🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's vision darts over miles of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

This particular field being monitored, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his