by Michael Anton
New York
I was 12 when my father gave me my first camera and 15 when my brother introduced me to Buddhism. These two events proved crucial to my development as an artist and a human being. My parents instilled in me the conviction that the most painstaking work is the most vital. Buddhism deepened this conviction, teaching me to take nothing for granted and delight in what’s truly beautiful. Buddhism prepared me for the job of my dreams—the best years of my career—as the official photographer for the New York City Department of Sanitation.
Warm, strong and incredibly bright, New York’s sanitation workers became my friends, my heroes. I made it my mission to photograph them as I’d come to see them—as the heroes they were. Every day, I woke and chanted single-mindedly to do my best, to improve even a little each day. This prayer prepared me for the job and allowed me to sustain it. Without it, I’d have never been a match for those people, nor been able to capture their spirit.
As someone with a long career in the arts, I’ve had innumerable ups and downs. Radical fluctuation was the norm, in fact, making my finances unpredictable month to month. My participation in the May Commemorative Contribution activity over the years reflected this—substantial when my income was good and scrounged in pennies, into cardboard coin tubes, when the going got rough. That said, however large or small my contributions were, I always contributed with a heart full of appreciation and pride.
Things began to turn around in the early 2010s, when I received guidance from a senior in faith. “Why don’t you save—just a little each month—for May Contribution when it comes around?” Such a simple idea, it was a revelation for me. Just imagine—saving in advance! (Money seemed to burn holes in my pockets—I never knew where it went.)
This one simple act—making a May Contribution goal and saving toward it—profoundly transformed my financial life. Becoming more intentional in all that I did benefited my wallet and my craft. At work, raises were followed by promotions, and within a few years I was named Senior Photographer, receiving the top pay for that category.
And then, in 2022, everything went downhill. A new administration entered City Hall, which meant a new administration at Sanitation. And what had long been a happy, positive work environment became a dark and fearful one. Dedicated, talented people were driven out, and I endured a year and a half of increasing mistreatment. The new administration did everything they could to make my life miserable. They never quite managed to succeed.
As Nichiren Daishonin states, when great obstacles arise, “the wise will rejoice while the foolish will retreat.”[1] I can’t say I rejoiced, but I certainly didn’t retreat. I did what I have always done in difficult circumstances—chant, study Buddhism, seek guidance and expand my efforts to share Buddhism, especially with youth.
In 2024, my predicament became almost comical—I was forced to move to an office in Queens—90 minutes from my home. The intention, to me, was clear: burn me out to the point that I’d quit. To chant abundantly before work, which began at 6:30, I had to wake up at 2:50 a.m. The truth was, I felt deeply hurt and betrayed by the few people bent on getting me out. And my mind replayed in a loop all the nasty, hurtful things I wanted to say.
Every week, I volunteer to do a King Castle Group shift at the New York Culture Center, staffing the check-in desk. Upstairs are these photos of Ikeda Sensei shaking hands with the likes of Nelson Mandela and Rosa Parks. Sensei had faced an unending succession of persecution as he sought to globalize the principles of Buddhist humanism. Looking at those photos, I asked myself whether he’d have made such friendships, such strides, if he’d allowed himself to be swallowed up by anger, hate and pride. If there was a way to break free from this hurt, I knew it was together with Sensei.
That year, I got a new neighbor, a young man with the same name as me. I’d been there a long time and was known to look out for my neighbors. Now and again, I make the rounds with my famous ragus—beef or lamb or duck—to check in and make sure my neighbors are alright. I did this a few months after Michael moved in and, soon after, he came up and knocked. I invited him in and we talked about life—if I’m honest, mostly about mine. He asked about the busts on top of my bookcase, of Cold War-era dictators. Gifts, I explained, from friends aware of my passion for post-communist societies, which I’d been documenting for years on the ground. When I mentioned I was Buddhist, he seemed interested, and I invited him to check out a discussion meeting.
He had his doubts, but our friendship won out. He knew my circumstances and saw that I would not be bowed by them. Last year, he received the Gohonzon and today is practicing joyfully with the other young men of New York Zone.
In 2024, at work, one final act of petty aggression pushed me over the edge. After 16 years, I retired from my beloved Department of Sanitation.
I had to seriously consider my future finances. Could I continue steadily increasing my contributions to my beloved SGI? Could I continue pursuing my documentary projects overseas? Would I have to take a part-time job?
The answers were yes, yes and no. Yes, I could increase my contributions; yes, I could pursue my overseas work; and no, I didn’t have to take a part-time job. Around this time, my stepmother passed away. She had a life insurance policy that I knew nothing about and had named me as a beneficiary.
The money, to be honest, hasn’t changed me much—it can’t give me anything so precious as what I already have.
Just the other day, I heard my name on the street: “Mike Anton!” someone was shouting, “Mike Anton!” And when I saw who it was, my heart flooded with warmth—a sanitation worker whose portrait I’d taken when she was first hired. She told me I was missed and fondly remembered, and I knew that I’d kept what counts, what is won in shared struggle—true friends and the treasures of the heart.
Many friends my age are settling down—winding down into hard-earned retirements. That’s fine, but it isn’t for me—my youthful spirit asks always, What’s next?
References
- “The Three Obstacles and Four Devils,” The Writings of Nichiren Daishonin, vol. 1, p. 637. ↩︎
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