🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's gaze sweeps over miles of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven 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 "barely visible nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as areas for development, not sanctuaries to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

This has not made for an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

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

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous 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 fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for a high price," 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 believes the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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