The allegations against Cesar Chavez are painful and disorienting. For many in Latinx communities — including here at Delta College — they feel deeply personal, not just because of who Chavez was, but because of what he has come to represent for generations.
For decades, Chavez has been seen as a symbol of sacrifice, dignity and resistance. His name is embedded into campuses, classrooms and even a state holiday. That is why these allegations are not just about one individual. They challenge a legacy that many people grew up admiring.
But confronting that discomfort is necessary, because the farmworker movement was never just Cesar Chavez, and it should not rise or fall with him.
The fight for farmworker rights — for fair wages, humane working conditions and basic dignity — has always been a collective effort. It was built by workers, organizers and families whose names are often not remembered, but whose labor and sacrifices shaped the movement long before Chavez became a national figure. Allowing these allegations to discredit that broader cause risks erasing the very people the movement was meant to uplift.
At the same time, this moment demands that we listen. Not just to the allegations themselves, but to the voices behind them, especially Dolores Huerta, whose leadership has long been central to the movement’s moral foundation.
Her statement is one of the most difficult parts of this moment to process, not only because of what she alleges, but because of what it reveals. That she felt she had to remain silent for decades in order to protect the movement reflects a painful reality: even movements rooted in justice are not immune from protecting power at the expense of individuals.
“It is devastating,” said Adriana Brogger, professor of Digital Media at Delta College. “To understand that Dolores Huerta has been living with this… the weight that they’ve been carrying all these years.”
That weight extends beyond individuals. It resonates within communities where silence, survival and sacrifice are often deeply intertwined. Brogger noted that for many, this moment may bring up “familial traumas… and problems that have not been addressed,” particularly in migrant and farmworker families.
Yet alongside that devastation, there is also a sense of clarity in people speaking out.
“There is a profound sense of standing with victims and believing women and children,” Brogger said.
Acknowledging that truth does not weaken the movement but strengthens its integrity. The values the farmworker movement stands for — dignity, justice and respect — cannot exist without accountability.
That is why it is important to remember that Chavez, while widely recognized, was never the movement itself. “The movement was comprised of many unnamed people: women, children, other leaders,” Brogger said. “It was never about one man.”
That perspective is reflected in how many are responding right now, trying to hold space for painful truths without losing sight of the larger cause.
At Delta, that tension is visible. The message placed over Chavez’s plaque reading “Believe women and children” reflects a community that isn’t willing to stay silent.
We can hold two truths at once: that Chavez played a role in advancing farmworker rights, and that he may have caused harm that must be acknowledged. What we cannot do is allow one truth to erase the other in a way that diminishes the people still fighting for justice today.
Because the farmworker movement did not end with Chavez. It continues in the lives of workers and communities who still carry its mission forward.
And as Brogger emphasized, this is not a moment for shame, especially for students.
“We do not need to carry the shame of Cesar Chavez,” she said. “That is that individual.”
If anything, this moment calls for a deeper commitment to the values the movement was built on. Not blind loyalty to a name, but accountability, justice and the courage to face uncomfortable truths.
Because protecting a movement should never mean protecting harm.
