In the late 60s, we showed our support of the grape boycott by not buying and eating table grapes. We were a young couple in Los Angeles and had a young son. We all loved grapes, so this was a sacrifice, but a no-brainer.
When my son started school, I spent my free time picketing at the local Safeway store. It was exhilarating when those cars turned away. I had grown up in the San Joaquin Valley and understood the plight of the farm workers as well as the working conditions they suffered. My first post-college job was as a social worker at the county welfare department. My job often took me to the various farm worker camps - many merely a settlement of tents with some porta-potties and a cold water faucet. No real bathroom facilities, showers or cooking facilities. No walkways among the tents, so when it rained it became a muddy area.
I even wove our own small red and black eagle flag for the wall. When the strike was over, we were overjoyed to be able to eat grapes again.