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Showing posts with label critical scholar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label critical scholar. Show all posts

Tuesday, March 31, 2026

Scholarship in Action: What Dr. Álvaro Huerta Teaches Us About Organizing for Justice

Scholarship in Action: What Dr. Álvaro Huerta Teaches Us About Organizing for Justice

by 

Angela Valenzuela

March 31, 2026

What does it mean to be both a scholar and an organizer in this moment of backlash? In his manifesto posted below together with helpful videos, Dr. Álvaro Huerta offers a powerful answer: theory without practice is hollow, and practice without theory is directionless. Drawing on the concept of praxis from Paulo Freire, Huerta insists that transformative change requires both reflection and action—grounded in lived struggle.

Across decades of activism—from student-led hunger strikes at University of California, Los Angeles to organizing Latino gardeners against criminalization in Los Angeles and leading environmental justice campaigns—Huerta distills key lessons for organizers. First, learn from history. Social movements are not spontaneous; they are built on knowledge, strategy, and study. Second, organize with communities, not for them. This means humility, deep listening, and rejecting top-down approaches that impose outside agendas.

Huerta is equally clear about what not to do: don’t romanticize poverty or confuse marginalization with virtue. Communities deserve material improvements—but without displacement. Effective organizing builds from existing social networks, honoring the dense webs of relationships that sustain working-class life. At the center of this work is confianza—trust—which cannot be rushed, manufactured, or substituted with flyers and speeches.

Perhaps most striking is Huerta’s insistence that organizing is relational. It happens in homes, at kitchen tables, in churches, and yes—even over tacos and beer. These everyday spaces are not peripheral; they are foundational to building the relationships that make collective action possible.

Finally, Huerta reminds us that organizing requires total commitment. Movements demand focus, sacrifice, and an unwavering belief in the possibility of a better world. In this sense, the scholar-activist is not simply an observer of injustice, but an active participant in its undoing.

At a time when higher education itself is under siege, Huerta’s lessons are instructive: real change does not emerge from policy texts alone, but from organized people, grounded in community, moving together with clarity, strategy, and purpose.

A Chicana/o Manifesto on Community Organizing: Reflections of a Scholar-Activist (OPINION)

As an urban planning and ethnic studies scholar with an extensive background in community activism—over the past three decades— I’ve become an expert in community organizing. While some individuals are experts in the theory of community organizing, they lack the practice. Similarly, while other individuals are experts in the practice of community organizing, they lack the theory. In what I call the “dialectic of community organizing,” I possess both the theory and practice. Throughout my lifelong efforts to transform the world for the better, among other influential thinkers throughout history, I’ve coined this concept from the brilliant educator and philosopher Paulo Freire. In his classic book, Pedagogy of the Oppressed, for instance, Freire advances the notion of praxis as “…reflection and action upon the world in order to transform it.”

Since 1985, starting as a freshman at UCLA, I’ve studied social movements and revolutions—both domestically and internationally. This includes the theoretical foundations and leaders behind major societal transformations. Complementing my university studies, during the mid-1980s, I also engaged in student activism (as a MEChista). This included lobbying for U.S. divestment in South Africa’s then-apartheid regime, advocating for racial/economic diversity in higher education and defending the rights of undocumented students (e.g., eight-day hunger strike). While not one of the five hunger strikers, I played a leadership role in a groundbreaking protest at UCLA (November 11-19, 1987), preserving/securing university funding sources (and other services) for undocumented students. Our successful efforts provided an organizing model for other Chicana/o student activists to stage similar hunger strikes at UCLA (May 24-June 7, 1993), UCSB (April 27-May 5, 1994) and other colleges/universities.


Alvaro Huerta. standing second to left in blue sarape, around 1986 (Photo provided by Alvaro Huerta)

At the community level, I—along with fellow activists—co-founded the Association of Latin American Gardeners of Los Angeles (ALAGLA) to successfully challenge the City of Los Angeles’ leaf blower ban (1996). This draconian ban included a misdemeanor charge, $1,000 fine and up to six months in jail for cited Latino gardeners. Learning from UCLA’s hunger strike, during the pivotal period of this movement, 11 ALAGLA organizers/members staged a six-day hunger strike in front of City Hall (January 3-9, 1998) to demand justice for honest, hard-working Latino gardeners. (To learn more about this social/economic justice campaign, click here for journal article and here for video.)



Following this dynamic grassroots campaign, as the lead organizer at Communities for Better Environment (CBE) —during the late 1990s and early 2000s— I successfully led an organizing campaign to defeat a proposed power plant in Southeast Los Angeles, specifically, the City of South Gate. If built, the proposed power plant (size of
Dodger Stadium) would have emitted over 150 tons of 
pollution per year, such as particulate matter (PM10). PM10 (or fine particles
of soot) has been linked to premature death, including heart failure and
respiratory ailments, such as asthma and bronchitis. (To learn more about this environmental justice (EJ) campaign, click here for journal article and here for video.)




For the record, all successful community-based campaigns represent collective efforts, where all participants (e.g., leadership, membership, volunteers, sympathizers) deserve credit.

That said, given my positionality as a scholar-activist and public policy advocate (e.g., immigration advocacy) on behalf of los de abajo (or those on the bottom), I offer my dos centavos (or two cents) in a non-ranked order for current and future community organizers to benefit from. (While I have more to say on this important question, I’ll do so in future essays.)
Learning from causes for social, racial and economic justice.

Since the turbulent 1960s to the present, college and university students have played a key role in protesting unjust wars (e.g., Vietnam, Iraq), eradicating racism, defending free speech and fighting for a more just society, among other noble causes. Given their privileged status, college/university students have the luxury of time and access to resources to study contemporary and historical social movements and revolutions. This allows this class or group to learn from influential thinkers and leaders responsible for creating transformative change throughout history. While not limited to college/university students, the idea here is for community organizers to study influential causes and their leaders to be better prepared—theoretically and strategically—for emerging causes or struggles.
Demonstrate humility and don’t impose moral values.

When organizing marginalized community members or vulnerable groups, like Kendrick Lamar—greatest rapper alive—says, “be humble.” Need I say more on this point?

In terms of moral values, it’s imperative that community organizers don’t impose their own values or belief systems on the community members they’re “trying to help.” Organizers should not judge or try to change the behavior of community members or presuppose that they know “what’s good for the community.” Be open, listen and engage in dialogue with community members or group members to better understand why individuals or (sub)groups adopt particular conduct, speech, attire, etc.

Overall, instead of operating from a hierarchal or top-down approach (like some non-profits and unions that I worked for), engage with community members on a horizontal or equal level. In other words, don’t organize “for” community members; organize “with” them.
Don’t romanticize poverty.

There’s nothing good about being poor or the objective conditions of the working poor. I should know since I grew up in abject poverty—both in Tijuana (Baja California, Mexico) and East Los Angeles, as I discussed in my TEDxCPP talk (April 27, 2017). Thus, community organizers shouldn’t shy away from improving the living conditions or neighborhoods of historically disenfranchised groups.



The balance, however, is to improve or invest in these communities without the perils of gentrification or displacement of the same people you’re “trying to help.” For instance, the federal urban renewal program of 20th Century—supposedly aimed at “improving” and “transforming cities”—caused havoc for racialized and working-class communities in America’s barrios and ghettos.
Access existing social networks and build from them.

While racialized and working-class communities may be “poor” in terms of financial capital, they are often “rich” in terms of social networks and other forms of social capital. Social networks constitute interpersonal connections among family members, friends, acquaintances, neighbors, co-workers and other relationships, like those via the church (e.g., padrinos/madrinas, compadres/comadres). For instance, in the case of many Chicana/o-Latina/o households, we can clearly see how they effectively organize themselves (and maintain their cultures/identities) around important family events and celebrations, like weddings, quinceañeras, funerals, baptisms and so on.

To effectively organize and mobilize these communities or members around particular campaigns or issues (e.g., legalize street vending, halt deportations, defeat gentrification), it’s key for community organizers to access these pre-existing networks. For instance, when we—Adrian Alvarez, Pedro Perez and myself—first ventured into the streets of Los Angeles to organize Latino gardeners (an informal labor niche which had never been organized before), we did so by accessing the social networks of a Jaime Aleman—a veteran gardener from Zacatecas, Mexico.

I will never forget that cold Saturday night in the summer of 1996, where we first met with some of Jaime’s paisanos and fellow gardeners behind an apartment building. By accessing and expanding upon Jaime’s social networks, a small group of Chicana/o organizers and gardeners successfully organized Latino gardeners—independent and dispersed workers/petty-entrepreneurs throughout the city—to fight City Hall. By chance, like qualitative researchers, we used this opportunity or insider access to initiate a snowball sampling strategy to obtain referrals or contacts with other gardeners throughout the city.
Building confianza or trust.

Without establishing or building confianza (or trust) between the community organizers and community members/impacted members, the organizers will fail miserably. Confianza isn’t something you can establish overnight. It takes time to establish and build. It also takes patience, honest, transparency, consistency and good deeds on behalf of the organizers. Too often, marginalized community members have been taken advantage of by opportunists, politicians, hustlers, hucksters, etc., in this country and, for some, their home countries. This is one reason why marginalized community members are suspicious of outsiders, despite their good intentions to help improve their plight.

Thus, before any organizer arrives into a community/neighborhood that they’re not embedded in and demand action or participation by the community members, they must first get to know the people, especially on a social or personal level. This includes attending events or places where community members congregate, like schools, churches, parks, etc. It helps to start with one person or a family and build confianza from there. It’s impossible to deliver a political speech at a local school or church, expecting community members to trust you or your good intentions. On a similar note, it’s a waste of money and energy to distribute flyers and expect for community members to join your cause without serious reservations.
Eat the tacos de carnitas.

Should an organizer (or organizers) be fortunate enough to be invited into the home of a Latina/o community member or to attend a special occasion, like a quinceañera, don’t offend the host(s) by rejecting their food. In many Mexican households —both in this country and abroad— the host(s) will often serve their guests food without asking. This applies to the poorest barrios of California to the poorest villages of Chiapas, Mexico. Thus, should the guest(s) refuse to eat the served food, the host(s) will be offended.

When organizing against the power plant proposal in South Gate, for example, I noticed some of my fellow organizers commit this crime or insult. I tried to compensate by ordering some extra tacos de carnitas to go, but the damage had already been done.
Organizing at cantinas and Mexican restaurants.

Community organizing shouldn’t be limited to distributing flyers, holding press conferences and organizing protests. Community organizing should also include gatherings informally or socializing at bars, restaurants, coffee shops and back-yard carne asada cookouts with community members. For instance, when organizing gardeners, we (as Chicana/o activists) established strong personal relationships with the Latino gardeners—mostly from rural Mexico—over some Pacifico and Dos Equis beers. (Actually, “some” is an understatement.) This is an insightful point that Adrian Alvarez, president of ALAGLA, discussed at a symposium (on May 13, 2015) at UCLA’s Chicano Studies Research Center (CSRC): “Organizing Latino Immigrants in the Informal Economy: The Successful Case of the Association of Latin American Gardeners of Los Angeles.”


Immerse yourself into organizing campaign.

When organizing a grassroots campaign, you must immerse yourself and focus on the campaign or larger movement. Too often, organizers spread themselves too thin by taking on too many campaigns at once. This is a recipe for failure. When I co-organized the gardeners or led the campaign against the power plant, I immersed or committed myself without external distractions. This allowed me to focus on my particular role within the given organizing campaign and collective objectives.

While there are psychological and physical costs to being fully immersed or committed to a challenging organizing campaign or cause, where you’re constantly thinking about the opponents (e.g., corporation, City Hall, federal government) and major obstacles, etc., this is the price one pays for fighting/dreaming for a better world!

To conclude, I end with the brilliant words of Ricardo Flores Magón (1921)—the precursor of the Mexican Revolution: “The dreamer is the designer of tomorrow… Suppress the dreamer, and the world will deteriorate towards barbarism.”

***

Alvaro Huerta, Ph.D., is an Assistant Professor of Urban & Regional Planning and Ethnic & Women’s Studies (EWS) California State Polytechnic University, Pomona.

Thursday, October 09, 2025

Leading with Conscience: Dr. George I. Sánchez, Dean Charles R. Martinez, Jr., and the Wisdom of Praxis, by Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

Leading with Conscience: Dr. George I. Sánchez, Dean Charles R. Martinez, Jr., and the Wisdom of Praxis

by

Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.
Professor, Department of Educational Leadership and Policy
The University of Texas at Austin
October 9, 2025


It is a deep honor to pay tribute to the civil-rights legacy of Dr. George I. Sánchez—an intellectual, a trailblazer, and a visionary educator whose influence continues to reverberate across generations. The building where I work at the University of Texas at Austin bears his name, as does a local elementary school with its own civil-rights history—one that now faces possible closure under the rhetoric of “consolidation” and “re-sets.” However phrased, such moves threaten the educational lifeworlds of emergent bilingual children and, in doing so, wound Dr. Sánchez’s legacy. The community, true to his spirit, is resisting.


When we invoke Dr. Sánchez’s name, we are not simply recalling a historical figure. We are evoking a living tradition—one rooted in justice, scholarship, and an unwavering faith in the transformative power of education. As Carlos Blanton (2015) reminds us in his seminal work George I. Sánchez: The Long Fight for Mexican American Integration, Dr. Sánchez’s life exemplified the scholar-activist’s role in bridging research and advocacy, intellect and moral purpose. His work calls us to examine not only what we teach, but why we teach, for whom, and to what end.


For our students in the College of Education, three interwoven principles emerge from his legacy: critical consciousness, moral courage, and what Antonia Darder (2018)—drawing from Paulo Freire’s (2000) Pedagogy of the Oppressed—so beautifully calls the “wisdom of praxis.” This wisdom is embodied, ethical, culturally situated, and context-sensitive. It animates the work of transformative educators committed to teaching as a moral and liberatory practice.


Dr. Sánchez understood, as Freire later articulated, that education is never neutral. His research on testing and segregation in the 1930s and 1940s—especially his exposure of so-called “intelligence tests” as culturally biased—revealed how inequity hides beneath the language of meritocracy. Curriculum and assessment, he showed, mirror what society chooses to value—and whom it chooses to value.


For today’s students—future teachers, administrators, and researchers—this carries an urgent message: knowledge must not merely be absorbed; it must be interrogated. We must ask: Whose knowledge counts? Whose history is told? Whose future is imagined through our teaching? Critical consciousness, as Freire taught, is not awareness alone but the recognition that the world can be transformed—and that each of us is called to act as an agent of that transformation. Dr. Sánchez embodied this stance long before the term existed.


He also modeled moral courage. At a time when segregation was legal and challenging “English-only” schooling could cost one’s career, he stood firm. He used his scholarship to expose injustice and did so at great personal and professional cost. He was branded a radical, even a communist—but he understood that neutrality in the face of injustice is complicity.


Today, we inhabit a similar climate—one where honest conversations about race, gender, identity, and inequality are under attack; where diversity, equity, and inclusion are being dismantled; and where educators are urged to teach without touching the truth. Dr. Sánchez’s courage reminds us that education is not a technical profession but an act of moral and civic engagement. To teach authentically today requires bravery: the bravery to protect our students’ dignity, to nurture their full humanity, and to stand together in solidarity for the survival of public education as a cornerstone of democracy.


The third principle—what Darder calls the wisdom of praxis—lies at the heart of Freirean pedagogy: the unity of reflection and action upon the world in order to transform it. Darder expands this idea into a moral framework for educators, describing the deep discernment that arises when love, humility, and critical inquiry guide our practice.


Dr. Sánchez lived this wisdom. He used scholarship not only to critique injustice but to build bridges—between research and advocacy, between the university and community, between intellect and lived experience. For our students, the implication is profound: education must never collapse into compliance with policy or performance metrics. It must remain a site of reflection, relationality, and transformation.


Praxis demands that we learn with and from communities rather than impose solutions upon them. It calls us to enter classrooms and neighborhoods with humility, compassion, and the conviction that education must serve the cause of justice. Were he here today, I imagine Dr. Sánchez reminding our students that being an educator is not merely about pedagogy—it is about purpose. It is about thinking critically, acting courageously, and living that delicate wisdom of praxis that unites our hearts with our work.


Here at UT Austin, we have witnessed these very qualities embodied in Dean Charles R. Martinez, Jr. Throughout his leadership, Dean Martinez has modeled critical consciousness by naming inequities others overlook and by championing an education grounded in justice, inclusion, and belonging. He has shown moral courage in navigating political headwinds with integrity and composure, steadfast in his commitment to serve all learners. And he has lived the wisdom of praxis through a leadership style that is relational, reflective, and deeply humane—bridging policy and compassion, scholarship and service.


Dean Martinez’s work reminds us that Freire’s insistence on education as the practice of freedom is not an abstraction. It lives in the choices of leaders who refuse cynicism and act from hope. In many ways, he stands in the living lineage of Dr. Sánchez—a leader whose every decision reaffirms that education at its best is an act of love and conscience. His example challenges all of us—faculty, students, and community partners—to carry forward that same spirit of reflection, courage, and transformative action.


This brings us to the question: What does it mean to be a critical scholar today?


Dr. Sánchez was a public intellectual in the fullest sense—an educator whose expertise extended from classroom to courtroom, from the academy to the public square. His research and testimony informed landmark desegregation cases; his policy advocacy exposed inequalities others preferred to ignore. Yet he never divorced scholarship from ethics. For him, knowledge was not an end in itself—it was a means of liberation.


In our own time, to be a critical scholar is to connect knowledge to justice. We live amid profound contradiction: unprecedented access to information coexists with the weaponization of misinformation, the erosion of truth, and the narrowing of academic freedom. In this climate, we cannot retreat into abstraction or silence. As Freire might say, our vocation is not simply to interpret the world but to transform it—through teaching, research, and public engagement.


Dr. Sánchez refused the false divide between “academic” and “activist.” He understood, as Freire did, that the scholar’s moral task is to link reflection with action. Today, that work means producing public scholarship, mentoring students who feel isolated or fearful, testifying before legislatures, and defending the spaces where critical inquiry still breathes. It also means expanding our sense of who counts as an intellectual: community elders, parents, artists, organizers, and students all produce vital knowledge. Our role is not to dominate those conversations but to connect and amplify them.


The intellectual of today—like Dr. Sánchez and Dean Martinez—must be multilingual in the broadest sense: fluent in the languages of justice, solidarity, and hope. And we must model integrity in our work, understanding that the goal is not accolades but the cultivation of the public good. If our scholarship does not help people think more critically, act more humanely, or live more freely, we have lost sight of the moral purpose that animated Dr. Sánchez’s life.


Were Dr. Sánchez here among us, I imagine he would look upon the College of Education—this vibrant community of future teachers and scholars—and say, The work is not finished. He would remind us that democracy must be renewed with every generation, through the daily acts of teaching, mentoring, and standing up for what is right. And yes, I think he would encourage our faculty to join Texas AAUP-AFT, now 300 members strong at UT!


He would urge us to keep education tethered to humanity, compassion, and the belief that safeguarding every child’s potential is sacred work. He would ask each of us to reflect: Are we using our knowledge to open doors or to close them? Are we preparing students to comply with authority or to question it thoughtfully? Are we aligning with comfort or with conscience?


Here again, we find inspiration close to home.  Dean Charles R. Martinez, Jr. has modeled these very principles in his steady, visionary leadership. It is deeply disappointing that the university has chosen not to renew his contract (see Valenzuela, 2025). Yet in the spirit of Dr. Sánchez, Dean Martinez has shown us what it means to lead with critical consciousness, with moral courage, and with the wisdom of praxis—weaving reflection, research, and ethical action into a seamless practice of compassionate leadership.


His example reminds us that the legacy of Dr. Sánchez is not a monument to the past but a mandate for the present: to teach truthfully, to research courageously, and to live out what Darder (2018) and Freire (2000) together describe as the wisdom of praxis. It is a call to embody what Dr. Sánchez showed us so powerfully—that knowledge without justice is hollow, and that the most enduring scholarship—and the most meaningful leadership—are those that serve the dignity of all people.


References


Blanton, C. K. (2015). George I. Sánchez: The long fight for Mexican American integration. Yale University Press.

Darder, A. (2018). The student guide to Freire’s Pedagogy of the Oppressed. Bloomsbury Academic.

Freire, P. (2000). Pedagogy of the oppressed (30th anniv. ed.). Continuum. [pdf]

Tevis, M. (1976). George I. Sánchez: Pioneer in education and advocacy for Mexican Americans. Texas State Historical Association, Handbook of Texas. https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/sanchez-george-isidore

Valenzuela, A. (2025, September 16). Dean Charles Martinez and a legacy of equity, belonging, and impact. Educational Equity, Politics & Policy in Texas. https://texasedequity.blogspot.com/2025/09/dean-charles-martinez-and-legacy-of.html