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Cesar Chavez, Cesar Chavez Day, Hilda Solis, Martyrs of UFW, Social Justice, Strong Women, UFW

How Cesar Chavez and UFW Martyrs Impacted Social Justice

Mona Alvarado Frazier
March 31st is a State Holiday in California and optional in Colorado and Texas. It is a holiday that honors Cesar Chavez, a great social justice leader and establishes this day as one that promotes service to the community. Earlier I wrote about the connection of Cesar Chavez and the UFW to our family.

On Monday, March 26, 2012 Secretary of Labor, Hilda L. Solis, hosted the Induction of the Pioneers of the Farm Worker Movement into the Labor Hall of Honor and the naming of the César E. Chávez Memorial Auditorium in Washington, D.C. Michael Peña, actor and star of the upcoming film “Chávez,” served as the event’s master of ceremonies.

The Induction of the Pioneers of the Farm Worker Movement publicly recognized and honored collective, broad-based action in the area of social and worker justice. This year the United Farm Workers of America (UFW) will celebrate its 50th Anniversary.

The strength of their collective action led to such accomplishments 
  • The abolishment of the short handled hoe that crippled generations of farm workers.
  • Unemployment, disability and workers’ compensation benefits for farm workers;
  •  Establishment of labor contracts with employers that require rest periods,
  •  Toilets in the fields,
  •  Clean drinking water, hand washing facilities,
  •  Protective clothing against pesticide exposure,
  •  Banning pesticide spraying while workers are in the fields
  •  Outlawing DDT and other dangerous pesticides,
  •  Eliminating farm labor contractors and guaranteeing farm workers seniority rights and job security
  •  Creation of a pension plan for retired farm workers, a credit union
  •  and comprehensive union health benefits for farm workers and their families.

History about UFW Martyrs Inducted into Labor Hall of Fame:
Nan Freeman: an 18-year old college freshman from Wakefield, Massachusetts who gave her life while picketing with striking farm workers in central Florida in the middle of the night because of her love for justice. In Cesar’s words, Nan was Kadosha in the Hebrew tradition, a “holy person” to be forever honored.
Rufino Contreras: a 27 year old husband, father of two and a dedicated union activist who was shot to death in the Imperial Valley lettuce field for demanding a more just share of what he himself produced during the 1979 vegetable industry strike
Nagi Daifallah: a young Muslim immigrant from South Yemen who was killed during the 1973 grape strike after he gave himself completely to the union to escape the trap of powerlessness. Nagi immigrated to this country to escape poverty, only to rediscover it in California’s rich fields and vineyards. He learned English, could communicate well, served as a translator for UFW organizers and became active with the union.
Juan De La Cruz: a 60-year old immigrant from Mexico, a gentle man who knew firsthand the benefits of a UFW contract. He was also a grape striker and an original union member recruited by Cesar in the early ‘60s. Juan died two days after Nagi’s killing when shots rang out on a vineyard picket line and Juan shielded his wife, Maximina, with his body.
Rene Lopez was only 21 when he came home and proudly told his mother, “Here is my first union card. Now I am important. Now I am a man.” A short time later, grower goons gunned Rene down just after he voted in a union election at Sikkema Dairy near Fresno, which he and his co-workers were striking. Rene was young, but, as Cesar observed, “he had already felt the call to social justice.”
In case you haven’t read the official proclamation:
                             BY THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
                                                                  A PROCLAMATION
One of our Nation’s great civil rights leaders, Cesar Estrada Chavez came of age as a migrant farm worker, witnessing the injustice that pervaded fields and vineyards across California. Facing discrimination, poverty, and dangerous working conditions, laborers toiled for little pay and without access to even the most basic necessities. Yet amidst hardship and abuse, Cesar Chavez saw the promise of change — the unlimited potential of a community organized around a common purpose. 
Today, we celebrate his courage, reflect on his lifetime of advocacy, and recognize the power in each of us to lift up lives and pursue social justice.
Inspired by Mahatma Gandhi, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and other visionary leaders, Cesar Chavez based his campaign on principles of nonviolence, which he called “the quality of the heart.” Through boycotts, fasts, strikes, and marches that demanded both endurance and imagination, he drew thousands together in support of “La Causa” — a mission to ensure respect, dignity, and fair treatment for farm workers. Alongside Dolores Huerta, he founded the United Farm Workers of America (UFW), an organization tasked with defending and empowering the men and women who feed the world.
As a tribute to Cesar Chavez’s life and work, my Administration designated the Forty Acres site in Delano, California, as a National Historical Landmark last year, forever commemorating the birthplace of the UFW. In May 2011, the United States Navy named the USNS Cesar Chavez in recognition of his service during World War II. And this month, we honor ten Americans as Champions of Change for their commitment to realizing Cesar Chavez’s dream of a more just tomorrow. Decades after his struggle began, Cesar Chavez’s legacy lives on in all who draw inspiration from the values of service, determination, and community that ignited his movement.
On the 85th anniversary of Cesar Chavez’s birth, we are reminded of what we can accomplish when we recognize our common humanity. He told us, “We cannot seek achievement for ourselves and forget about progress and prosperity for our community. Our ambitions must be broad enough to include the aspirations and needs of others, for their sakes and for our own.” As we honor his broad ambitions and expansive vision, let us pledge to stand forever on the side of equal opportunity and justice for all.
NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim March 31, 2012, as Cesar Chavez Day. I call upon all Americans to observe this day with appropriate service, community, and education programs to honor Cesar Chavez’s enduring legacy.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this
twenty-third day of March, in the year of our Lord two thousand twelve, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and thirty-sixth.
BARACK OBAMA

You don’t have to be a Californian to commemorate the spirit of this holiday. As an individual how can you be of service to your community this weekend? How can your actions uplift someone else, create a better environment, or make a difference?

Wishing you creative thoughts, blessings, and peace.

Correctional Officers, Female Offenders, Women in Prison

What I Learned in Prison

Mona Alvarado Frazier

                                                                    Women in Front and Behind the Cell Bars #3

Disclaimer: No real names used. These stories are from one employee’s perspective during 1980-2008 with the California Youth Authority (CYA).Training, classifications, and agency have significantly changed in the last 10-15 years. There is no longer a CYA, it merged under the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation. This is the first post.
The red brick building I stopped in front of looked like the other eight buildings nearby. Behind me, I heard the sound of a car careening to a stop in front of the unit across the grass. Two Correctional Officers ran up the walkway towards the unit where Wise Ass had gone to just a couple of minutes earlier.
I pulled on the door handle of my assigned building and found it locked. A black rubber button on the left side of the door looked like a doorbell but something told me it wasn’t. I flipped through the five nearly identically shaped silver keys on the metal ring that Sarg had given me and slipped the largest key into the lock above the handle. The cylinder clicked but the door didn’t open. I tried twice more.

A knocking sound came from my right side. Two young women in blue t-shirts and jeans, inside the living unit, looked at me through a wide window. One pointed at the door and made a twisting motion with one hand and a pulling motion with the other.

                Okay, so the female offenders taught me how to open the unit door on my first day.

Once inside I heard some laughter. It came a quarter of the way down the hallway. I expected the offenders to laugh, but it was the staff members sitting on a desk. Oh yeah, they were expecting the ‘new boot.’

“At least you didn’t push the button,” the older guy said and smiled. He looked like Rosie Grier, the football player.

“Yeah, the other newbie across the way pushed it,” the woman who was about my mother’s age said and pointed to the unit where Wise Ass had entered. “It’s an alarm, not a doorbell.” She slapped her thigh, laughed hard and then hooted “Oh, lawd that was funny.” 

I drew a deep breath. Thank goodness, I listened to my gut.

The female staff member, Mrs. South, notified the unit supervisor that I had arrived and after introductions, she told me to watch and listen to my co-workers as they went about their shift. I had two days of ‘shadowing,’ the staff before I’d be on my own.

                                                    Have you ever gone to a foreign country?

You don’t know the language, culture or rules. That feeling of being out of place, stared at, and vulnerable sweeps over you. You try to act like you’re okay with everything, but you’re not. Several young women sat in large softback chairs arranged in slanted rows on the right side of the living area. They frequently turned and looked at me. They were checking me out. A pretty young woman with a blonde ponytail came up to the counter and wanted to know my name and age. I gave my first and last name.

Mrs. South asked if I was a Miss or Mrs., “I’m getting married in two months…” Her hand flew up in front of my face. “Call her Miss Alvarado,” she told the girl, who promptly left and spoke to a couple of other girls.

“Don’t give them more info than absolutely necessary,” she instructed me.

Rosey Grier shook his head. “No nicknames, horseplay, or otherwise over familiarization.” I never heard the word ‘horseplay’ before but I understood the rest.

“Before we leave this desk, take this.” Mrs. South handed me a shoestring knotted with another. “Use it as a belt. String your personal alarm and keys through it.” I was so embarrassed that I didn’t look at Rosey Grier.

                                                      As we walked and talked, she ‘schooled me down.’

Within a few hours, I had another vocabulary: wicket, yard, count, code 2, code 3, trays, scrape, 24’s, EP’s. “Keep your head up, watch your surroundings, don’t act scared even if you are.” I needed a notebook for the info and earplugs for the noise of clanking keys, doors, and buzzers.

Meanwhile, the female offenders looked at me or looked away from me. Some looked scary, some like typical high schoolers, a couple like surfer girls, and one like a shy mouse. My co-worker said I’d interact with the ‘wards,’ the next day.

“So are all of them here for misdemeanor stuff,” I asked.

“No, all felonies.”

This was confusing. In college, ‘wards,’ referred to wards of the court, under 18 years of age, not for felons. She saw the question on my face.

“This facility was modeled after Dr. Glasser’s therapies. The social workers tell us to call them wards.”

“You mean Dr. William Glasser, the founder of Reality Therapy?”

“He did his research here, but that was back in the early sixties when we had runaways and incorrigibles. Things have changed. There weren’t drug babies, coke fiends, and gangbangers back then like now,” she said.

After my eight hours were over, I felt a little disoriented. Mrs. South buzzed open the front door for me. “Don’t forget that belt tomorrow,” her voice rang out as I rushed out into the clear evening air.