🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's vision darts over miles of dense fields, looking for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Caught

Overhead, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was fighting hard to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group called the Bird Protection Unit. 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 discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our goals were partially aligned," 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 recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not protected zones to preserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

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

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," 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 army of volunteers over the years. This work demands covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the trails 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 netting setups which can capture scores of small birds at night.

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

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

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

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

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had appeared. They were questioning the bird owners and recording details. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his