🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's vision darts over vast expanses of dense fields, hunting for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the quiet of the morning.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Trapped

Overhead, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they journey to warmer places to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the global population – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among clusters of concrete.

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

The trap we stumbled upon was extending over a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and invited the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a much changed capital.

He recalls exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation 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 under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not held accountable.

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 willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, 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 funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos 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 aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture scores of small birds during darkness.

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

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva reckons the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that continues 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 often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

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

This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his