To Muslims, Ramadan is considered the holiest month of the year. One of the ways in which we expand our spirituality during this period is by reflecting on our privileges, the purpose of which is to strengthen our relationship with God and improve our compassion for others. For many people in our community, we think of compassion as something that solely involves donating money to those who live far away from us, and I believe many of us overlook the importance of practicing compassion everyday starting with those who live in our households. This obviously does not reflect the behaviour of all Muslims or all Arabs in any way, but unfortunately, such attitudes are common in countries that employ migrant workers through the Kafala system.

            I grew up as a privileged Kuwaiti girl surrounded by migrant domestic workers, and unfortunately, I was not raised to show compassion towards them. During Ramadan, my parents would preach about the importance of being grateful for what we have because some other people do not have our privileges, but they did not consider the fact that they violated this ethos while they mistreated and abused the domestic workers who migrated to our country and worked beyond the point of exhaustion to make our lives easier. The only reason many of us even have a meal when we break our fast at sunset is because of the labour of migrant domestic workers, and this labour is a product of deliberate systemic exploitation by the Kafala system.  It seems to me that it is hypocritical to preach the importance of compassion and achieving God-consciousness during Ramadan while we continue to uphold modern slavery, deny migrant workers fair compensation for their labour, and even refuse to treat them as equal human beings who deserve the same rights and dignity that we believe we are entitled to.

There seems to be an assumed superiority over migrant workers in communities that use the Kafala system, which is evident in the fact that we force migrant workers to work in unfair conditions even though we would not accept those working conditions for ourselves. If we – as individuals who benefit from the Kafala system and employ migrant workers through that system – do not accept others to treat us this way, why do we continue to act as though it is okay to mistreat migrant workers in this way?

When our compassion towards others is limited to those who are removed from our lives, we are admitting that we are only interested in caring about or helping others so long as that does not interfere with our privileges. In countries that employ migrant workers through the Kafala system, many nationals who benefit from the Kafala system maintain the belief that employers deserve “ownership” over the lives of migrant workers. As individuals who benefit from the Kafala system, we complain about fasting from dawn to sunset without being mindful of the exhaustion of the domestic workers who live in our households and have to work harder during Ramadan to prepare elaborate meals and serve our extended family members during gatherings, without granting them breaks or any accommodations to their needs. In Kuwait, nationals even complain about racism and Islamophobia from Westerners, while we continue to refuse to allow domestic workers to even eat at the same table as us, regardless of the fact that some domestic workers are Muslim and fasting themselves. These may seem like minor things that we have normalised as a cornerstone of our lifestyle and our culture, but to migrant workers these instances of dehumanisation are a constant reminder that we perceive them to be inferior to us.

While we can freely practice our religion and fast during this holy month, and ahead of Eid celebrations, I invite us to reflect on the fact that we continue to unjustly deprive migrant workers of their religious freedom. Recently in Kuwait, a shop was reported to the Ministry of Commerce for merely having a banner promoting deals for Easter. In many households, including my own, domestic workers and drivers were punished, and in some cases even abused, for asking to go to Church. Of course, the Kafala system permits such deprivations of religious freedom and it shameful to imagine how many migrant workers feel excluded and degraded by our communities as a result of this system.

It should not be controversial to state that migrant workers deserve human rights and dignity, and especially during this holy month, we should reflect on the ways in which we continue to uphold a hierarchy of rights depending on a person’s nationality and practice challenging these systems of oppression to support our migrant worker siblings.

They say, the most important conversation is often the most difficult one to have.

I’ll argue the most important stories are often the most difficult ones to write.

The journey of BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and people of color) and racialized people born in Lebanon resembles the one of Theseus and the minotaur Greek mythology tale.

It is the epitome of navigating a wild labyrinth while attempting self-protection and preservation from systematic and systemic racism.

The idea that we are not affected by racism equally holds partial truth!

In our case, as children of MDWs (Migrant Domestic Workers) born in Lebanon, we certainly share in common a dualistic experience of anger against our parents’ malevolent years of oppression within the Kafala system, and in contrast the benevolent reaction of few liberal citizens who admire our hybrid identity.

Our mastery of Arabic and other spoken languages intrigues…

Locals ponder about our deemed mysterious identity: we are labeled as African, Asian, American or coming from a remote island, but rarely the optionality of being born in Lebanon occurs.

Our livelihood is embedded on a constant steady walk in between edges: a blossoming interpersonal activism while fighting racism, inequity and stereotypes.

The fight to exist and coexist drains our spirit! We dream to enjoy the freedom of being human, holding equal rights, striving, not worrying about residential permits or our parent’s legal statuses, precarity, fighting sexual harassers, being followed around in the streets, bullies at school, university, the lack of job opportunities, being in the sideline while we are aware of our richness, capabilities, and high potential.

The fighting loop may at times drain our spirit, however we resist, and continue to resist! Children of migrant domestic workers resist compliance, systemic racism, generalization, biases experienced from locals.

We opt for intentional dissociation from a generalized one-size-fits all mentality through finding solace within our safe community and the what we call “good ones”; they are our childhood Lebanese friends, and many uplifting souls we’ve encountered through the years. However, the retreat is short-lived, because we are born front fighters – being in between many worlds: the migrant domestic workers community and “our not our country” reality!

As we mature, we relinquish power and settle for belonging to humanity as a whole. The soul search culminates once we unlock self-appropriation, acceptance and embrace being us – BIPOC born in Lebanon!

It is not a secret that migrant domestic workers in Lebanon suffer from discriminatory labels – a trendy curse within a country practicing and endorsing modern-day slavery.

I remember my first encounter with racism; I was 5 years old, and seriously questioned why my bullies would scream: “Sri Lankiye”, it was irrelevant, I’m not from Sri Lanka.

The bullies made sure to emote their intentions: the nationality; “Sri Lankiye” was stripped from it meaning, it was transformed into a racial slur.

To add context, in the nineties a high number of migrant domestic workers in Lebanon were Sri Lankan, currently the majority of MDWs migrate from Ethiopia and the Philippines.

BIPOC witness how racial slurs mirror the racial origin of each migration waves! A common verbal racial slur we experience is being called “Habashiye” referring to Habesha, the people of Ethiopian and Eritrean heritage. “Habashiye” replaced “Sri Lankiye” as a mean of inducing disdain through altering the true etymology of a beautiful word.

The question is how to find a place when there’s no space for children of migrant domestic workers in Lebanon?  

The hard truth is you carve your own space within a feeble system. We tap into our unrecognized potential. We are given agencies and capabilities to change policies, fight against systemic racism, societal practices and attitudes embedded in discrimination.

Education and constant self-actualization are one crucial weapon. This will depend certainly on a multitude of external factors like the oppressive system shift, access to education, one’s upbringing, level of administrative challenges, undocumented or documented parents, life experiences, environments, outside influences, beliefs, and numerous other metrics.

On International Day for the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, we children of migrant domestic workers dream of visibility, respect, and holding mutual rights as any other individual. We have names and multiple identities that produce, if allowed positive diversity.

We love Fairouz and Tems, we want to live in peace and not be shattered in pieces by the Kafala system!

B.K. – Child of a Migrant Domestic Worker in Lebanon

Everyone in life has a role model. We all have that one person we look up to because they exude confidence and strength. One of my greatest role models is my mother. In honour of Lebanese Mother’s day, I interviewed my mother, who has worked in Lebanon for about 30 years. She came to Lebanon in 1992 as a migrant domestic worker with the hopes of getting a better opportunity to provide for her younger brothers. She, along with her two sisters, sacrificed to put her younger  brothers to go to school and then eventually college. She was a pioneer and warrior but even soldiers have moments of weakness and defeat. I remember once when I was 13 years old, I saw her sitting at the bottom of the stairs in the kitchen and contemplating on life. She was silently grieving. She saw me then let out a cry “I am a terrible mother, because I am not able to raise my own children. My daughter sleeps from home to home and I have to send you to a boys’ home in order to keep my job.” 

My mother came to Lebanon under the Kafala system. It is a broken immigration and labour system. The system was structured in a way that the laws being placed didn’t ensure a worker’s security, but it gave a margin for a lot of exploitation to happen. My mother lived at her boss’ home and had a “room” in the kitchen (which is a small attic with a bathroom). She worked from Monday to Saturday afternoon and was paid a mediocre salary.

My mother had a desire to leave a legacy and have her own family and she had me a few years later. At the time of my birth it was uncommon for domestic workers to have a family. The work conditions forced migrant mothers to go home, give birth and let their child be raised by a family member while they provided financial support. My mother hid her pregnancy in fear of losing her job and did a lot of hard labour. Even though she temporarily lost her job, her boss’ daughter cried and pleaded for my mother to come back. As a premature baby, I had to stay in the hospital for several days after my birth and my mother’s boss decided to cover the fees. However, she refused to let me be raised by my mother because  she thought I was a hindrance to my mother’s job and I only stayed with her for two months then started sleeping at her friends’ homes. I saw her on the “weekends” and we continued this routine until I was sent to my residential boys’ home where I saw her once a month . She challenged the system because she believed in her motherhood. 

A few years later my mother had my little sister and multiple people were outraged by the fact she was having another child in the same work conditions. Once a fellow domestic worker asked her why she decided to have another child, my mother responded, “As domestic workers we get a wonderful opportunity to  raise our bosses’ children like our own. We can love and cherish them but at the end of the day, they are not our own. They have a family and they will soon grow and not see us as such. Why would I deny myself the gift of motherhood and live my life in regret?”

In my mother’s 30 years of employment in Lebanon, she gained a lot of wisdom.  She believes that domestic workers are workers with dignity and should be treated with respect and not as an object. She said that women are seen in multiple careers  from business owners to merchants and they all get the opportunity to be  mothers. Their children should have the opportunity to live with their families and be given rights as well as Lebanese nationality. While many Lebanese people enjoy that luxury in the Ivory Coast, many domestic workers’ children will never have this opportunity.  My mother is  an active member in multiple nonprofit organisations in hopes of a better future for domestic workers and their families. She concluded the interview saying “ no one can take away my motherhood because I have the right to be a mother.”

Ochienga – Son of a Migrant Domestic Worker in Lebanon

A Call for Intersectionality & Inclusion

The Kafala system is an oppressive, racist, patriarchal structure that exploits and abuses migrant workers that disproportionately affects women of colour. The system relies heavily on human trafficking and other organised crimes, exposing migrant domestic workers to severe human rights violations. Women of colour from South-East Asia and Sub-Saharan Africa have been lured and trapped by the system for several decades now without any real attempts towards  sustainable change . Migrant Workers’ Action believes that unless a new movement of solidarity and support emerges to amplify and include Migrant Domestic Workers in all human rights conversations happening in Lebanon, the status quo of abuse and exploitation under the Kafala system will continue unchallenged.

Throughout the years, Lebanon has developed an active and engaging civil society space advocating for women’s rights among many other issues. However, within the shadows of this flourishing civil society work, exists the persistent and problematic normalisation of racism and exploitation of migrant domestic workers through the Kafala system, which remains condoned and unaddressed. The Lebanese feminist movement has many challenges and barriers to tackle.  It is in this effort towards equity and liberation that the movement should adopt   an intersectional and inclusive approach including refugees, members of the LGBTQIA community as well as migrant domestic workers. 

The adversities women in Lebanon experience are harsh, unforgiving and cruel. For migrant domestic workers this reality is even more harsh. Their predicament is one of forced labour, racial, sexual and physical abuse in a legal system sanctioned by the government and normalised by the local population perpetuating a culture of impunity. Failing to take into consideration the intersections of migrant domestic workers may lead to the Lebanese Women’s Rights movement to be exclusionary thus capitulating to elements of the patriarchy. Migrant Domestic Workers are women of colour, who are marginalised by multiple systems of oppression, both in their country of origin as well as Lebanon. Addressing their needs and challenges requires the Lebanese civil society as well as international actors to adopt an intersectional approach to women’s rights, as it allows the movements to take into account the Migrant Domestic Workers’ multiple intersecting experiences and identities.

It is important to note that focusing on an intersectional feminist approach does not negate the existence of Lebanese women’s struggles but instead offers a more comprehensive and inclusive approach to the struggle for women’s rights within the country that include the migrant and refugee population. 

Migrant Workers’ Actions invites the  women’s rights movement to reach out to the  extensive networks of migrant domestic workers communities in Lebanon  and to build  bridges working  together towards achieving equity and freedom.

I am a Filipina Migrant Worker, who has been here in Lebanon since 2004. I am a victim of human trafficking under the Kafala System since I was deceived by a recruitment agency in the Philippines. I was contracted to be a private nurse for a Lebanese family but ended up doing domestic work instead. I have been through the worst and most degrading abuse a migrant worker in Lebanon could experience. This experience was the trigger point that made me become a community leader and organiser, dedicated to work for and with my community. I chose to organise my fellow Filipino Migrant Workers, so I can help them to know their rights, as well as when and how to fight for them. I am raising awareness and making them understand that we came here not to be slaves, but to work decently and with dignity and pride.

The year 2020 saw big challenges for the whole world but especially for Lebanon, when the Covid-19 pandemic arrived, the economic collapse escalated and the Beirut Port explosion happened, the Migrant Worker Communities in Lebanon were greatly affected. 

Racism was always around us.

The economic crisis has shown the true exploitation of domestic workers in Lebanon. No ‘habibti enti’ or ‘you are part of our family’, will make up for the fact that the employers won’t pay us fair wages, support us in critical times of need or allow us to have rights and protection.

So as a community leader I saw the need for help and to find solutions to the present problems.

I started fundraising for the Food Relief Project that me and my group started. We provided medical assistance to Migrant Workers suffering from Covid-19. 

At present, my group is giving livelihood skills training to Migrant Domestic Workers in Lebanon to support them towards economic sustainability, both here in Lebanon and in their own country once they return. We believe that no Migrant Worker, who has left her country to work for a better future for her family, deserves to go hungry or die in a foreign country.

A. M. – Philippina Migrant Domestic Worker

*Disclaimer: For the purpose of the author’s safety and privacy, her name was replaced by initials.

Migrant Domestic Workers (MDWs) in Lebanon face numerous forms of abuse including sexual and gender-based violence at the hands of employers and recruitment agents. MDWs  receive little to no legal protection or support due to the Kafala system’s exploitative nature against women of colour. 

Our #16DaysOfActivism are dedicated to shed light and raise awareness about the invisible plight of live-in Migrant Domestic Workers in Lebanese households, whose stories, struggles and demands are continuously silenced or ignored.

On International Migrants Day we want to celebrate and appreciate each and every Migrant Domestic Worker, who is working under the hardships and abuse of the Kafala system. We want to celebrate the activists, community leaders and organisers that provide support, awareness and insight into the lived experience of being Migrant Workers in Lebanon.

Volume Up! is a digital platform dedicated for Migrant Domestic Workers to share their experiences, recommendations and ideas loud enough to be heard without interruption or censorship

Your contribution could be shared it. Share your story, experience, thoughts or idea by sending an E-Mail to submissions@mwaction.org