ZHU Xueqin was one of the first three migrant workers elected in 2008 to the National People's Congress and today the 36-year-old garment factory official says China's 163 million migrants "cannot be treated like the elephant in the room."

"I feel like a spokeswoman for migrant workers. I have to grasp every opportunity to convey their words," Zhu, a garment factory sales director, told Shanghai Daily in an interview at her office in Putuo District. She was recently reelected to the legislative body that has more than 2,000 representatives, including 31 migrant workers today.

At the last NPC session in March, Zhu warned that the children of migrant workers were at risk of delinquency and crime. She expressed shock that in one Shanghai center for troubled youth, 85 percent were children of migrant workers.

"These children lack time with their parents and proper guidance, so it's easy to go astray," she said in an interview. "The second generation will become the pillar of industrial construction, so I hope the government will work hard to draft policies and regulations to help them receive better education. Society is responsible to give them guidance."

China's migrant workers once totaled well over 200 million and have played a major role in China's economic miracle. They face many problems, however, including low wages for most, lack of urban hukou (residence certificates) that entitles residents to benefits like public education and medical care, and lack of social insurance. Pregnant migrant women, for example, are usually unable to get free fetal screenings. Many workers face discrimination.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics on Monday said the annual increase in pay for China's 163 million migrant workers almost halved in 2012. The average monthly wage of migrant workers grew 11.8 percent in 2012 from the previous year to 2,290 yuan (US$370). That marked a sharp slowdown from the annual 21.2 percent surge in 2011.

"It's a good thing that the government is paying more attention to the migrant worker group," she said. "There's still much works to be done, but there's always hope."

Zhu, who hails from a farming family in Xuzhou, Jiangsu Province, has always been determined, curious, ambitious and hardworking.

She was one of four children and dropped out of high school as a freshman because the family could no longer pay school fees and buy supplies. The family wanted to withdraw her sister from high school, but the girl resisted, so Zhu volunteered to take her place in the work force to support the family.

Her parents, classmates and teachers all tried to dissuade her, but Zhu was determined to leave school.

"My teacher said I would regret my decision, and I told her I might, but I would also regret changing my mind," Zhu said.

She was only aged 19 and her parents said she was too young to work and should stay home and do housework. Zhu said that would defeat the purpose of dropping out -- earning money for the family.

She decided to leave home for a new life.

In 1995, the Shanghai Huari Garment Co Ltd, a Sino-Japanese joint venture producing men's clothing, recruited workers in Xuzhou. Zhu and several other villagers were recruited to work in Shanghai.

Conditions were hard. She sewed waistbands on slacks. She lived in a dormitory and ate scraps of instant noodles left over in the manufacturing process.

"We often ate leftover bits and pieces of instant noodles with pickles we brought from home," Zhu said. "The plain noodles were sold in wet markets and each piece was no longer than two centimeters. Now such things don't exist anymore."

What was harder was living with the negative stereotypes of migrants. Zhu was among the earliest migrants in the city where they were called disparaging names, such as working fellows (da gong zai) and migrant girls (wai lai mei).

"Those names were very troubling, but I mostly brushed them off," she said.

Zhu was ambitious and didn't want to spend her whole life at a sewing machine. She wanted to learn more but was afraid of offending coworkers by asking to advance. So she observed operation of a very expensive imported machine that cuts out pockets. It seemed easy.

One day during lunch she sneaked into the workshop and tried to operate the machine, but it broke when she stepped too hard on the pedal. No parts were available in Shanghai and she was terrified. An expert from Japan was about to visit the factory, however, and he brought a replacement.

Once Zhu also broke a button machine.

The workshop director didn't punish her and supported her interest in learning more about the garment industry.

"I was allowed to learn other processes as long as I finish my own work," she said, "and within 18 months I had mastered all the 80 processes of the production line."

She was honored as the factory's outstanding worker for two consecutive years and in 1998 received a three-year training and internship at the company's headquarters in Hiroshima, Japan.

Zhu's family objected. She was already 21 and it was time to find a husband.

"My mother said no one would want me after I returned from Japan because I would be too old," Zhu recalled. "But I told her I had made up my mind, no one could stop me."

After returning from Japan, she was no longer a worker sewing on waistbands. She recommended and carried out reform of the workshop management, which raised output dramatically. She had also studied Japanese on her own time, starting from scratch, and became the company's interpreter.

She and her company opened Zhu Xueqin Studio, where migrant workers talk about their needs and discuss books after work. It now works with universities to provide psychological counseling and legal aid for migrant workers all over the city.

Meanwhile, her family stopped worrying after Zhu married a Shanghai urban management officer in 2005. Life was good, until she got pregnant and faced medical bills.

"Women without a hukou (permanent residence certificate), including me, can't enjoy the city's maternity insurance, meaning they must pay for all tests throughout pregnancy by themselves. This raises risks of stillbirths and birth defects," she said.

When she was selected as a deputy to the National People's Conference in 2008, she was one of only three migrants there.

Before attending, she held forums to hear migrants' concerns; some sent texts asking her to plead their case.

In Beijing she talked about the need for social insurance, covering industrial accidents, maternity care and pensions.

Shanghai government has since promoted a national pilot program of comprehensive insurance for migrants, covering injury, hospitalization and pension, she said.

"I hope the NPC will pass laws promoting comprehensive insurance," she said.

Workers also need paid holidays, she said. Every year there's transport and traffic chaos during the exodus of migrant workers leaving cities to return to their homes for Spring Festival and family reunions.

"City people may not understand, blaming them for messing up transport, but I know their feelings," Zhu said. "Like me, they work all year and Spring Festival is the one chance to go home to see their parents, spouses and children." If they received paid holidays, they could avoid the Spring Festival rush, making reunions easier, she said.