What should we feel about people who inspire us and who command the
respect of millions for their achievements against difficult odds, yet
who have engaged in personal activity that is worrisome or even
repugnant to us?
Today’s prominent example is Michael Jackson, an inspirational
figure loved by many. For an African-American community that has faced
extraordinary adversity and remains marginalized in much of our
country, Jackson is a hands-down hero. He succeeded in ways that opened
doors for others. He fought racism and his own personal demons to
produce sweet music and dazzling creativity. His body of work provided
inspiration and enjoyment to millions around the world, including me.
But Jackson’s personal traits and activities must concern us,
especially for those who were touched by them. This dilemma of a flawed
champion is being fought out in the court of public opinion and
possibly in Congress, which will consider a proclamation in his
honor.
So, what are we to think of modern heroes with clay feet?
The struggle over Jackson’s legacy reminds me of a more important
dispute currently being played out, albeit on a much lower profile
stage, over how to consider the legacy of César Chávez.
How to remember and credit the works and life of Chávez is now
the subject of a hard fought battle in the progressive community.
Like many socially conscious people of my generation, I was active
in the grape boycott of the 1970s in the cities in which I lived and
worked. The boycott was a consumer campaign to elevate and protect the
lives of farm workers who worked in those fields. The lives and
struggles of farm workers resonated for many Americans. The grape
boycott lead by Chávez was a way for people to actually do
something about the conditions in the fields. It vitalized the concept
of consumer boycotts that, up to that time, had only had sporadic
successes in the union movement’s “Do Not Buy” list and in
African-American struggles, mainly in the South.
The name and image of Chávez have now become ubiquitous. To
the credit of many US cities, any number of public facilities and
roadways are named for Chávez. A simple Google Search for
“César Chávez Oakland” brings up, on the first page
alone, a park, education center, library, gym, chess workshop, medical
therapy clinic, and day, all named for the labor leader.
Last year, Randy Shaw, who edits the useful BeyondChron.org web site, wrote a book on
Chávez and the United Farmworkers Union called Beyond the
Fields. Shaw ascribes great and lingering activity to the work of
Chávez and his union. Shaw recently wrote that “many of the
ideas, tactics, and strategies that Chávez and the UFW initiated
or revived — including the boycott, clergy-labor partnerships,
and grassroots voter outreach, particularly toward Latinos — are
now so commonplace that their roots in the farm workers’ movement are
forgotten.” Shaw also believes that the UFW was “the era’s leading
incubator of young activist talent,” many of whom who are active in
social movements today.
Shaw’s vision of Chávez and the UFW is being challenged by
another progressive writer and activist, Michael Yates. Yates, an
editor at the Monthly Review and the author of the important
book, Why Unions Matter, is highly critical of Chávez and
Shaw’s history of Chávez and the UFW. Yates argues that most of
the strategies and behaviors that Shaw credits to Chávez and the
UFW have no such original derivation. Yates also contends that while
the UFW had an extraordinary run, it was brought down by
Chávez’s “dictatorial, hateful, and ruinous behavior.”
Chávez, Yates contends, became influenced by the leader of the
cult-like group Synanon. Using Synanon mind-control tactics, Yates
claims, Chávez brought charges against so-called “enemies of the
union” and had at least one of these “enemies” arrested when he asked
for his rights under the union constitution. For Yates, Chávez’s
personal flaws have left not a shining legacy, but one that is highly
tarred. “A charitable description of today’s UFW is that it has become
a quasi-racket,” Yates claims.
Yates argues that the real story of the UFW is a tragedy. The union
began in a blaze of glory but has had little or no lasting effect in
the lives of the workers. Yates credits the UFW for its successes in
the fields and for the passage of the California farm workers’ labor
law. However, Yates writes, “Today, farm workers in California are no
better off than they were before the union came on the scene. They
still don’t often live past fifty; they still suffer the same
job-related injuries and illnesses; they still don’t have unions; they
are still at the bottom of the labor market barrel.” Shaw disagrees,
and while he is critical of some of Chávez’s personal
characteristics, is much more charitable to his legacy.
I never met Chávez, though I have known many who worked with
him. The debate about his “true” history is interesting to me, but it
is not the real point. For me and millions of others, Chávez was
an image and an idea. He is present in my psyche as part of a narrative
about the ability of the salt of the earth to try and construct a life
marked by justice and dignity. The grape boycott and the UFW were a
reality that became an idea, an idea that gripped the masses.
Chávez was its personification.
Realities quickly become images. Images then influence reality, and
this cycle continues.
Those who inspire us and who personify ideals that motivate us all
have issues. When I first became acquainted with ancient Greek
tragedies I was surprised to see their emphasis on the trials and
tribulations of the successful. Two thousand years ago, the writers of
these works seemed to recognize that even the greatest are tortured by
difficult personal foibles, which often have deleterious effects on
others. So should we.
Frankly, an impressionistic view of Chávez is all we need. I
feel the same about Michael Jackson; I will retain the image of the
wonderful sounds of the Jackson 5 and his later work. I think that is
enough.