We are often reminded of the profound words of Oscar Peñaranda: “If we are not going to tell our stories, no one else will.” For too long, the narrative of the Farmworkers Movement has been maintained through a “cyclical culture of abuse, domination, and silence.” Within organizing spaces, there has been an extraordinary pressure to suppress the truth in order to preserve the reputations of “the movement” or its singular icons. We see this today in the painful revelations regarding the silencing of our UFW sisters, and we see it in the systematic erasure of the Filipino farmworkers who ignited the revolution.
This is the same “conspiracy of silence,” a drive to shove harms and historical truths down into ourselves in the purported service of a “greater good.” But a culture built on the suppression of those who were actually there is not the intersectional legacy we want to inherit. We must realize that the late FANHS co-founder Fred Cordova’s visionary dream, a day when the world honors Larry Itliong on an equal level with Cesar Chavez, is not about competition. It is about historical accuracy. The Farmworkers Movement was a dual-engine revolution, and the Filipino contribution was the spark that ignited the flame.
1. The Institutional Domination of the Narrative
The replacement of the UFWOC (United Farm Workers Organizing Committee) with the UFW brand is a prime example of institutional domination. This distinction is vital: the UFWOC was the structural embodiment of integration. It was a shared space, a board of four Filipinos and two Mexicans, representing a true intersectional alliance between the Filipino AWOC and the Mexican NFWA.
In contrast, the UFW was a later organization led by Cesar Chavez and Dolores Huerta, established only after the 1970 contract signing. By retrospectively replacing “UFWOC” with “UFW,” the specific Filipino legacy is effectively erased from the narrative of California history. This historical abuse mirrors the silencing of women within these same spaces; both serve to protect a sanitized, monolithic hero narrative while discrediting the actual architects of the movement.
2. Rectifying the Rupture of 1965
We must be clear: this revolution was launched by a narrative driven by the Filipino American Movement. It began with the martyrdom of Fermin Tabora during the Watsonville Anti-Filipino Riots of 1930 and reached its zenith during Larry Itliong’s two-phase war against the growers. It was Itliong and 2,000 Filipino workers who struck first in the Coachella Valley in May 1965, and again in Delano that September.
It was Itliong who had to convince Chavez to join his revolution. To suggest otherwise is to participate in the “culture of silence” that prioritizes a singular, Chicano-centric brand over the complex, multicultural reality of the struggle. When we allow the Filipino spark to be eclipsed just weeks after it ignited the strike, we are allowing the “greater good” to become an instrument of erasure.
3. The Mural: A Visual Break from the Silence
If we are to inherit a truly progressive culture, we must celebrate those who spoke up when the silence was at its loudest. The 1994–1995 Gintong Kasaysayan Filipino Mural in Los Angeles was the first major site of public memory to break this silence.
By centering Larry Itliong and the Delano Grape Strike as the foundational event, this mural acted as a “would-be accuser” against the dominant, erased history of the time. This 1994 mural predates the documentary Delano Manongs (2014) and the book Journey for Justice (2018) by decades because it refused to wait for “permission” from the gatekeepers of the labor movement. Its full inauguration of the completed 150-ft-long mural on October 21, 1995, marked the first Larry Itliong Day celebration in the country, predating the City of Carson’s celebration by 15 years and the statewide recognition by 20.
The mural has since become a global ambassador, featured as the flagship visual identity for two major Smithsonian Institution traveling exhibitions: Singgalot: The Ties that Bind and I Want The Wide American Earth. Recognized and exhibited by LACMA, the Skirball Museum, the City of LA Department of Cultural Affairs, LA Weekly, and KCET as one of the most iconic and monumental murals in Los Angeles, it stood as a beacon of sovereign, luminous, and unyielding light when the shadows of institutional silence were at their longest.
Moving Toward a True Intersectionality
We cannot build a future on a foundation of suppressed truths, whether those truths concern the abuse of power, the theft of historical credit, or the intentional neglect of cultural landmarks. We must be vigilant and call out erasure within our own community with the same fervor we use elsewhere.
This internal reclamation is the first vital step and the only way to heal. As Jonny Itliong stands for his father, and as women speak out about the harms they endured in the name of the movement, we are witnessing the collapse of a toxic, decades-old culture.
Let us no longer sacrifice our stories or our monuments to preserve the reputation of our “leaders” or the comfort of the status quo. Let us choose a culture of radical honesty. Let us be the light, so we can finally be the change we want to see in this world.
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