Faces of the West County: Alicia Sanchez, Part 1

Community organizer, union activist and attorney Alicia Sanchez opens up about her early life in this two-part interview

Alicia Sanchez (Photo by Steve Einstein)

Over the years, I’ve heard Alicia Sanchez speak at numerous rallies, protests, and commemorations, and have learned that once she starts talking, you should get comfortable, brace yourself, and then be prepared for a long, moving, and passionate testimony. Be prepared to cry a little too. Her astounding life, the many places she has been and people she has touched, and her remarkable capacity for recalling all the details, means that you’d better have a good chunk of time put aside if you are going to engage in conversation with this woman. Alicia has a lot to say, and she isn’t holding back. 

Where and when were you born? 

In 1951, El Paso, Texas. I’m 71! 

I grew up there until I was about 10, and then we moved to New Mexico, and then Tucson, Arizona, and then in ’69, came to Santa Rosa. My mother’s family was here, and my father had just had a heart attack. I was 17. Graduated from Santa Rosa High School in ’71. 

Your family? 

I have five younger brothers. I’m the oldest and the only girl. All are alive and live in the area. We get together every month just to hang out. 

My Dad died at 56 from another heart attack. Mom died at 68 from pancreatic cancer. 

Growing up, we never went to a clinic or a doctor. The emergency room was our doctor. 

I’m married now for years to a wonderful guy, Bernie, and have one son with him. And one son with my first husband, Newman, who remains a good friend. Newman played a big role in my political life too. 

We also now have our first grandchild. She’s four and already has numerous appearances at protests, rallies, and picket lines to claim. 

Alicia, I’ve known you a long time, but always assumed you were born in Mexico as you have a slight accent. 

No, I grew up in El Paso, but only speaking Spanish. When I was first sent to school, I began coming home with red palms, and red marks on my calves. I didn’t understand why the teacher was hitting me. I thought it was because I was talking in class, but the white kids were talking, and they didn’t get hit. I soon understood that it was because I was speaking Spanish in class. I came home and told my mother how all my little brothers need to only speak English. 

So that may be part of your deep commitment to radio station KBBF (the first public bi-lingual radio station in the US). 

Absolutely. I’m a big proponent of language justice. 

We’ll get back to KBBF later. Tell us more about school. 

Because we moved so much, I think I was enrolled in 2nd grade about six times! 

I was always aware of my age. I’d go to the white kids and ask how old they were, and then I’d ask the Mexican kids what grade we were in. 

Once, in 4th grade in Tucson, I had a teacher named Mrs. O’Grady. She was reading the roll call one day, asking our names, and our dates of birth. I started to sweat and got so anxious because all the other kids were saying 1953 or 1954, but I was 1951. Thank God my name was Sanchez, and farther down the list, because the bell rang for recess before she got to my name. So I went to her as soon as all the other kids left the room.

Years later, she told me she remembered a short, skinny, brown girl with long hair, looking very frightened. I told her my year of birth, but asked her not to tell the others how old I was. So when she continued to call the roll after recess, I remember her saying, “Alicia Sanchez, 6/21/54.” It was our little secret, and I was forever grateful. 

When I got to college, right after high school, I swore I wouldn’t lie about my age any more. But I did. 

Mrs. O’Grady used to give me a dollar for every ‘A’ that I got for years after that. We stayed in touch all the way through college graduation. 

What did your parents do for work? 

They were farmworkers. Poor, of course, but we never really knew how poor we were. 

But once, we ran out of food in El Paso, and so went to a church for some food. I remember they gave us these lima beans. White ones! We never ate those before, and I still don’t. I must have been seven or eight. 

Did you ever go hungry? 

Oh yes. 

Once, I opened the fridge, and there was absolutely nothing in there except for a jar of mayonnaise. I opened the jar and took a spoonful, closing my eyes and imaging it to be a taco, or a Hershey’s Bar. I loved those. … I still get comfort from mayonnaise. 

At some point in El Paso, I found a tortilla factory where at the end of the day, they’d throw out all the imperfect tortillas. They’d put them into big cans for the garbage trucks to pick up. I’d get into the cans and take those imperfect tortillas home… We used to get army surplus spam and peanut butter distributed to us poor Mexican-Americans…I had my first real pancakes only when I got to college. What a treat with whipped cream and strawberries! 

What crops did your parents work? 

My parents were both cotton pickers. It was all hand picking too, with these large sacks they’d carry up and down the rows.  My mom always said she was a faster picker than dad. 

Did you ever work in the fields? 

Only for an hour, maybe two. 

My Dad said that if I wanted to be a farmworker, I could be one. He took me and Alfredo, my oldest brother, to the fields once. My mom and dad would pick next to each other, so they were both there. But I was only six or seven, and the cotton was really tall, and there were these long rows that went on forever, and thorns that really scratched badly. I was really scared being out there, and hated it. 

My father always said that being a farmworker was a noble profession. He only went to the 6th grade in Mexico, but was very wise. My mother, who was actually born in Oakland, only went to school for two years, in Mexico. Though she was born here in the states, there was a massive deportation of Mexican immigrants in the late ‘20s. Before the crash. 

Anyhow, my dad said I could be a farmworker, or go to school. Guess what I chose? 

So let’s cut to the chase. What did you become? 

I was the first in my family, from both sides, to graduate from high school. I graduated on a Wednesday, and by Friday I was flying out to Boulder to the University of Colorado. I went there because they offered the biggest scholarship. I had to go to summer school because they wanted to be sure that I’d be up to the challenge of regular school. And from there, I went on to Hastings School of Law. I became a lawyer! 

My dad died in my first year of law school, and I was always so sorry that he never saw me go on. 

But you didn’t leave your mark as an attorney, did you? 

No, once I discovered the satisfaction of community organizing, that’s what really made sense for me. I was a union organizer for 30 years, mostly for Latino workers. 

Oh my God, Alicia. You have so much story to tell. We’ll get back to your union work later on. What happened after law school? 

I applied to be a San Francisco public defender, but they pissed me off. During the interview, they asked if I had biases about people who had committed welfare fraud. Well, my family had received and was dependent on welfare, but I felt that I was able to be neutral about the fraud thing. … Anyhow,  I went straight from that interview, to go meet with the United Farm Workers.

Cesar Chavez interviewed me himself. When he heard that my parents were farmworkers, he was so happy and excited, and he began to tell me of his vision for the union. I sat there thinking that I only wanted him to shut up and let me talk about my vision, because it was the very same one!

What was that vision?

Number one, we needed to provide services for the members, but more importantly, we needed to be servants to the farmworkers. We had to be humble and totally respectful of them. 

And number two, we needed to be non-violent. 

Anyhow, I got the job as a San Francisco public defender, but I declined it, knowing that I needed to work for the union. 

I was naturally drawn to this cause, largely after having watched my parents suffer with terrible working conditions. It was Newman, who helped me tap into all the injustices my family had experienced, and to make me a passionate advocate for my people. 

Did Cesar stay true to the cause? 

Yes, he did. Absolutely, but only to the farmworkers, and not to the staff. We were clearly under his direct leadership. He worked as hard as us, but he made the decisions. It wasn’t a democratic process…His birthday is coming up on March 31st. It’s a holiday now. 

I know that you also worked closely with Dolores Huerta, the second in command. I believe you had the honor of introducing her when she was inducted onto our Peace Wall right here in Sebastopol. 

Yes, of course I worked closely with her. She worked even harder than the others, and she did that while raising 11 kids! Dolores never got the recognition she deserved, even though she’s now on the wall. 

And of course, so are you! That’s huge. 

Thanks. I’m honored and humbled to be there. 

So you’re a new lawyer, from a poor family, who chose to go work for a union organizing farmworkers. What did they pay you? 

I was more like a full-time volunteer! I earned about 15 dollars a week as a stipend, and I had to show receipts for what I spent it on each week or I wouldn’t get all of the next $15!  And this was in 1979, not the ’20’s or ’30’s. 

But we were all volunteers. I’d sleep in the farmworker housing each night, or in the car which the union supplied me with. They also paid my monthly student loan and sent $100 a month to my mother to help support her. Otherwise, all us lawyers got was that $15 a week stipend. I’d get coffee at the 7/11 for 25 cents, but was too embarrassed to ask for a receipt for it. 

How did you do as a new lawyer? 

Well, I don’t like to brag, but every case I handled for the UFW, I won. 

Wow. What was your biggest accomplishment? 

I’d say my biggest accomplishment was helping empower the workers. In the process, I empowered myself as well, as I faced far more experienced attorneys. 

Alicia, you have way too much to say, and way too rich of a life, for us to capture in this one sitting. Let’s get together again to talk more about KBBF, your life as a soccer player, why Bernie is so special, why you stand on the corner every Friday dressed in black, and what you think we need to do next.

Great. I’m always happy to talk. Everyone knows that!