Stop Building Movements Around Individuals, We Owe it to One Another

Illustrated by Bryce Pol

For decades, Cesar Chavez has represented the fight for farmworkers’ rights. His name appears on schools, parks, streets and murals across the Southwest, symbolizing resistance and the pursuit of justice for working families.

Recent reporting on allegations of abuse and sexual misconduct has prompted communities to reconsider how they remember Chavez and what accountability looks like when painful truths emerge in their very own space. Some communities, including towns in rural Arizona have debated removing murals or renaming streets. Others have questioned whether public honors should continue.

Those conversations also raise a broader question that extends far beyond one individual: What makes a movement healthy enough to confront harm when it occurs?

As we explored, researched and learned from key players in this topic, the common factor among all was the same.

Social justice movements can have many definitions, but the common thread is the same: they are often remembered through the names of a few leaders, yet they are always built by the power and mobilization of thousands of people. Every volunteer handing out water at a rally, every organizer creating safe spaces for meetings, every person knocking on doors, making phone calls, preparing food, designing flyers or attending meetings contributes to the work. Their efforts rarely receive the same recognition, yet movements would not exist without them.

Movements are collective efforts; therefore, accountability is also collective work.

When harm comes to light, the public naturally examines the actions of the person who caused it, and most recently, taking a deeper look at the culture surrounding the person. 

Illustrated by Bryce Pol

History offers many examples of influential figures whose status made difficult conversations harder to have. This has been seen with figures like Thomas Jefferson, Gandhi and most recently Cesar Chavez. Leaders become symbols of power, and power can be difficult to question. Organizations fear losing momentum, and supporters worry that public criticism will weaken the cause. 

As these conversations continue, Rural Arizona Engagement (RAZE) wanted to take a deeper listen from movement builders on the ground to learn about what a healthy movement space looks like for them in rural Arizona. 

Long-time organizer Maria Castro who also builds coalitions and trains other organizers, spoke alongside Jax Campos-Peynado, an LGBTQ+ youth coordinator with One-N-Ten, a trusted organization serving LGBTQ+ youth, and Gen Z activist Amanda Schifano, a Pinal County native. All three shared their experiences in organizing in Arizona.

For Castro, who has spent more than a decade organizing in Arizona, healthy organizations are rarely defined by charismatic leadership. They are defined by the people growing alongside one another.

She recalled hearing an Indigenous firefighter describe how ‘a healthy forest contains trees at every stage of growth, seedlings, young trees and mature trees existing together.’

“If you have folks who are brand new to the organization, folks who have been there for a couple years, and folks who have tenure in the organization who are still able to communicate similar excitement as the young folks, then you know that it’s a good organization,” Castro said.

According to Castro, healthy organizations also demonstrate answerability, ownership and transparency. People can explain why decisions are made. Mistakes are acknowledged rather than hidden. Expectations are communicated clearly.

For Schifano, the experience of entering a movement begins with a sense of belonging.

She first became involved in organizing and canvassing with RAZE in Pinal County as a teenager and remembers immediately feeling welcomed by the people around her.

“I got to know them more on a peer level rather than a coworker level,” she said. “Everyone made me feel welcomed.”

Seeing other young people in leadership also mattered.

“It makes me feel less alone and that this space is for me, not just for people who have years of knowledge on politics,” she said.

Her biggest warning sign is poor communication.

“When you’re new to something, communication is very big to me,” Schifano said. “[Poor communication] might have steered me away from the whole movement.”

Campos-Peynado sees those same questions through the lens of creating safe spaces for LGBTQ+ youth in Yuma, Arizona. 

As satellite coordinator for one n ten, they spend their days thinking about how trust is built before conflict ever occurs. 

“I think a lot of people don’t realize how critical it is to have boundaries,” they said.

Every program begins by reviewing community agreements together. Participants discuss expectations and why they exist. Those conversations create shared ownership of the space and reinforce that everyone has a role in maintaining it.

When conflict arises, Campos-Peynado focuses on curiosity before judgment.

“I still have to apologize. I still have to take accountability. I still have to recognize where I went wrong,” they said.

That willingness to model accountability stood out throughout these conversations. Accountability was never described as punishment or public embarrassment; it was described as communicating clear expectations and repair. 

Similarly, Castro emphasized that accountability begins long before harm occurs.

“Accountability really starts at a baseline of setting and communicating clear expectations,” she said.

Healthy movements build cultures where concerns can be raised early, disagreements can be addressed honestly and responsibility is shared rather than concentrated on one individual.

Castro reflected on one lesson she hopes today’s organizers carry forward.

“It’s easy for us to idolize people,” she said. “We need to focus on organizing with our communities, empowering our communities to be the decision makers.”

Perhaps that is the lesson this moment offers. Movements have always depended on ordinary people choosing to care for one another. They succeed because neighbors organize meetings, volunteers show up after work, young people ask difficult questions and communities decide that justice is worth pursuing together.

Public debates about murals, statues and street names will continue, as they should. Communities have every right to decide who they honor and how they remember history, but it’s important to put in the hard work on how to approach restorative justice before conflict or debates begin.

It happens in meeting rooms where expectations are set clearly, when newcomers feel welcomed, when concerns are heard before they become crises and when leaders remain accountable to the communities they serve.

Conflict and imperfection are unavoidable; therefore, it is crucial that movements, spaces and workplaces are prepared to respond effectively when these moments occur. It is equally important that the very same people who built the movement together are willing to support one another with the same determination they apply to protecting the cause.

With this reflection, the call belongs to everyone working inside a movement. Whether it is rural organizing, immigration, environmental and many other issues, the history and lessons learned invite us to look within. We’re called to look honestly at the community agreements, the baselines for communication and the shape of your own forest. 

A healthy movement isn't measured by one towering tree. It's measured by whether seedlings, young trees and mature trees can all still grow side by side.