Dolores Huerta, labor leader and civil rights icon, dies at 96

Dolores Huerta, the co-founder of the United Farm Workers of America and a central figure in the Chicano power movement, has died. She was 96. Her death was announced Wednesday, and she had been battling cancer.

For decades, Huerta served as the emotional anchor for the United Farm Workers. She helped organize farmworkers across the United States, fighting for better conditions and securing contracts and benefits. Her work extended beyond the fields, establishing her as a prominent leader in American labor and a key figure in civil rights history.

In the early 2010s, Huerta spoke to a group of Latino high school students at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. The audience was quiet as she approached the podium. She did not spend time reciting her biography or listing her many awards. Instead, she focused entirely on the young people in the room. She challenged them to improve themselves, arguing that this is how communities grow. The session ended with the students chanting her famous phrase, Sí se puede, in unison.

Organizers said Huerta charged a small fee for that appearance, far less than the $25,000 demanded by another prominent Latina author. She prioritized speaking to students even when she had other commitments. Her availability defined her relationship with the public. She attended protests, rallies, and college talks without announcement. She showed up at art galleries and movie screenings to support emerging creators. During the pandemic, she joined a Zoom fundraiser for a Chicano art museum, appearing on screen to gently remind the hosts to focus.

Her accessibility made her a collective matriarch to many Latinos. She was the mother of 14 children and remained active in public life well into her nineties. She rarely said no to requests for autographs or photographs. She listened to the stories of admirers and treated each interaction with care. This constant engagement continued until recently, driven by a belief that the work of social change is never truly finished.

This year, Huerta revealed a painful chapter of her past to The New York Times. She disclosed that her co-founder, Cesar Chavez, had raped her and fathered two of her children during the 1960s. She said she stayed silent for decades to protect el movimiento, the farmworker movement they built together. The revelation prompted a collective mourning from the Latino community, which marveled that the abuse did not stop her activism.

Huerta was not viewed as flawless. In later years, she defended Chavez against critics who opposed his stance on illegal immigrants. She dismissed progressive Latino activists who criticized her close ties to establishment Democrats, including Hillary Clinton and Kamala Harris. In a phone call, she told a colleague, "You have it all wrong on Cesar," even after recordings showed her pushing back against Chavez's derogatory language about immigrants.

Her nonprofit is located in Bakersfield, where she invited critics to meet for further discussion. She maintained her position on Chavez’s personal vendettas against critics for a long time. These contradictions marked her leadership, showing a human side that differed from the lionized image often presented in public tributes.

Her legacy is secured in American history through the institutional gains of the farmworker movement. However, her daily calendar in her final years showed why she mattered to so many. She continued to show up for students and community groups until the end. She left the high school lecture hall as unceremoniously as she had arrived, ready to do more.