🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for suspicious activity in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in less than a whisper as we try to find a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and icy winds bring the first frosts of winter, they are flying to southern locales to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer few options to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

The trap we stumbled upon was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"In the early days, no-one cared," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He examines satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch 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 keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The path by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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