That story is the tale of how Hartley went from a privileged European upbringing to a life as a priest in the Dominican Republic, where sugar plantations such as that owned by the Vicini family have perfected a modern-day variation on slave labor. Basically, they lure laborers from neighboring Haiti with the promise of good jobs, then strip the workers of their identification and paperwork, essentially making them illegal aliens. The plantations then put these men, women, and children—none of whom have any way of getting back home—under armed guard as they cut cane in the fields. As far as compensation goes, the workers have to take what they can get, which often isn't even money—it's vouchers they can use to buy overpriced goods in company-run stores. The workers live in abysmal conditions on plantation property and aren't allowed to leave, and the repercussions of this include malnutrition, poor or nonexistent education for their children, and a complete absence of healthcare.

When Father Hartley discovers what's going on he makes it his mission in life to improve conditions for the workers, and his passion for his work is infectious and stirring. A great deal of Haney's film focuses on interviews with Hartley and footage of him interacting with the locals, and he's an eloquent and charismatic speaker on the topic of the sugar plantations. His parishioners clearly love him, and it's easy to see why. It's less easy to understand the impulses that motivated some of his enemies, many of whom don't seem to understand how they're being manipulated by the Vicinis and other corporate interests. In an irony that would be hilarious if its results weren't so tragic, the sugar moguls blame Hartley for "Haitianizing" the Dominican Republic—they whip up public opposition to his work by blaming him for helping Haitian immigrants who are taking away jobs from Dominicans, when in fact the only reason the immigrants are there is because they've been imported by the plantations! Haney documents the ensuing insanity with a precise journalistic eye, showing just how the Vinicis use the media (including a nutty right-wing pundit who makes Sean Hannity look like a model of sober restraint) to mold the public discourse in their favor, and it's here that The Price of Sugar expands its scope to address issues larger than those facing the Haitians and Father Hartley.

The perfect storm of economic opportunism, ignorance, and racism that causes the Dominicans to lose all sense of rational thought has obvious parallels with America's own divisive and hysterical arguments about immigration reform, and therefore offers important lessons for viewers who have never been near the Caribbean or a sugar cane field. Seeing the insanity of the situation as Haney presents it, it's hard not to wonder if we as Americans aren't oversimplifying our own immigration problems in a similar manner—and its equally hard not to ponder our own complicity in the human rights abuses the film depicts, given that the Dominican Republic gets favorable trade agreements from the U.S. and exports most of its sugar to us. When Hartley suggests that Americans ought to think about the human cost of the sugar they put in their coffee, it's a sobering moment. It's also a bit overwhelming, given that it's hard to see exactly how to fix the problem—is cutting down on Hershey bars really going to help the Haitians? Yet in the end The Price of Sugar is a rousing affirmation of the Capra-esque sentiment that one man can make a difference—the only difference between this and, say, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington being that Father Hartley is real, and thus an even more potent role model. He's a riveting figure, and the cause to which he has dedicated his life is given the most compelling cinematic treatment imaginable in The Price of Sugar.