🔗 Share this article

The activist's eyes scan over miles of dense fields, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

In the skies above us, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

China is home to 1500-plus bird species, which is about 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he gathered a team who were concerned and formed a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls roaming through the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.

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

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went 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 requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

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

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

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

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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