For many of the 9,000 Indians living in Beirut, the explosions at the city’s port on August 4 were the last straw. The blasts, which killed 177 people, propelled the already precarious economy into further decline.
“We need help,” said 67-year-old Kathiresan Manickam, who arrived in the Mediterranean nation of Lebanon from Tamil Nadu to work in the construction sector 30 years ago.
Since October, the Lebanese pound has lost nearly 80% of its value. With the destruction caused by the blasts, the country’s GDP could contract by between 20% and 25%, economists predict. The crisis has been exacerbated by restrictions imposed to slow the spread of Covid-19 and citizens’ protests that led to the government to resign earlier this month.
As businesses close, many have been thrown out of work or haven’t been paid their wages. With inflation crossing 56%, many people are struggling to buy even the most basic of food items.
“We cannot expect this government to support us through this period,” said Manickam. “We need our Indian government to support us with repatriation. Not via another Middle Eastern country, but through direct response to our situation.”
Visa woes
Manickam said that he used to go home to Chennai every year or two. “But right now I can’t afford to visit or support my family’s needs there,” he said. “Lebanon never welcomed professional workers from India, only labourers. Now, our position as workers is very weak, and after a while nobody will even have money for food. We will start starving. It’s total chaos.”
For many Indians, the local work visa system adds to the pressure. employers hold the authority to process vital paperwork. But as some of them abuse the system, many migrants are being misled about their legal status.
“There is no recognition for our basic rights and nowhere to air our grievances,” said Manickam. “In the end, it’s always our employers who hold all our power.”
Simarjit Singh Saroya is among those who was anxious about his immigration status. Since arriving in Lebanon in October, his employer has refused his repeated requests to share proof of his work permit. His stint in Lebanon isn’t likely to prove his farming family’s ticket out of poverty in Punjab.
“I met an agent in India who promised a decent job with on-site accommodation, and so I came here with an open mind,” said the 22-year-old Singh, seated on a mattress in the Beirut gurudwara. “But after landing here, I realised this was untrue, and was almost homeless.”
In addition to Singh, the gurudwara is now offering shelter to 13 other men gripped by similar crises. “We all share one bathroom but it’s okay because we have a roof and food here,” said Singh. “It wouldn’t be possible to find any other way. I work 17 hours a day, for $100 per month and l still owe my agent Rs 4 lakh.”
Even Indians who have been born in Lebanon are finding it difficult. Among those is 24-year-old Rania Kaur Toor, who is fluent in English, French, Arabic, Hindi, Punjabi and Spanish, has a diploma in translation and experience as a private tutor. “But it’s impossible for me or anyone else here to get work,” she said.
Kaur said that it has always been a struggle for Indians in Lebanon. “We can’t ever get citizenship and I’m often told I should aim to be a maid because the jobs I am qualified for are reserved for Lebanese nationals,” she said. Still, she is better off than many others: her father still earns a portion of his wage.
Many Indians want to leave for home but even that is difficult. Even if they do have the correct paperwork, flights to India are wildly unaffordable and Covid-19 has presented further travel restrictions.
Savraj Kaur is Executive Director of a London-based philanthropic startup, and part-time writer and content creator with a specialism in disasters and development.
