🔗 Share this article

The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of dense fields, searching for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the fields. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

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

Caught

Across the heavens, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they head to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in 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 city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "fine nets", so fine you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, there was little interest," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

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

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

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I took this path," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many 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 can't do it part-time."

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

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies satellite imagery to find the trails worn away by the poachers. He charts these 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 hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Busted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with chirping songbirds.

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

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

The area alongside the water stretches for 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. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by 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