The Original Sugar Daddy: Quezon and Hacendero Patronage

Like petulant children desperate for adult validation, the Filipino elites enthusiastically flexed their political muscles to impress their new colonial overlords. The Americans were both awed and appalled with what they witnessed: the Filipino elites, most especially the Negros hacenderos, openly inflicted wanton violence against their subjects, so much so that it became the core issue of numerous early colonial records and testimonies.¹ For example, in 1905, then Philippine Constabulary chief in Negros W.A. Smith reported that the “labor system in Negros is worse than the slave system in the United States before the Civil war.”²

Smith wasn't alone in his assessment. Multiple documents vividly described how the Negros hacenderos operated on a superlative level of sadism, but this bourgeois affinity for violence was shared throughout its members, although in arguably lesser degrees compared to that of the sugar planters. The problem was so endemic across the archipelago that, in 1913, Commissioner Dean Worcester released an exposé on “the existence of slavery and peonage in the Philippines” which he believed presented “the greatest single problem which there confronts the Government of the United States.” The sensational nature of the report displeased many, although some were simply outraged not by the facts presented, but because such facts were presented, convinced that the documented atrocities could not have happened in the country especially under American tutelage. One of those who staunchly denied the existence of such abomination was a young politician from Tayabas named Manuel Quezon.³

What can't be denied is that Quezon is currently enjoying a renaissance in the Philippines, spurred by renewed interest thanks to the Bayaniverse, a series of movies directed by Jerrold Tarog that shines cinematic light on the lives of Philippine historical icons. The latest instalment, Quezon (2025), has divided and multiplied public opinion, much to the dismay of casual moviegoers simply wanting a nice movie experience. There are those who see the film as an important impetus for uneasy historical discussions: it highlights the uglier side of so-called bayanis, heroes, with Quezon now revealed to be a sinister, cunning politician keen to utilise whatever means available to achieve his desired ends. This cynical view has obviously led others to see the film as an artistic assault aimed at nothing but to denigrate the image of a courageous politician who fought, lobbied, and successfully campaigned for Philippine independence. No less than Quezon's grandson confronted the director and voiced his displeasure at what he believed to be the more heinous side of the film. After watching the film twice and having “seen all the comments,” Ricky Avanceña, Quezon's grandson, had an epiphany. He went to another screening of the film with the cast and crew in attendance and during the talk-back session admonished Tarog for having “opened a Pandora's Box.” Among the evils released, it seems, is the wrath of a scorned scion.

Not to be left behind looking at the past, historians viewed the present buzz as an opportunity to raise certain points and questions.

In a Facebook post, the University of the Philippines-Manila historian Alvin Campomanes decried how certain critics of the film bemoaned the use of colonial records, as if documents written by outsiders automatically lose their local historical merit simply because they were written by foreigners. Campomanes, who “served as a ‘consultant’ in the marketing of the film,” explained that “the most contentious details” in Quezon were taken from Carlos Quirino's 1971 Paladin of the Philippine Freedom, a work by someone who, “needless to say, was not American.” Indeed, Campomanes is right to rail against such silly assertions. The a priori judgment of a material based on the source's nationality, before actual scrutiny of the content, devalues historical data and methodology by unnecessarily emphasising the epistemology of origin as the primary criterion of merit. What do we make of Lapulapu, then, since he emerged out of the annals of history from Antonio Pigafetta's pages? Venice is quite far from the Visayas. Are Filipino accounts of racism in America devoid of any substance since they weren't written by Americans?

Then, there are those like public historian Xiao Chua who seek to guide viewers along a middle path: yes, Quezon was shrewd and his actions were archetypal of what is rotten in contemporary Philippine politics, but it needs to be remembered that he also had a good side to him. “Even if Manuel Quezon was the template of traditional politics in the country, well until today,” says Chua in a News5 feature, “he was a visionary in the sense that he was a forward thinker.” Quezon championed “social justice,” as evidenced by the pro-labour policies he enacted such as “the eight hour law” and “the initiative for minimum wage,” which only goes to show, Chua declares, that Quezon's political ethos was: “give to the poor what is due to them.” Already this is problematic on two fronts. First, this middle view seeks to divert deeper criticism of Quezon by reducing his politics to the laws he enacted and/or simply allowed to pass. The Broadcast Media Council Memorandum Order No. 75-31 of 1975, which mandated that at least one Filipino-made song be played on the radio every hour, was issued during the regime of Ferdinand Marcos. Does this make the dead dictator a champion of Filipino music despite the fact that a number of musical acts critical of the government ended up being silenced with illegal detention? Second, and most flagrant, the emphasis on the person and their psychology in political analysis almost always leads to nowhere but moral territories. Moralism is a fancy, yet faint candle incapable of illuminating the darker avenues of history. It only serves to light the face of the bearer.

We will have none of that.

Individual humans are complex, true, but political actions aren't as complicated when viewed from a materialist viewpoint. This essay grounds Quezon within the historical context of his time by abandoning the biographical approach. The reason is simple. When it comes to understanding the spirit of the time, biographies offer little value, and whatever merit, even in method, that it presents to history is often insignificant as explained by the great classicist Ronald Syme:

“At its worst, biography is flat and schematic, at the best, it is often baffled by the hidden discords of human nature. Moreover, undue insistence upon the character and exploits of a single person invests history with dramatic unity at the expense of truth.”⁴

To dispel the shadows of historical ignorance, there is a need to ignite and start setting things on fire. Burning the giant icon of Quezon illumines the material conditions of the time, revealing the economic and political contours of the period his political career spanned. Through this, his political actions will be clearly shown as simply in the service of capital, further manifested by the intimate and often parochial relationship he fostered with the dominant class of the time: the sugar hacenderos and millers. And thus we argue for nothing less than a Marxist, hence materialist, approach in this endeavour. In doing so, it will be better illustrated how Quezon's penchant for opportunism and megalomania was nothing too complex, but it was expected of politicians competing in the pageant for the best patron of capital.