Land monopoly and militarization: Why ‘Sakada’ still matters

When I heard the news about the military operations in Toboso, Negros Occidental, that killed 19 people, including youth activists and peasant advocates Alyssa Alano, RJ Ledesma, Errol Wendel, Maureen Santuyo, Lyle Prijoles, and Kai Sorem, and forced hundreds of Negrenses to flee their communities, the words that immediately came to mind were: “Not again.” The massacre of the so-called Negros 19 is no isolated incident but a continuation of state fascism designed to preserve feudal exploitation in the countryside—a reality searingly portrayed in the landmark film “Sakada.”

Directed by Behn Cervantes, based on Oscar Miranda’s story, with a screenplay by Lualhati Bautista, the film lays bare the miserable conditions of seasonal sugarcane workers in Negros. It confronts the class antagonism between the sakadas and hacienderos, exposing the entrenched land monopoly that condemns the toiling masses to poverty. To watch its depiction of the workers’ inhumane living conditions, meager wages, absence of benefits, and debt bondage—while big landlords feast off the fat of the land—and feel nothing is to have truly gone numb.

The film’s power lies in its unflinching honesty. It centers on the family of Arsenio “Arsing” del Mundo, a peasant organizer whose death at the outset sets the stakes. While performances by Robert Arevalo and Hilda Koronel are stellar, Rosa Rosal’s portrayal of Arsing’s wife, Dolores, is the film’s moral compass. Her final speech, urging women to join the struggle and reject the traditional roles imposed by patriarchal society, remains a radical call to arms. Equally striking is Juan Miguel, the son of Don Miguel, who becomes an activist and sides with the workers—a reminder that even from the ranks of the elite, one can renounce privilege and stand with the oppressed.

Cervantes rejected moralism in favor of systemic critique. He made it clear that the ruling class cannot embody “virtue” within a feudal-capitalist system that thrives on its workers’ misery. The film unmasks the hacienderos’ institutions—schools, hospitals, and cinemas—not as benevolent gifts, but as tools to patch workers up just enough to send them back to the fields or distract them from their own exploitation.

Released in 1976 at the height of martial law, the Marcos dictatorship understood the film’s danger. It immediately ordered its confiscation for daring to expose the country’s real situation, contradicting the glossy image it projected to the world. It took three decades for the film to resurface on television, but its message never aged.

The urgency of “Sakada” is underscored by the long trail of blood in Negros. In 1985, paramilitary forces opened fire on a protest rally, killing 20 farmers in what is now remembered as the Escalante Massacre. In 2018, the Sagay Massacre claimed the lives of nine peasants, who were asserting their right to land through a bungkalan (collective farming) initiative. In 2023, the Fausto family massacre shocked the nation when four members of a farming household—including two children—were murdered in Himamaylan, Negros Occidental.

Today, the film feels less like history and more like prophecy. The Marcos administration frames the Toboso massacre as a legitimate counterinsurgency operation, but the militarization of the countryside clearly serves the interests of big business and the landed elite. As the Unyon ng mga Manggagawa sa Agrikultura pointed out: “It is no accident that militarization is rampant where land monopoly is rampant.”

“Sakada” remains as relevant as ever. As the fields of Negros are once again stained red, we must look to this film to understand why the struggle of the sakada is the struggle of every Filipino. Most importantly, it should be a required viewing for those who wonder why young people choose to live and struggle alongside peasants and workers in the countryside.