What This Moment Asks of Us • The Austin Chronicle

The recent reporting on Cesar Chavez has shaken many, especially within Latino communities for whom his name has long represented dignity, struggle, and possibility. For some, this is a moment of deep betrayal. For others, confusion. For many, grief. And for survivors of sexual violence, it may reopen wounds that were never fully given space to heal.

In moments like this, communities move quickly: We cancel events; we rename streets; we issue statements; we ask, urgently and understandably, “What do we do now?” That instinct is human and even necessary. When something destabilizes us, we reach for action.

But not all action is equal. Symbolic action may meet the moment; but only substantive change sustains it. When we move too quickly to resolution, we risk bypassing the work that this moment is asking of us. We may mistake initial decision-making for a real reckoning. Renaming a street may be appropriate. Canceling a march may be necessary. Institutions must take positions. But none of that, on its own, constitutes a reckoning. These acts, on their own, are the beginning – not the resolution – of the work.

A reckoning is deeper. It is communal. It demands more of us. It asks us to sit, however uncomfortably, with what has been revealed. To listen to those who have carried harm, often in silence, for decades. To make space for the full range of emotions that are surfacing: anger, grief, disbelief, even defensiveness. These emotions are not obstacles; they are signals, pointing to what needs attention.

Grief asks to be witnessed.
Betrayal asks for truth.
Confusion asks for context.
Anger asks for accountability.

Until we create space for that, our actions, however well-intentioned, risk feeling incomplete.

If we are serious about centering survivors, then this moment asks something more concrete. Survivors do not experience support through statements, but through spaces that are safe, consistent, and trauma-informed. In Austin, the SAFE Alliance provides that space every day. SAFE is where survivors of sexual violence go in moments of profound vulnerability. In fact, SAFE conducts as many as 95% of sexual forensic examinations in any given year and serves as the primary support for survivors of sexual violence in Austin. Our work is immediate, human, and essential. And it is not guaranteed. Without sustained funding, these services face real and near-term risk. We are in active conversations with civic, philanthropic, and private sector partners about what it will take to stabilize them. This moment will ask whether we are willing to match our language about believing and centering survivors with the resources required to support them.

There is also a deeper discomfort here that we cannot ignore. If someone so revered could cause such harm, what does that require us to examine within our own communities, institutions, and movements? We want to believe that movements for justice are immune from the very harms they seek to address. They are not. Power does not disappear simply because it is exercised in the name of a good cause.

To tell the truth about harm does not erase that history. It invites us to tell it more honestly.

This is why I believe this moment calls for sustained engagement that begins with gathering and listening. As we decide what to take down, we must also ask what we need to build. What would it look like for communities to come together to process a rupture? To create space where survivors are centered, where complexity is not avoided, and where we resist the urge to flatten this moment into something simpler than it is? This is not a request to wait, but a call to restore. What would it mean to approach this not only through reaction, but through restoration; not as a way to avoid accountability, but as a way to deepen it? Accountability is not only about what we remove. It is also about what we repair, what we learn, and how we ensure that harm is neither repeated nor hidden.

The movement Cesar Chavez helped build was never his alone. It was carried by farmworkers, women, families, and organizers whose names are less known but whose labor and sacrifice made change possible. To tell the truth about harm does not erase that history. It invites us to tell it more honestly.

Perhaps that is what this moment ultimately asks of us: not to rush past the discomfort, but to stay with it long enough to become more honest, more accountable, and more human in how we respond.

There will be time for decisions. But first, there must be space for reckoning.

Dr. Pierre Berastaín is CEO of the SAFE Alliance, leading one of the nation’s largest organizations serving survivors of violence. He brings nearly 20 years of leadership experience across national and global nonprofits and academic institutions. His career has focused on building programs that serve survivors of domestic and interpersonal violence and sexual violence, with special attention to Latino communities and other underserved groups.

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This article appears in March 27 • 2026.

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