A WOMAN with a pink cloth wrapped around her head climbs out of a window on the fourth floor of a residential building. She peers at the ground far below, clutching onto the window ledge as voices in the background yell at her to come inside. Instead, she jumps, her scream lingering for four seconds before she hits the ground.
The video was broadcast on Lebanon’s Al-Jadeed TV in March, with a voiceover explaining that the woman was an Ethiopian domestic worker in Khalde, an area south of Beirut.
According to statistics obtained by IRIN from General Security, Lebanon’s intelligence agency, migrant domestic workers in Lebanon are dying at a rate of two per week.
Many of the deaths are suicides or botched escape attempts in which migrant women choose to jump off buildings rather than continue working in abusive and exploitative situations.
The bodies of 138 migrant domestic workers were repatriated between January 2016 and April this year.
Rights groups have been advocating for better protections of migrant workers in Lebanon for years and in 2014 domestic workers managed to found their own union – the first of its kind in the region. Yet little has changed. Women coming from Ethiopia, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, the Philippines, Kenya, and other developing countries are still bound by the kefala (sponsorship) system, which gives employers total control over their lives.
Rahwa*, a 37-year-old from Eritrea, escaped after five years as a domestic worker for a wealthy family in Tripoli. She received no salary, no days off, and slept on the kitchen floor. She suffered beatings from her “madam” and sexual harassment from the woman’s husband. “It was hell,” said Rahwa, who was not allowed to contact her family in Eritrea. Now she’s a registered refugee and is informally leading a migrant workers’ church in Beirut.
She told IRIN that many of the women who come to her church feel trapped by the conditions of live-in domestic work. “Many are going crazy. Even when they run away, they live in rooms with six or seven people stuck together. That makes you crazy too,” Rahwa said.
A HIDDEN CRISIS
At a migrant community centre in Beirut, 37-year-old Ethiopian Rahel Zegeye, a volunteer with the pro-migrant rights Anti-Racism Movement, said that suicides are difficult to document because many women who die never left their employers’ homes. Zegeye has tried to follow up on several suicide cases but said: “I don’t have power to ask the government anything here.” She swiped through photos of injured Ethiopian domestic workers on her phone: some unconscious and bruised, others pregnant, sick, or bleeding on the floor – all of them women, many of whom Zegeye said had since died.
Ethiopia has banned labour migration to the Middle East, but migrant women continue to arrive illegally from there every day. Unseen and unrecorded, they are locked into work situations that often end in abuse, imprisonment, deportation or even death.
“So many Ethiopians come here… Why doesn’t the Lebanese government stop them?” said Zegeye. “Our young generation is dying here.”
INEFFECTIVE TRAVEL BANS
Ethiopia’s approach of banning citizens from going to work in Lebanon has been tried by Nepal, the Philippines, and Madagascar at different times, and yet the number of migrant domestic workers in Lebanon rose from just under 130,000 in 2014 to nearly 170,000 in 2016, according to the Ministry of Labour – and that is excluding those who arrive without formal work permits. “We banned sending working girls to all of the Middle East years ago, but unofficially, there is trafficking,” Halima Mohamed, Ethiopia’s Consul General in Lebanon,
said. She explained that Ethiopians can easily come as tourists, or via third countries, and then obtain a work visa after arriving in Lebanon.
Zeina Mezher of the International Labour Organisation said travel bans actually increase migrant workers’ vulnerability. “We’re not at all supportive of bans in countries of origin. They put migrants at more risk of exploitation and trafficking,” she told IRIN.
Instead, ILO advocates for comprehensive bilateral agreements between origin and destination countries to regulate recruitment, migration, and working conditions. Such agreements “should have the migrants’ rights at their heart”, said Mezher.
NO LEGAL STANDING
Farah Salka, executive director of the Anti-Racism Movement, said the Lebanese government has little interest or capacity to change its migrant labour system. “There is nothing called law for migrant domestic workers here. It’s not that there is bad law; there is no law,” Salka explained.
Domestic workers are excluded from Lebanon’s labour law, which means they have no guarantees to a minimum wage, days off, or recourse in cases of withheld salaries, sexual, verbal or physical abuse. Instead, they have the kefala system, which stipulates that migrant workers must live with their employers, and cannot change workplaces without their employers’ consent.
Workers often try seeking help from their agencies, only to be ignored or further exploited. After being beaten and locked inside by her employer, 22-year-old Kenyan Tenesia* asked her agency to help her. Instead, they confiscated her passport and sent her to work for other families without pay. She worked another year and four months before getting in touch with the Kenyan embassy, which helped her escape to a women’s shelter run by Caritas. She still doesn’t have her passport or money for a flight home.
*Full names withheld for the source’s own safety
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