To me growing up, Cesar Chevaz was considered a saint and an icon for justice. He was a beloved activist for the poor and most vulnerable. However, like many heroes who are fathers, uncles, pastors or revered politicians with the access to power and adulation, there can be a powerful and insidious shadow side to their greatness. They are considered and revered as protectors to women and to children. Yet in their own family, religious community, political or religious spheres, they abuse and mistreat those closest to them and expect loyalty to the secrets of their violations. But for many survivors, the unbearable reality of their abuse collides with the myth, the narrative of the hero.¹

People in every corner of society, no matter how virtuous they may seem, can be capable of committing unimaginable cruelty and justifying it to themselves and perhaps to those they violate. So many survivors have had to live for years or a lifetime with a secret that they fear will ruin their family, religious community—or a powerful political movement. But no survivor should have to bear the burden of the secret of their abuse no matter how beloved their perpetrators are.

Today Ana Murguia, Debra Rojas and Dolores Huerta are the true heroes, albeit great cost and grief. After 50 years, they have finally revealed their truth.

¹I've learned that there is no timeline for naming what was done to you by people you trusted. I've learned that justice for many means the world recognizing the harm done to them — and the difficult work they have done to no longer live defined by it. I've learned that people care about protecting others. And that sometimes by sharing their stories, survivors hope to prevent future harm.

—Adrianna Gollardo