🔗 Share this article

The activist's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major flyways they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so fine you can barely see them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, noting that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands receded, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. 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 requires patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies 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 stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

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

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

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