Forging their own path

China's rapid urbanization over the past six decades since the founding of the People's Republic has been largely driven by the country's sprawling migrant workforce. The National Bureau of Statistics announced in January that urban dwellers account for over 51 percent of China's population of nearly 1.35 billion. In 1949, this figure was merely 10.6 percent, growing to 19 percent in 1979.

At the forefront of this mass urbanization has been the country's 253 million-strong migrant workforce, 60 percent of whom were born after 1980. The younger generation has followed in their parents' footsteps by settling in cities in the pursuit of better livelihoods. However, unlike their parents, they are more outspoken and readily challenge social injustices when they occur.

The story:

China has seen increasing numbers of protests, strikes and other forms of demonstrations campaigning for social justice and fairer labor rights from migrant workers who feel their rights have been infringed. It's estimated that in 2011 there were 110,000 strikes nationwide, more than 10,000 of which attracted over 1,000 participants.

Complaints from migrant workers over the past three decades over low pay, long work hours and lack of access to social services remain similar to grievances voiced by their parents.

The back-story:

I began closely examining the plight of migrant workers in 2006 when I was a news researcher at the Wall Street Journal's Beijing bureau.

The construction boom in the city in the lead up to the 2008 Beijing Olympics involved more than 10,000 sites accounting for an area spanning nearly 16,000 hectares. I spent three months working with Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter, Mei Fong, for a story that aimed to highlight the plight faced by some 2 million migrant workers helping shape the new landscape of Beijing. In her story, Fong described them as an "invisible army drafted from China's farmland."

The task of finding a "hero" within this "invisible army" for the story was painstaking, as he had to be brave and articulate enough to share his story with the media. He also had to have a tale involving infringement of his rights by his boss to make it fit the narrative flow of the story and appeal to readers. Finally, after consulting with the Beijing Legal Aid Office, I found Wei Zhongwen, a 41-year-old bricklayer from Northeast China's Jilin Province.

Wei and his work crew had lodged their case with the office over unpaid salaries dating back six months. As first generation migrant workers drifting from city-to-city seeking work, they felt pessimistic about receiving long overdue payment for their hard work. They were unfazed by their squalid, cramped living conditions and the hazardous profession they were engaged in. All that didn't matter, as long as they could earn money and send it back to their families at home.

Nearly six years have passed, but I still clearly remember Wei's modest, reserved manner when I invited him for coffee at a five-star hotel in Beijing near the construction site where he toiled. Standing in front of the hotel, he took off his hardhat, dusted himself off and timidly asked me: "Will the security guard let me in?"

Wei's demeanor is true of most of migrant workers his age. A city like Beijing is merely a brief stopover in their life journeys. They come to build the towering skyscrapers that dot the urban skyline, the subway lines that carry commuters where they need to go, the hospitals that care for our elderly and the schools that educate our children. Then, as promptly as they arrived, they move on. Their only purpose for staying in cities is to make money to care for their families and, one day, go home themselves when their bodies are too old to continue the labor-intensive lifestyle.

During my three-day visit to Shenzhen and Dongguan, Guangdong Province, the deepest impression left with me was how determined the young generation of migrant workers are to make their own destiny in the big city.

They carry the same glint in their eyes of building a better life as their older counterparts, but achieving this dream for them doesn't mean coming at the cost of their rights.

Standing on a busy street in Dongguan, Lü Yanwu blended in among the 10 million other migrant workers struggling to make a life for themselves in the manufacturing metropolis colloquially known as the "world's factory."

When I met Lü, the 27-year-old's story sounded fairly typical of most young migrant workers in Dongguan. However what made Lü stand out among the crowd was his acute sense of the prominent problems facing modern China from a migrant worker's perspective.

Lü quit his factory job and channeled his energy into filing a lawsuit against his former employer for failing to buy basic social insurance policies covering workers as required by law. He also hopes to get his collection of poetry published, most of which describes the reality of migrant life.

None of the young migrant workers I talked to told me they wanted to return home and work with their parents in the fields. Unlike Wei and older migrant workers, whose stints in cities are purely business, many younger migrant workers eye their permanent future in the city. For them, returning home isn't an option.

Like other city girls living in Shenzhen, Ye Weiqi enjoys a modern life that her home village in Central China's Hubei Province could never offer. She attends weekly belly-dance classes and loves to go shopping.

I feel impressed by the sharp contrasts that define the two generations of migrant workers, while gratified to know young migrants are campaigning and fighting for justice.

Wei's generation might have been dubbed the "invisible army," but his younger comrades certainly aren't afraid to be seen or have their voices heard. Their openness in talking to reporters and their active involvement in helping raise awareness of migrant workers' rights all reflect their strong willingness to bring change to their social status.