Gemma Justo, general secretary of Lebanon’s first domestic workers union, has a big problem. How can she start mobilising and organising the country’s 250,000 migrant domestic workers when so few are able to leave their employers’ homes and show up for a meeting?
In front of her sit a small group of Ethiopian women, speaking among themselves. Another problem: Justo, a Filipina, speaks English, the other women Amharic. There is a flurry of activity as someone tries and fails to find a translator so that the women can discuss an upcoming protest march.
“Tea, Nescafé?” Justo asks, trying to get the meeting started. “Whiskey?” she finally says as the women laugh. The meeting finishes early and the women hurry back to their domestic duties, promising to return to try again. Justo is undaunted. She knows this is going to be an uphill struggle. The fledgling union is yet to be recognised by the government and is operating in a difficult and hostile environment. Lebanon is a dangerous place to be a domestic worker. Human rights groups have documented the widespread abuse of domestic workers. This makes Justo determined to succeed.
“The more the fight, the more she is harmed and bruised, the more courageous she is,” says Justo, a domestic worker who has lived in Beirut for 22 years. “The day I will say it’s a hopeless case, then I will pack my bag and go back home to thePhilippines.”
Lebanon’s nascent domestic workers union (pdf) is the first of its kind in the Arab world. Formed with the support of the International Labour Organisation (ILO) and the International Trade Union Federation (ITUC), it has about 400 members. The union has started to organise demonstrations, lobby the labour ministry for more rights for domestic workers, and provided moral support for hundreds of women working as maids, cooks, cleaners and nannies, many far away from their homes and families.
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