The United Farm Workers (UFW) is currently navigating its most profound identity crisis since its founding in 1962. For decades, the organization rested its moral authority on the saint-like image of Cesar Chavez, the man whose hunger strikes and non-violent protests became the gold standard for American labor movements. However, a recent wave of internal reckonings and survivor testimonies has forced the union to acknowledge a darker reality. The movement that championed the dignity of the laborer was, at its highest levels, often a site of psychological manipulation and unchecked abuse.
This is not merely a historical footnote. The current leadership of the UFW finds itself in the impossible position of upholding a legacy while simultaneously validating the victims of the man who created it. By voicing support for these victims, the union is attempting to save its future by dismantling its past. This reckoning centers on "The Game," a brutal psychological exercise adopted by Chavez in the 1970s from the Synanon cult, which was used to humiliate and purge staff members deemed insufficiently loyal.
The Synanon Infection and the Purge of the Faithful
To understand why the UFW is reeling today, one must look at the late 1970s, a period when Chavez became increasingly paranoid about internal dissent. He became enamored with Synanon, an organization that began as a drug rehabilitation program but devolved into a violent cult. Chavez imported "The Game" to the UFW’s headquarters at La Paz.
It was a systematic form of verbal assault. Members were forced into a circle and subjected to hours of screaming, personal insults, and accusations of betrayal. It wasn't about labor strategy. It was about breaking the individual will.
The consequences were devastating. Brilliantly effective organizers—the very people who had won the landmark 1975 Agricultural Labor Relations Act—were cast out or broken. The union’s focus shifted from the fields of the Central Valley to the internal anxieties of its leader. This period marks the moment the UFW began its long decline in membership, dropping from a peak of nearly 80,000 to a fraction of that today.
Support for Victims as a Survival Strategy
The union's recent statements supporting victims are a sharp departure from decades of denial. For years, the official line was that any criticism of Chavez was an attack on the Mexican-American community or the labor movement itself. That shield has finally shattered.
By acknowledging the abuse, current UFW President Teresa Romero is attempting to decouple the union's mission from Chavez’s personal failings. This is a high-stakes gamble. If the UFW admits its founder was deeply flawed, it risks losing the nostalgic support of the donors and politicians who view Chavez as a secular saint. Yet, staying silent would mean losing the respect of a new generation of farmworkers who prioritize workplace safety and mental health over personality cults.
The victims aren't just names in a history book. They are former organizers and their families who lived in fear at La Paz. They are people like the late Philip Vera Cruz, a co-founder of the union who resigned in protest of Chavez’s shift toward authoritarianism. The "reckoning" isn't just about apologies; it is about acknowledging that the union’s structure allowed this behavior to flourish without oversight.
The Economic Cost of Hagiography
When a labor union becomes a personality cult, the workers lose. While the UFW spent the late 70s and 80s focused on internal loyalty tests, the agricultural industry was evolving. Large-scale growers began using farm labor contractors to distance themselves from direct employment relationships. This legal maneuver made it harder for the UFW to organize.
Because the leadership was preoccupied with "The Game" and purging "traitors," the union failed to adapt to these shifting business models. They were fighting ghosts in the boardroom while the industry was rewriting the rules of the field. The result was a stagnation that the union is still trying to overcome.
Today, the UFW represents less than 1% of California’s farmworkers. This statistical reality is the most damning indictment of the years spent protecting a flawed legacy. The union’s power comes from its numbers, not its posters. By finally addressing the revelations of abuse, the UFW is clearing the deck to focus on the 21st-century realities of extreme heat, pesticide exposure, and the housing crisis facing migrant workers.
Institutional Memory and the Danger of Hero Worship
The UFW’s struggle serves as a warning for any social movement that ties its entire identity to a single individual. When that individual falls, the movement teeters. The "reckoning" we are seeing now is an attempt to build a more democratic, transparent organization that doesn't rely on the charisma of a patriarch.
There is a tension between the "Cesar Chavez" of the postage stamp and the "Cesar Chavez" of the Synanon years. High-end journalism requires us to hold both truths simultaneously. He was a visionary who gave voice to the voiceless, and he was a leader who presided over a culture of fear that silenced his own staff.
The union’s current leadership is pushing for legislative wins, such as the ability for farmworkers to vote for union representation by mail. This is where the real work happens. Every hour spent defending the indefensible actions of the 1970s is an hour not spent lobbying in Sacramento or organizing in Delano.
A Movement Beyond the Name
The future of the American farmworker cannot be built on the bones of a 50-year-old grievance. The UFW is signaling that it is ready to move past the era of the "Great Man" theory of history.
This transition involves more than just issuing press releases. It requires a fundamental shift in how the union handles internal dissent and how it protects its own employees. The "Game" may be over, but its shadow is long. Restoring trust with the families of those purged during the Chavez era is a necessary step toward moral clarity.
If the UFW can successfully navigate this period, it may emerge as a leaner, more focused organization. It will be a union defined by its contracts and its members’ safety, rather than its founder’s biography. The goal is a movement where the dignity of the worker is protected not just from the grower, but from the union itself.
The process of deconstructing a myth is painful. It involves admitting that the heroes of our youth were capable of profound cruelty. But for the farmworkers currently laboring in the heat of the Coachella Valley, the historical reputation of Cesar Chavez matters far less than the strength of the union’s current protections. They need a functional organization, not a museum.
Hold the leadership accountable for their current actions and their willingness to provide a platform for those silenced during the union's darkest chapters.
