Two names. For six decades, they were inseparable in the story of American labor: César Chavez and Dolores Huerta, co-founders of the United Farm Workers, architects of a movement that gave voice to some of the most exploited workers in the country. That story broke apart this week.

A New York Times investigation published Tuesday alleges that Chavez — who died in 1993 and whose birthday is a state holiday in California — sexually abused multiple women and girls over the course of decades, including Huerta herself. The newspaper spoke with more than 60 people and reviewed documents corroborating the accusers’ accounts.

Huerta, now 95, released a statement that read like a dam giving way. “I am nearly 96 years old, and for the last 60 years have kept a secret,” she said. She described two sexual encounters with Chavez: one in which she was “manipulated and pressured” into sex, and another in which she was “forced against my will.” According to the Times, one assault occurred in 1966, when Chavez drove her to a secluded grape field in Delano, California, parked, and raped her in the car.

“I carried this secret for as long as I did because building the movement and securing farmworker rights was life’s work,” Huerta said. Then the line that will define this moment: “My silence ends here.”

The Other Accusers

Huerta was not alone. Two other women — Ana Murguia and Debra Rojas — told the Times that Chavez began grooming and abusing them when they were children working in the movement during the 1970s.

Murguia said she was 13 when Chavez, then 45, first kissed her, removed her clothing, and attempted intercourse in his locked office. She described dozens of sexual encounters over the following four years. The abuse, she said, drove her to attempt suicide.

Rojas said Chavez fondled her beginning at age 12 and raped her in a motel room when she was 15 — during a famous UFW march across California. A letter she wrote to Chavez as a teenager, preserved in his public archives, reads: “I’m really glad I got to see you & spend time with you, well not like that, but just to know I was near you was enough.” The letter sat in plain sight for years.

The Unraveling

The fallout has been swift and sweeping. The United Farm Workers — the organization Chavez co-founded — called the allegations “deeply troubling and profoundly shocking” and canceled all March Cesar Chavez Day activities.

Arizona Governor Katie Hobbs declared the state will not recognize March 31 as César Chavez Day. U.S. Senator Alex Padilla, who had sponsored legislation to create a national park honoring Chavez, said he would rename the bill to honor farmworkers broadly rather than any individual.

Across California, institutions are scrambling. San Francisco renamed its annual César Chavez and Dolores Huerta Day Parade to honor Huerta exclusively. San José canceled all planned celebrations. San Diego Councilmember Vivian Moreno called for “immediate renaming of all city sites bearing Chavez’s name,” while Supervisor Paloma Aguirre proposed replacing Cesar Chavez Day with Dolores Huerta Day.

The César Chavez Foundation said it was “deeply shocked and saddened” and established a confidential process for other victims to come forward.

Movements and Their Myths

This is the part that cuts deepest — not the fall of one man, but what his elevation cost the people around him.

Huerta’s silence lasted 60 years. She chose the movement over herself, over and over, because she believed the cause was bigger than the man who hurt her. And she was right about the cause. The farmworker movement was built by thousands of organizers, not a single icon. But the icon got the holiday, the schools, the street names, and the unquestioned reverence — while the women he allegedly abused carried their secrets in service of his legend.

Assembly Speaker Robert Rivas, himself of farmworker family roots, put it plainly: the movement “has never been about one man.” It is a statement that would have been unthinkable a week ago.

U.S. Senator Alex Padilla called the accounts “heartbreaking” and “horrific.”

Every movement that has reckoned with its founders’ abuses — civil rights, entertainment, tech, the Catholic Church — has faced the same ugly question: how much did people know, and how long did the myth matter more than the victims inside it? The farmworker movement now joins that list.

Huerta, for her part, insisted on a distinction. “César’s actions do not reflect the values of our community and our movement,” she said. “The farmworker movement has always been bigger and far more important than any one individual.”

She would know. She built it too.

Sources