As AFL-CIO members gather in Los Angeles to contemplate the future of unions, with talk of pensions and benefits, other workers labor out of sight -- away from the eyes of regulators or organizers -- at jobs paying below minimum wage under conditions denying the most basic employee rights. For years, many of these workers have found their way to the offices of the Labor Defense Network to tell attorney Michelle Yu stories like Yuni Mulyono's story of her first three years in the United States. In at least one sense, Mulyono was fortunate: she was the Network's last client -- cuts in federal funds for legal aid to the poor have forced the office to close. PNS associate editor David Bacon writes widely on labor and immigration issues.

LOS ANGELES -- I became a domestic worker in Indonesia because my family is poor -- I had no choice.

My father is a farmer and furniture maker, and I have six brothers and one sister, all younger than me. There were no jobs in the little town in Sumatra where I grew up, so when I was 15 the girl who lived next door took me to Jakarta, and found me a job.

In Indonesia, housekeepers work from morning to about 9 o'clock at night. I cooked, took care of the children and shopped for groceries. Two others did the laundry and mopped the floor.

At first I was afraid, everything was so different in the big city, but as I got used to it, I thought about getting more education. I wanted to study cosmetology, but the boss wouldn't let us.

Then my cousin told me about a relative of her boss who was looking for a housekeeper and baby sitter in the United States. I was scared, but I thought I could get paid more and help my family -- I have a daughter of my own and she needs an education. She stayed in Indonesia with my mother-in-law. It was very painful leaving her behind.

The U.S. family said they would pay for everything I needed to come here, like the passport and ticket, and pay me $250 a month. That's about 500,000 rupia in Indonesia -- ten times as much as I was making in Jakarta. But when I got here they said the pay was only $100 a month because the ticket and everything cost so much.

Working for them was the same as in Indonesia, starting when I got up in the morning and until it was time to go to bed. I woke their daughter and got her ready for school, prepared the meals, mopped and swept. I had to feed and clean up after their two dogs, do the laundry, wash the bathroom. Sometimes the wife would ask for a massage in the evening, and I would do that too.

I am a Muslim, so I took breaks to pray in the morning and again after lunch. Then when I finished the dinner dishes, I would take a shower and pray again. Around 9:30 I would go to bed.

That was my life.

I didn't speak a word of English when I arrived. The wife is Chinese-Indonesian and she married an African American and they speak English all the time so I began to learn. I watched TV, and learned more. After a year, I started going to school every Saturday for two hours.

At school, the teacher told me about the minimum wage. I was surprised and I told my boss about it, but she didn't say anything. I didn't show it, but I was angry. I was afraid to ask for a raise, and I kept working for them because I was afraid they would throw me out. I didn't know what to do.

Then I met Marco at my English class. When he asked me to eat with him and his friends, I asked my bosses for permission. They said no -- and that made me very angry. I was not a kid. I was 26 years old. I finally asked them for the minimum wage.

"If you ask for a raise," they said. "we'll send you back to Indonesia." They said I could not work in this country unless I worked for them. "Who will be responsible for you here?" I told them, "I will be responsible for myself."

They finally agreed I could go out until 6 PM once a month. The third time I went out, I was at Marco's home, cooking dinner for his uncle and aunt. At 6 I called to say I did not want to leave before the food was ready.

The wife hung up on me, and for three days only their daughter spoke to me.

I decided to move out. I packed my stuff and at lunch time the wife suddenly came home. She said I didn't appreciate what she had done for me. "You don't know who you are," she said. She thinks I am less than they are.

She took all my things. I had only my purse and the dress on my body. I had to come back with the police to get my stuff. In the end I filed a legal case for back wages.

None of my family does domestic work. My brothers and sister finished high school, and I think the money I sent back helped them. I support my daughter. I don't want her to have a bad future, the kind that I've had.

Now I have the opportunity to study, and I have a part-time job. Marco supports me a lot. And I'm finally studying cosmetology. It's what I always wanted to do.