In the days following Thanksgiving in 1986, Dolores Huerta believed she finally had something to celebrate. As a co-leader of the United Farm Workers, she had spent months in Washington advocating for the Immigration Reform and Control Act—a landmark law that would grant amnesty to millions of undocumented immigrants.
A press conference was planned to mark the achievement. But Huerta later said she was never told about it. Instead, her colleague Cesar Chavez informed her of an urgent situation in Florida that supposedly required her immediate presence. Trusting him, she flew across the country—only to discover there was no crisis and no one expecting her. She spent several days there speaking at senior centers.
Looking back, she believed the deception was intentional. “They just wanted me out of the way so they could take credit,” she said, describing it as a blatant act of male chauvinism that left her deeply upset.
In a later interview, Huerta spoke candidly about the difficulties she faced as a woman within the movement, which Chavez dominated with his powerful personality. She revealed painful experiences that had long remained private, including an allegation that Chavez had sexually assaulted her on one occasion and coerced her into sex on another—encounters that resulted in two children. Investigations have since uncovered evidence suggesting Chavez may have assaulted other women within the movement as well.
For years, Huerta and Chavez stood side by side at rallies, becoming the public face of a Latino-led labor movement that transformed farmworker organizing in the 1960s. Now 95, Huerta is widely known as the “Grandmother of the Resistance,” honored for her decades-long fight for fair wages, workplace protections, and dignity for farmworkers—especially women.
Yet behind the public image, she described a culture within the union that often silenced her. She said she felt pressure to suppress her negative experiences with Chavez, including the trauma she carried.
According to Huerta, the assault occurred in 1966 in Delano, California. What began as a routine conversation about union matters turned into a deeply traumatic experience after Chavez drove her to a secluded area. She also recalled an earlier encounter in 1960, during which she felt manipulated into a sexual relationship while on a work trip.
After the 1966 incident, she said she told no one—not her friends, her family, or even her daughter. At the time, she believed protecting the farmworker movement was more important than exposing the truth. She feared that speaking out might damage the cause and be used against it.
“I saw him as my boss, my hero—someone capable of doing the impossible,” she said. “I didn’t want to hurt the movement.”
Huerta described Chavez as a complicated figure when it came to women. While he supported their involvement, she said, their influence had limits. Women were entrusted with running essential parts of the organization—offices, clinics, financial systems—but were largely excluded from high-level decision-making.
“It was leadership, but not power,” she explained, suggesting this imbalance reflected deeper attitudes. “Women weren’t seen as equals. They were often reduced to objects.”
Others within the union witnessed the imbalance as well. Colleagues recalled moments when Huerta was publicly belittled during meetings, sometimes in harsh and demeaning terms. She said she often coped by pushing those experiences out of her mind, though they remained painful.
There were moments when others encouraged her to stand up for herself. After one particularly difficult meeting, a colleague told her she didn’t have to endure such treatment. At times, Huerta did push back—once even leaving union headquarters for several weeks after being insulted. But she always returned, determined to continue the work.
Years later, in 1993, Huerta recalled a quiet conversation with Chavez in Yuma, Arizona. During that moment, he acknowledged that he had treated her and other women differently. She responded directly: “Yes—that’s machismo. That’s male chauvinism.” She interpreted the exchange as a form of apology.
Only days later, Chavez died at the age of 66.
Reflecting on his death, Huerta suggested it spared him from fully confronting his actions. When asked whether she had forgiven him, she answered simply: that judgment, she believed, was not hers to give.
“I’m not God,” she said. “That’s for God to decide.”
This is a summary of the interview given to The New York Times
