A Legal First or a Lone Victory? The Precedent and Pitfalls of Lebanon’s First Migrant Slavery Case

June 25, 2025

In a Beirut courtroom this May, Meseret Hailu—a 38-year-old Ethiopian woman—testified before an Investigative Judge about the eight and a half years she spent enslaved in Lebanon. Her case, first filed in 2020 by Legal Action Worldwide (LAW), is the first in Lebanese legal history to invoke charges of slavery, slave trading, torture, and racial and gender discrimination under the country’s widely criticized Kafala sponsorship system. In many ways, this moment is unprecedented. But in many others, it is painfully familiar.

Meseret’s testimony, courageous and overdue, is a landmark in the legal struggle for accountability. Her voice pierced through the institutional silence that for decades has surrounded the abuse of migrant domestic workers in Lebanon. For too long, their suffering has been normalized, obscured by euphemisms like “misunderstandings,” “cultural clashes,” or “bad employers.” Meseret’s case does not just expose the cruelty she endured—it puts on trial the entire scaffolding that made her exploitation not only possible, but legal.

This is a moment that should be recognized. Celebrated, even. But it must be celebrated realistically.

Meseret is not the first to endure these abuses; she is the first to have her story reach this far within Lebanon’s legal system. That is an indictment in and of itself. What makes this case historic is not only the severity of the charges, but the fact that they are being heard at all. Her testimony was not guaranteed. It took four years of legal obstruction, bureaucratic denial, and transnational pressure to secure a courtroom appearance. Requests for remote hearings were denied. The investigation was closed in 2024 and only reopened after significant external advocacy. These facts matter. They illustrate not only the barriers that Meseret faced, but the deep structural inertia that continues to define Lebanon’s justice system for migrant workers.

Her case lays bare the most brutal contours of the Kafala system: passport confiscation, forced labor, isolation, physical abuse, unpaid wages, and complete control by the employer. Meseret’s employer locked her in the house, denied her food and medical attention, prevented her from contacting her family, and withheld her salary for over seven years. When she did leave the house, it was only to clean her employer’s clinic—where she was again locked in. In the end, she was not released through any institutional mechanism. Her rescue came only after a photo of her surfaced online and journalists began asking questions.

That this case is extraordinary says more about the status quo than it does about Meseret’s individual circumstances. Her story is tragically representative, not exceptional. Recent estimates suggest there are roughly 250,000 migrant domestic workers in Lebanon today, the vast majority of whom are women from Ethiopia, the Philippines, and Sri Lanka. The Kafala system continues to give employers near-total control over workers’ mobility, legal status, and living conditions. In this context, abuses like those Meseret endured are not rare—they are routine.

And yet, her case has made it further than most. That fact alone demands attention. It offers an opportunity to ask: Will Meseret’s case be a legal precedent, or will it remain a symbolic performance—a lone voice elevated, while the system continues unchanged?

There are reasons to worry. While international human rights frameworks have long identified the Kafala system as structurally exploitative, Lebanon has not abolished it. The state has not implemented enforceable protections for migrant workers, nor established robust mechanisms for reporting abuse without fear of retaliation or deportation. Legal aid remains inaccessible for most. Language barriers, police intimidation, and detention of undocumented workers ensure that most never even consider seeking redress.

Strategic litigation—like the kind pursued in this case—can play a crucial role in pushing the boundaries of accountability. But litigation alone cannot transform a system designed to silence and disappear its victims. Legal precedent without political will can quickly become legal theatre. One high-profile case, no matter how courageous or compelling, cannot substitute for the structural reforms needed to dismantle impunity and affirm the rights of all migrant workers in Lebanon.

At the same time, to call this case a performance would be to diminish the immense bravery it represents. It is precisely because of its singularity that it matters so much. Meseret’s decision to testify, to name her enslaver in a court of law, is a radical act of defiance. It punctures the myth that migrant domestic workers in Lebanon are voiceless. They are not voiceless—they have been systemically silenced. And when that silence is broken, even momentarily, the system is forced to reckon with itself.

Her testimony also highlights a critical and under-discussed aspect of justice: healing. Meseret has spoken openly about the trauma she carries, the years stolen from her life, the difficulty of rebuilding. She has reminded us that justice is not just about legal punishment. It is about recognition. About being seen, believed, and heard on one’s own terms. In that sense, her day in court is more than procedural. It is political. And it must become collective.

The path forward is clear, if difficult. Lebanon must abolish the Kafala system in both law and practice. Migrant domestic workers must be covered under national labor laws, including the right to a minimum wage, rest days, health insurance, and legal recourse without retaliation. Bilateral labor agreements must center the rights and safety of workers, not just recruitment quotas. And legal empowerment must be made accessible through community-based organizations, interpreters, and public legal education.

Meseret’s case is not the end of the story—it is the opening chapter in what must become a much broader movement for justice. Whether it becomes a turning point depends on what comes next: whether Lebanese courts are willing to replicate, not just revere, this precedent. Whether the Ministry of Labor, Parliament, and the judiciary can move from symbolic gestures to sustained reform. And whether we, as researchers, advocates, and citizens, can keep this case from fading into the archives of “historic firsts.”

Meseret said it best herself: “I’m here today not just to tell my story, but to stand up for every migrant worker in Lebanon who has been silenced or abused.” The test now is whether Lebanon will listen—not just to her, but to the thousands who still wait in the shadows of a system built to keep them there.