Lights flickered in the backyard of a Highland Park home, where three farmworkers gathered for an impromptu forum on the inaugural Farmworkers Day: a newly renamed holiday that has upended all César Chávez Day celebrations in the state.
This gloomy Tuesday night event was one of a few gatherings centering agricultural workers in the Los Angeles area, following a bombshell investigation by the New York Times, that uncovered allegations that labor leader César Chávez sexually assaulted two underage girls in the 1970s, as well as his fellow United Farm Workers of America co-founder, Dolores Huerta.
“I’m still processing it,” said Flor Martinez Zaragoza, chief executive and founder of the Celebration Nation, a nonprofit organization dedicated to empowering the Indigenous Latino community across California and host of the event. “I stand with the survivors.”
In the wake of the New York Times report, many government and city officials looked to distance themselves from Chávez’s newly tainted legacy. They began by renaming César Chávez Day; held annually on March 31, it was authorized by President Obama as a U.S. federal commemorative holiday in 2014.
The community sprung to action by removing Chávez statues from a pedestal in San Fernando, painting over murals in his memory across Los Angeles and unanimously voting to strip his name from street signs in Fresno.
Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass signed a proclamation on March 19 to change César Chávez Day to Farmworkers Day in the city. And by Thursday, the California Legislature followed suit, with the aim of acknowledging the broader contributions of agricultural workers. The change was swiftly approved by Gov. Gavin Newsom.
Still, Martinez Zaragoza is worried that the rush to tear down the Chávez legacy so hastily could altogether erase the history of the United Farm Workers movement, which has helped secure labor rights and better safety protections for agricultural workers since its foundation in 1962.
“When they take down statues, who is holding people accountable to make sure they’re putting up statues of farmworkers?” asked Martinez Zaragoza. “If they’re removing certain inserts from history textbooks, who’s making sure that they’re not erasing the whole farmworker movement?”
As host of the night, Martinez Zaragoza wanted to center the voices of farmworkers and how they were feeling about the collective community move to wash Chávez from history. As it turns out, glossing over a once-beloved labor leader does not come easy for some.
“It hurts to see what’s happening. My respects to Dolores Huerta. As a woman, we have to support her, right?” said Xochitl Nuñez, community leader from Orosi, Calif., and member of UFW. “My respects to her, but you can’t judge a dead man. You can only judge a living person.”
As a survivor of sexual assault, Nuñez feels for the women involved, but worries that painting over imagery of Chávez washes over the impact of his nonviolent, direct-action protests that in 1970 helped the UFW secure contracts for more than 10,000 grape pickers.
“It peeves me to hear someone from the city complain or spew barbarities. What do the people from the city know if they’ve never been to the fields?” exclaimed Nuñez to the group. “They’ve never gone to the fields where I am working under 116 degrees. I need water, I need shade, a bathroom — and thanks to his fight, we have those things.”
The rapid action to rename César Chávez Day also made Nuñez wonder why other bills in the state, like the Rural Farmworker Women’s Health Act — which aims to provide free menstrual products to female agricultural workers in California — haven’t been approved as quickly by legislators, despite being introduced by David Tangipa and Juan Alanis in February.
“We’re not in front of the pharmacies, sometimes we’re an hour away,” said Nuñez, when it comes to obtaining menstrual products.
Though many news headlines have focused on Chávez’s sexual abuse allegations, these farmworkers felt compelled to turn their focus on current issues — such as on-the-job injuries and deaths endured by farmworkers. According to the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health, between 2021 and 2022, there were 21,020 injuries in agricultural production that required days away from work; underreporting injuries is also common.
Nuñez explained how a metal rod once pierced through her shoe and leg while she was picking cherries, resulting in two surgeries that threatened the possible amputation of her leg.
“It was so traumatic that they told me I needed to receive the same PTSD treatment as people coming back from war,” said Nuñez. “Many of us get mutilated, but it’s not just our bodies. Our souls are mutilated. We are left with such an illness. I wish there could be an eraser that can vanish all we go through in the field.”
Her son Alejandro Martinez, a 22-year-old veteran and farmworker, also spoke of the injuries plaguing his body: “Part of my spine is now slanted. My ankle, I can’t even walk without limping. I can’t go to physical therapy right now because they told me I have to wait. I can’t even get medical assistance,” he said.
Carmen Obeso has struggled with her vision for many years, alleging that she was exposed to chemical pesticides while working in the strawberry fields in Ventura County.
“Whatever they give you in compensation, it is not something that ever goes away,” said Obeso.
When she first arrived in Oxnard, Obeso did not know much about Chávez’s legacy, with the exception of the 1989 song dedicated to him by Los Tigres del Norte. But after her life-altering incident, she fell into a deep depression. Learning about the United Farm Workers movement gave her the strength to push through it.
“I met a lot of people who knew César Chávez, and many people are hurt by what he did,” Obeso said. “But I am not someone who can judge.”
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