The news that Cesar Chavez was a sexual predator who abused young girls and raped United Farm Workers co-founder Dolores Huerta hit me hard.
Fifty-three years ago, my labor career began when I volunteered with the United Farm Workers. I was attracted to the righteousness of the farm workers’ cause (“La Causa”), the passion and integrity of the union’s leaders, an infectious spirit of solidarity and common purpose, and the energy of a vibrant social movement. For many idealistic young people like me, the UFW represented, in the words of journalist Miriam Pawel, the “union of our dreams.” As its most visible and charismatic leader, Cesar Chavez inspired us by rallying the “Davids” of the world to fight the “Goliaths” of California agribusiness who had exploited farm workers for far too long.
However, I began to see troubling evidence within the UFW of self-righteousness, intolerance for dissent, and demands for absolute loyalty. Later, I learned these attitudes had spread more widely. Political missteps and strategic errors slowed the union’s momentum. Chavez grew increasingly paranoid, prompting him to purge some of the UFW’s most talented leaders and staff. The union increasingly began to resemble a cult, forfeiting its moral authority and alienating supporters who looked elsewhere to apply the skills they had learned from the UFW.
Although I moved on to work for another union, I never lost my loyalty to La Causa. I donated money and helped when I was asked, while regretting that the UFW had failed to fulfill its early promise. However, even though I knew that Cesar Chavez was an imperfect man, I was totally unprepared for the revelations of his brutal sexual misconduct. Like many others, I am grieving the harm he inflicted and processing the betrayal of trust that it represents.
Removing Chavez’s name from public spaces and no longer holding events in his honor represents one immediate and appropriate response. I also understand the argument that the UFW was much more than Cesar Chavez and the refusal to have his misdeeds discredit the movement’s many achievements. However, Chavez’s actions have eroded what social critic Daniel Bell once called the idea of unions as a “moral vocation.” For a movement grounded in the values of justice, dignity, and respect, his behavior demands a more thorough moral reckoning and a willingness to turn this terrible story into a teachable moment.
To its credit, the UFW and the Cesar Chavez Foundation are launching a “truth and reconciliation” effort to support women harmed by Chavez. This could lead to the accountability and atonement needed for the UFW to begin a genuine process of healing. Beyond the UFW, other unions should engage in soul-searching about their treatment of women. We know from the stories told by Oregon Women Labor Leaders about the hostile environment too often encountered by women and LGTBQ persons in the house of labor. Changing this will require a serious long-term commitment to help the union movement uphold its identity as a moral vocation.
Educators and activists are now grappling with the question of how to talk about Chavez and the UFW. Miguel Sandoval, a ninth-grade ethnic studies teacher in Los Angeles, offers a thoughtful approach. “We need to acknowledge the reality, and what happened, and include the voices of the people that were hurt by it, and make that a part of the story,” he told the New York Times. “Keep him in the story, but then tell the truth.”
As we mourn, attempt to heal, and rededicate ourselves to La Causa, we can draw comfort from the words of Maya Angelou, the famed artist and activist who herself experienced sexual assault as a child: “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.”
Bob Bussel is professor emeritus at the University of Oregon’s Labor Education & Research Center.
