🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's eyes scan across vast expanses of dense fields, looking for suspicious activity in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as we try to find a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky begins to brighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to find food and shelter.

There are over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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

China's booming economy brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were considered areas for development, not sanctuaries to conserve.

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

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

This has not made for an simple journey. 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 beat me up," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost 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.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these 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.

"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 wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited 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."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.

Another man is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple 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 taking names. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his