Local opinion: Assault survivors should not be silenced

I was raped twice while serving in the military, and I kept going like nothing happened. Not because I was OK, but because I understood the system I was in. That same system is still shaping how we respond to harm today, whether we are talking about the legacy of Cesar Chavez, the blame being placed on Dolores Huerta, or the decisions Pete Hegseth is making that will put women at risk.

Reporting what happened to me could have cost me everything. My career, my reputation, my ability to deploy, my future. So I stayed quiet and pushed through, like so many of us are conditioned to do. That silence is not accidental. It is built into the system. About one in three women in the military experience sexual trauma, and even that is an undercount because most incidents go unreported. Speaking up often leads to retaliation, not protection.

The stories coming out now are not shocking. They are familiar. Women harassed, assaulted, raped, then expected to continue working alongside the men who hurt them. Survivors are told to think about their careers before reporting, forced to weigh their safety against their future. This is not a failure of the system. This is the system working as it has been allowed to.

And now it is being made worse. Pete Hegseth has removed key protections that women in the military relied on, including eliminating a committee focused on addressing sexual violence and improving conditions for women in service. He has also removed anonymous reporting. That matters. Anonymous reporting gave survivors a way to come forward without immediately risking retaliation, career damage, or isolation. Taking that away sends a clear message about who this system is designed to protect.

This is happening under someone who has been accused of sexual assault and paid a settlement to a woman who said he harmed her. That context shapes policy and culture. It reinforces the same environment where survivors are expected to stay quiet while those in power face little consequence.

What happens in the military does not stay there. It follows people home. It shows up in workplaces, organizing spaces, and movements that claim to stand for justice. The same patterns repeat. Power is protected. Harm is minimized. Survivors are pushed aside so the work can continue.

That is why the conversations about Cesar Chavez matter. Chavez is someone many of us were raised to respect. A veteran, a labor leader, a symbol of dignity and collective power. That legacy is real, and it matters deeply. But it cannot place him beyond accountability.

What is dangerous right now is not the willingness to examine his legacy. It is the instinct to redirect blame onto Dolores Huerta. That instinct mirrors what survivors experience in systems like the military. When harm surfaces, people look for ways to protect the institution or the person at the center. Responsibility gets shifted, and a woman becomes the easier target.

Dolores Huerta is not the issue. She is not responsible for the harm of another person. She is a leader who organized and fought within systems that were never built for her safety. Like many women, she had to navigate power, silence, and survival at the same time. To call her complicit ignores that reality and reinforces the same dynamics that keep survivors from speaking.

If we are serious about justice, we cannot repeat the harm we claim to oppose. Protecting Dolores Huerta right now is about refusing to participate in a pattern that blames women for the actions of others and silences survivors to protect legacy.

The real question is who we choose to protect. Right now, women in the military are losing protections. Survivors are being put at greater risk. And in our own communities, we are being tested on whether we will stand with those who have been harmed or retreat into silence to protect what feels familiar.

I know what silence costs. I lived it. We do not get to claim justice if we are not willing to confront harm, especially when it is close to home.