The machinery of our global capitalist economy is designed to exploit caregiving and domestic labor, while erasing the humanity of those who perform it. In the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) countries, the kafala system ties migrant workers’ legal status to their employers, restricting their rights and freedoms. This system, which governs the migration of women (primarily from poor and marginalised families of South Asia, Southeast Asia, and Africa), creates a cycle of dependency by preventing workers from changing jobs or leaving the country without employer approval, effectively denying them autonomy. Often called the “feminization of migration,” this trend pushes women into essential yet invisible roles, treating them as expendable commodities rather than individuals.
In a cramped room on the outskirts of Dubai, a domestic worker balances her phone on a window ledge and presses ‘record.’ As she hums a popular tune, her hands scrub relentlessly over the kitchen counter. The caption reads: “Working 24/7 but no day off #kadama #shagala.” When uploaded to TikTok, this video becomes one of thousands offering an unvarnished glimpse into the hidden lives of Gulf domestic workers. Lives shaped by unrelenting labor, confinement, and systemic control.
Confiscated passports, withheld wages, and restricted mobility reduce these women to mere extensions of the households they serve where their labor is extracted through practices of ‘structural violence.’ Many women also shoulder the crushing weight of recruitment debts, equivalent to months of wages, forcing them to endure exploitation to fulfill familial and financial obligations. This entrapment mirrors the dynamics of the “global precariat,” a class caught in chronic insecurity, constantly exploited and systematically silenced.
Strict policing, isolation, and live-in arrangements blur the lines between personal and professional life, creating an atmosphere of unrelenting surveillance. These conditions make collective action nearly impossible. Yet, these women are far from passive victims. Through small, subversive acts of everyday defiance, they challenge the systems that aim to erase their voices. Increasingly, platforms like TikTok offer them a revolutionary stage to resist—where humor, satire, and digital solidarity become tools to assert their humanity.
Digital Togetherness in Isolation
In confined homes of the Gulf, where time and space are claimed by employers, have become sites of rebellion through TikTok. Kenyan worker Brenda Dama, known on TikTok as @iamdee_2540, exemplifies this quiet revolution. In her viral video “Don’t got it,” Brenda swats away words like “freedom” and “respect” with a sarcastic smile, exposing the systemic denial of basic rights for women working in Saudi Arabia. The video, viewed nearly a million times, resonated globally, with workers flooding her comments with messages of solidarity.
TikTok acts as a “third space” outside of the public-private dichotomy, where migrant women reclaim their stolen agency, even momentarily. It transforms tools of oppression—mops, laundry baskets, and cleaning supplies—into props for defiant performances. In one video, two workers dance to Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean, donning plastic bags as makeshift underwear and a single-lens pair of sunglasses. Their exaggerated moves and self-aware silliness turn a living room—a site of unrelenting labor—into a stage for collective laughter.
Another video captures a worker taking out the trash, gazing into the distance with the caption, “Me checking if my madam isn’t coming.” A laugh track accompanies the scene, underscoring the fragility of her brief moment outside. For workers who share this precarious existence, such videos resonate deeply, embodying their shared longing for freedom.
Humor and Play as Subversion
The humor and satire central to these women’s TikTok videos are not mere distractions; they are acts of rebellion. Filipino worker Nieza Tuñacao, whose TikTok series “OFW Diaries” dramatizes the daily struggles of migrant laborers, transforms moments of isolation into poignant critiques. Her videos depict scenarios such as an employer confiscating a worker’s phone or the bittersweet relief of finally contacting family. With over 1.2 million followers, Nieza offers migrant women a way to see their struggles reflected and validated. “When overseas workers see my videos, they smile,” she explains. “They say I am their happy pill.”
In another video, a worker role-plays a conversation with her employer, voicing both roles. The “madam” asks about the worker’s family, to which the worker replies, “They’re not doing good; they need money.” The skit ends with madam reluctantly promising to pay her overdue salary, punctuated by a laugh track. Such micro-performances expose the brutal realities of wage theft while daring viewers to laugh at the absurdity of power imbalances that dictate these women’s lives.
By blending humor with sharp critiques, these performances transform tools of labor into instruments of resistance. Such acts of defiance represent “counter-conduct” implying subtle refusals to comply fully with systems of control. These women reclaim time and space stolen from them, asserting their personhood in environments designed to strip them of it.
Reclaiming Visibility
TikTok challenges the erasure of migrant workers by offering them a platform to author their own narratives. One striking example shows a worker bathing a dog in a bathtub while Ugandan musician Bobi Wine’s Wendi plays in the background. The caption reads, “God bless the work of my hands.” While some commenters admonish her for taking on a task outside her job description, others offer words of encouragement: “Be strong dear” and “God sees your efforts.” The video subtly reclaims the dignity of her labor, emphasizing resilience over victimhood.
Another worker portrays a chore gone wrong: she trips while carrying a bowl, scrambles onto a refrigerator in mock fear of her employer’s reaction, and ends the scene with a sly glance at the camera. The humor here is layered with tension, inviting viewers to laugh while acknowledging the worker’s precarious position.
These videos go beyond entertainment and reveal what is hidden within the private confines of many Gulf households, challenging the invisibility imposed by live-in arrangements. These workers present themselves not as passive subjects of exploitation but as creators and storytellers capable of reframing their realities.
The Risks of Defiance
While TikTok offers a platform for self-expression, it also comes with significant risks. Employers frequently monitor online activities, and workers have faced reprimands, firings, or even deportation for their posts. Kuwaiti advocacy group Sandigan has documented numerous cases of backlash against women who dared to use social media as a tool for resistance.
For Brenda, the discovery of her TikTok videos led to intensified verbal abuse from her employer. “She could insult me like I was not even human,” Brenda recalls. Yet she continues to post, finding strength in the messages of solidarity from her followers. For many migrant workers, the risk of speaking out is outweighed by the validation and connection they find in digital spaces.
A Quiet Digital Revolution
TikTok may not dismantle the kafala system or overturn global inequities, but it offers these women a lifeline—a way to carve out moments of dignity and autonomy within an oppressive system. Through humor, play, and storytelling, workers like Brenda and Nieza transform their labor into acts of defiance, their struggles into art, and their isolation into connection.
These digital acts of resistance are a testament to the resilience of women who refuse to be silenced. By turning the tools of their exploitation into instruments of creativity, they challenge not only their immediate oppressors but the global systems that commodify caregiving labor. Their stories remind us that resistance is not always loud or visible. It is found in the fleeting joy of a joke, in the courage to document one’s reality, and in the quiet assertion of humanity against systems designed to erase it.
For these women, TikTok is more than a platform. It is a weapon of survival, a space to rewrite their narratives, and a call for the world to recognize the humanity and dignity of those whose labor sustains it.
.
.
.
.
.
Academic References
- Galtung, Johan. Violence, Peace, and Peace Research. Journal of Peace Research, 1969.
- Standing, Guy. The Precariat: The New Dangerous Class. Bloomsbury Academic, 2011.
- Chee, Liberty. Play and Counter-Conduct: Migrant Domestic Workers on TikTok, 2023.
- Donovan, Louise. Domestic Workers in Gulf Countries Vent Woes on TikTok. The Fuller Project, 2021.
- Mahdavi, Pardis. Intimate Mobilities: Sexual Economies, Marriage, and Migration in a Disparate World. Rutgers University Press, 2016.
- Abu Dhabi Dialogue. A Forum on Migrant Labor. 2016.
- Pande, Amrita. Hidden Spaces of Resistance: Migrant Domestic Workers in Lebanon, 2012.
Media References
