Radical tactics help free domestic slaves in Lebanon

"I found nothing good here," the worker says, her back to the camera. "I worked for them for ten months. I suffered a lot during this time. The man was really, really harassing me. Two months after I started, I was in the kitchen working and he grabbed me. I tried to fight him off but couldn't. He dragged me into his son's bedroom... I couldn't do anything. He said I'd have big problems if I told anyone."

Accounts of abuse of domestic workers in Lebanon have circulated before, but advocacy groups have always withheld information about the accused abusers for fear of legal action. In this clip, however, the worker's story also features the face and name of her employer, and the online video uses micro-targeting promotion to make sure people in his local neighbourhood see the post.

As part of their fight for justice for domestic workers, This is Lebanon publicises names and faces of alleged abusive employers on social media, using shame as a weapon against those who mistreat domestic workers. They hope this will pressure employers to treat workers better, as well as publicise the horrors of the Kafala system. 

"We are totally overwhelmed with the number of cases coming in and are barely keeping up," says Dipendra Uprety, who set up the group last year from Canada.

"The majority of cases are unpaid salaries - some of over three years - [as well as] failure by employers to renew residency papers, and physical abuse. The abuse is much more widespread than we realised - and we knew it was bad."

Dipendra and his wife Priya are originally from Nepal and met in Lebanon, where Dipendra was employed in the hospitality industry and his wife was a domestic worker.  Their unique position of having a base in Canada, as well as contacts within the domestic worker community in Lebanon allows them to take action where other advocacy groups cannot. 

"I always planned to do something to help domestic workers once I got settled in Canada. I can never forget the abuse and injustice I witnessed first-hand in Lebanon and wanted to make a difference," Dipendra said.

"We have volunteers who help us with translation so that our posts can be read by the different migrant worker communities. At the moment we are able to translate into Nepali, Amharic, Arabic and English. Our goal is to eventually be able to translate most posts into Bengali as well. Ethiopians and Bangladeshis are the most significant domestic worker groups in Lebanon."

Domestic workers in Lebanon operate under the controversial Kafala system, where they are bound by a contract for three years, often with no days off and minimal pay - often around $150 a month. 

While there are some, extremely limited laws covering workers in certain Gulf states which have a Kafala system, in Lebanon there are not even basic legal provisions. There is little workers can do if they are being abused or mistreated, and two domestic workers die in every week.

"There is not a single law that protects them. There are few organisations that can help... in general, it is very hard for an abused domestic worker to access help," Dipendra says.  

What court in Lebanon listens to domestic workers? Even when the domestic worker is obviously the victim, the courts favour the employer

He hopes that naming and shaming abusers online will make others think twice before harming domestic workers, as well as drawing attention to the problem. Yet some critics question the ethics of naming an alleged abuser who has not yet been found guilty in a court of law. 

"We never post unless we are 100 percent sure," Dipendra explains. "The [legal] problem is that the victim must see a forensic doctor within 48 hours of the rape and that is usually impossible for domestic workers as most are locked in, especially those who are being physically or sexually abused. 

"What court in Lebanon listens to domestic workers? Even when the domestic worker is obviously the victim, the courts favour the employer."

Dipendra refers to a court case in which an employer did not renew a worker's papers, and refused to pay her for a year. The worker was locked in the house and when she finally left, she was accused of stealing a watch. The Lebanese courts fined the worker for not renewing her papers, even though her passport had been confiscated. She was jailed for three months and then deported - still without her salary. 

The threat to "out" such employers is an attempt to gain some justice for domestic workers in the face of rampant injustice. 

"We had initially expected to have more success as Lebanese value their reputations highly. It has surprised us how many have decided not to pay salaries and let us post. We have had some victories though," Dipendra says.   

"Last month, a man who owed his Togalese domestic worker more than two years salary and was refusing to send her home, when threatened with exposure, gave her $5,000 to remit - and this weekend she is travelling home with the new suitcase he bought her, and, God willing, with the balance of her unpaid salary amounting to about $2,000 in cash."

Dipendra expects more success as the page gains more prominence in Lebanon, which will up the pressure on abusers. They have also already been able to rescue several women - among them Sonam and Halima who were both slaves in Lebanon for 10 years each.

Halima is a Philipino worker whose husband had not heard from for ten years. Her employer, Ibtissam Saade - a Lebanese woman's rights advocate with links to politicians - allegedly kept her as a slave, reportedly refusing to pay her a salary or let her communicate with her husband and children. After a campaign she was eventually released, although is still understood to be owed around $50,000 in unpaid salary. 

"Are you happy with what you did to our mother? What if the same thing you did to us for ten years happened to your children?" Asked one of Halima's young daughters in the Philipines in a message to Saade, before breaking down in tears.

Saade maintains Halima was well-treated and happy in her employment.

Sonam was also allegedly held for years without salary, by a prominent wine maker named Bouros Bou Younes. Her family wrote to This is Lebanon asking for help, as she had not been in contact - even after the huge 2015 earthquake in Nepal which killed her father. Pressure from the group helped to secure her release, but although they said she was owed around $30,000 in salary by her employers, she was sent back with $1000 - most of which was confiscated by Lebanese security officers at the airport. 

It was only after Sonam spoke to Dipendra's wife, Priya, on the phone at the Nepalese embassy, that she knew it was possible to return to Nepal - having been manipulated into thinking she would never be able to leave Lebanon.

"Our page also played a role in rescuing Nidzma who was a slave for 21 years in Nabatieh," Dipendra said. "None of their captors have been brought to justice, but Sonam's and Hamima's cases are coming before the courts. If we achieve nothing else, we will be satisfied that these women were set free and returned to their families."

Another prominent ongoing case is that of Lensa, an Ethiopian worker who risked her life and jumped from a second floor window to escape the daily horror she was experiencing while working for the head of a fashion label.  The worker was wheeled, in a bed with obvious injuries, to appear on a segment on al-Jadeed TV - a popular station in Lebanon - in front of her employer, and was pressured to withdraw her accusation.  

"She is the poster girl for the Kafala system. Every single institution that came into contact with her, failed her," says Dipendra. "The police, the hospital, the forensic doctor, Al Jadeed Television, the Lebanese Security Forces, and even her own embassy. She is, to this day, still a captive in her abuser's house. We are working to set her free. Only when she feels safe and free from retribution will we know the truth."

The lawyer on the al-Jadeed segment was scathing of groups such as This is Lebanon, saying they publicise stories such as Lensa's in order to increase their funding.  Are such attitudes towards This is Lebanon typical in the country?

"We have had a mixed reception," Dipendra says. "People either love us or hate us; there is nothing in between. Domestic workers are thankful to have us as we have, without ever planning it, become the hotline for them in Lebanon.

"The majority of Lebanese do not want to address the issue as it cuts to the core of their identity. If the courts deny justice, is it any surprise that the misters and madams [employers] on the street dismiss the allegations?"

The group has, however, also received invaluable support from Lebanese volunteers. 

"Most of them are young people who see kafala for what it is - modern day slavery," he says. "These volunteers translate, demonstrate, execute rescues, record testimonies, and generally enable us to operate out of Canada. We're so grateful for them and they give us hope for a fair, just Lebanon, a Lebanon that doesn't trample justice into the ground.

"Another encouraging development is that we now have Lebanese citizens contacting us about cases of abuse, not just other domestic workers."

With such terrible, unjust stories being so widespread, what is to be done to help domestic workers?

"There is only one solution - bring domestic workers under the protection of the labour laws. Is it fair that the legal status of a woman who has been abused and denied her salary is tied to her abuser? The victims must be allowed to change sponsors and regularise their legal status. Most don't want to be illegal; they want to work and be remunerated for their labour in a safe working environment. Is that too much to ask?"

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