their visual symbol speak for themselves. Throughout the paper, direct quotes from the victims and pictures of the statue that commemorates their stories are featured. They will speak to the audience, as they need to speak. I have tried to minimize my role in translating their cries to a theological language with respect and advocacy. Even in the process of translation, I labored to incorporate a christological model introduced by a female Korean theologian as part of the foundational framework of this project in order to present myself as a more responsible interlocutor. Consequently, I want this paper to be a platform by which the victims can speak to practical theologians.
- “Comfort women” is the English translation. It reads Wui-an-bu in Korean, Wei-an-fu in Mandarin Chinese, and Ian-fu in Japanese.
- Bonnie B. C. Oh, “The Japanese Imperial System and the Korean ‘Comfort Women’ of World War II,” in Legacies of the Comfort Women of World War II, eds. Margaret Stetz and Bonnie B. C. Oh (Armonk, New York: East Gate, 2001), 3.
- Chung Hyun Kyung, Struggles to be the Sun Again: Introducing Asian Women’s Theology (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1990), 46.
- Although there were many comfort women from different countries, including a few Europeans, this paper will concentrate on the voices and experiences of Koreans.
- Keith Howard, “A Korean Tragedy,” in True Stories of the Korean Comfort Women, ed. Keith Howard (New York: Cassell, 1995), 5–7.
- Sangmie Choi Schellstede, ed., Comfort Women Speak: Testimony by Sex Slaves of the Japanese Military (New York: Holmes and Meier, 2000), 47.
- Howard, 7.
- C. Sarah Soh, The Comfort Women: Sexual Violence and Postcolonial Memory in Korea and Japan (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 43.
- Schellstede, 79.
- Shigeru Sato, “Japanese Army and Comfort Women in World War II,” in Sex, Power, and Slavery, eds. Gwyn Campbell and Elizabeth Elbourne (Athens, OH: Ohio University Press, 2014), 258.
- Na-Young Lee, “The Korean Women’s Movement of Japanese Military ‘Comfort Women’: Navigating between Nationalism and Feminism,” in Feminist Theory Reader: Local and Global Perspectives, eds. Carole R. McCann and Seung-Kyung Kim (New York: Routledge, 2017), 579.
- Ibid.
- Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung, The Promise Engraved on the Empty Chair: The Artists’ Notes about “Statue of Peace: The Little Girl” (Seoul: Mal, 2016), 16-17.
- Brittany Levine, “Comfort-women Statue Dispute Continues,” Tribune Business News (February 22, 2014).
- Kim and Kim, 64–65.
- Ibid., 182.
- Since March 2018, the statue is installed in the Museum of Korean American Heritage, which is located in the Korean American Association of Greater New York.
- Annabelle Blair, “New York City’s First ‘Comfort Women’ Statue Remembers Sex Victims,” Times Ledger, (October 31, 2017), accessed March 3, 2018, https://www.timesledger.com/stories/2017/42/comfortwomen_2017_10_20_q.html.
- Schellstede, 70.
- Johann Baptist Metz, A Passion of God: The Mystical-Political Dimension of Christianity, trans. J. Matthew Ashley (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist, 1998), 39.
- Ibid., 40.
- Metz does not, however, hold an optimistic or romantic view of human memories. He acknowledges the different styles of how people understand and perceive their memories, including those who distort their past stories to make it less challenging and problematic. See Johann Baptist Metz, Faith in History and Society: Toward a Practical Fundamental Theology, trans. David Smith (New York: Seabury, 1980), 109.
- Kim and Kim, 81.
- Ibid., 96.
- Ibid., 96–97.
- Kim and Kim, 335.
- Ibid., 21.
- Chung, Struggles to be the Sun Again, 66.
- As I am adapting Chung’s idea of Jesus the Mother, this paper will use female pronouns—she, her, and hers—to refer to Jesus.
- Metz, A Passion of God, 40.
- Schellstede, 51.
- Metz, A Passion of God, 40.
- Gaspar Martinez, Confronting the Mystery of God: Political, Liberation, and Public Theologies (New York: Continuum, 2001), 64.
- Ibid.
- Miroslav Volf, The End of Memory: Remembering Rightly in a Violent World (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans, 2006), 86.
- Ibid., 85.
- Chung, Struggles to be the Sun Again, 64–65.
- Chung Hyun Kyung, “Your Comfort versus My Death: Korean Comfort Women,” in War’s Dirty Secret: Rape, Prostitution, and Other Crimes against Women, ed. Anne Llewellyn Barstow (Cleveland, OH: Pilgrim, 2000), 14.
- Ibid.
- Kim and Kim, 84–85.
- Metz, Faith in History and Society, 232.
- Ibid.
- Schellstede, 13.
- Metz, Faith in History and Society, 97–98.
- Ibid., 98.
- Ibid., 101.
- Ibid., 111.
- Kim and Kim, 88.
- Ibid., 89.
- Ibid.
- Chung, Struggles to be the Sun Again, 65.
- Ibid., 65.
- Ms. K wishes to remain anonymous. See Schellstede, 105.
- Metz, Faith in History and Society, 109.
- Ibid., 110.
- Martinez, Confronting the Mystery of God, 66.
- Thomas H. Groome, Sharing Faith: A Comprehensive Approach to Religious Education and Pastoral Ministry (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 1991), 240, quoted in Katherine Turpin, “The Complexity of Local Knowledge,” in Conundrums in Practical Theology, 263.
- Chung, Struggles to be the Sun Again, 62.
- Ibid., 63.
- Ibid., 63–64.
- Kim and Kim, 110.
- Kaori Kaneko and Tetsushi Kajimoto, “Japan Is Recalling Its South Korea Envoy over a Statue Commemorating ‘Comfort Women,’” Time (January 6, 2017), accessed March 3, http://time.com/4625449/japan- south-korea-comfort-women-statue/.
- Jayce Fortin, “‘Comfort Women’ Statue in San Francisco Leads a Japanese City to Cut Ties,” New York Times (November 25, 2017), accessed March 3, https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/25/world/asia/comfort-women-statue.html).
CAPTIONS
Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung, Statue of Peace: The Little Girl in New York, 2017, Bronze, The Museum of Korean American Heritage, New York, NY, Photo by Hyunwoo Koo.
(top left and bottom left) Kim Seo-kyung and Kim Eun-sung, Statue of Peace: The Little Girl in Seoul, 2017, Bronze, Seoul, Korea (on the street), Photo by Sunwoo Koo.
