🔗 Share this article

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

He utters a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter before dawn, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to warmer places to breed and eat.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Initially, no-one cared," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and established a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He organized public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He remembers roaming through the grasslands 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 fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not conservation areas to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

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

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

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. 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 covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for the challenging and occasionally risky job.

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

He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can capture 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."

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

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages to display their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. 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 educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

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

A separate individual is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The area by the river 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 nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three 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. Defiant, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his