BRIAN McKENNA'S
BIG SUGAR
reviewed by
DANIEL STEFIK
________________
I can’t
decide which I prefer: documentaries that make me feel smart
or those that make me feel stupid. The latter argue or advocate
points of view about which I’m not very informed -- which
usually turn into informative, engaging experiences. The former
confirm already deeply aroused suspicions about a particular
subject, and if they’re good they usually cement my preconceptions
and open others in the process.
Brian
McKenna’s Big Sugar (2005), first aired in two
parts on CBC television, is nestled somewhere in between. I
was impressed with both the research -- the hard facts of which
confirmed many of my suspicions -- as well as the film’s
presentation and form. The final product is as comprehensive
a view on the corruption and exploitation within the sugar industry
as one is likely to find.
Big
Sugar offers a wealth of information (most of it disturbing)
whose first effect is to empower its audiences. After the initial
screening, I wanted to bring the industry to its knees, but
practically speaking, what can the individual do against the
big sugar barons and the legal and para-legal protections they
enjoy? Unless, recalling a proverb that was drilled into me
as a child, “knowing is half the battle,” and that
individuals, united in their outrage, can become a force to
be reckoned with, which is surely an outcome Brian McKenna would
savour.
Big
Sugar is not at all like Super Size Me, Morgan
Spurlock’s 2004 theatrical documentary-cautionary tale
about the fast food industry, which has so far reached much
larger audiences than McKenna’s little gem. But there
are many reasons why Big Sugar matters and should be
seen by even the least politically and socially engaged. McKenna’s
film is both effective and affective because it presents a complete
picture that begins with the history of the sugar cane industry
from its unfortunate, yet localized ties to slavery until its
most recent global developments, including its partnership with
Kellogg’s Inc. (we contribute to your coffers, you increase
the sugar content of your product) and role in the obesity epidemic.
These dual focal points allow the film to be broken up into
separate segments that in turn work particularly well for television
audiences.
McKenna’s
approach is about specifics: we trace the ancestry of an African-American
woman and her familial ties to slavery; we encounter a number
of dissidents, both black and white, and their inspired actions
and failed attempts at overthrowing their oppressors, all the
way to their fated deaths; and most disturbingly, we are left
to observe the sheer arrogance, ignorance and menace of a slew
of profiteers who have adjusted their lifestyles according to
the uncertain status of their servants or, dare I say “slaves,”
a term which, in the cane fields, is appropriate to this very
day.
We
learn about José 'Pepe' Fanjul Jr. and his brother Alfie,
two of the world’s richest sugar barons who, on the backs
of mostly illegal immigrants and indentured labourers, have
turned vast tracts of the Florida everglades into a sugar windfall
worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Their profits are guaranteed
by tariff coddled, artificially high sugar prices that are passed
on to the unwitting American consumer who pays, on average,
three times more than his Canadian counterpart for the same
product. Naturally, the Fanjul brothers contribute to both the
Republican and Democratic parties, and for their undivided loyalty
these spectacularly wealthy men receive $65 million per annum
in government subsidies.
No
wonder McKenna is angry, and if Big Sugar is anything
but impartial, it’s because documentaries are expected
to take sides. McKenna, who narrates throughout, wants to make
a difference. What Big Sugar and other Canadian-made
documentaries demonstrate is that Canada has a public sphere
of contention, digression and protest that grants its film-makers
an alternative voice, which, in this particular case, would
risk being stifled if produced by our neighbours to the south.
