🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of open meadows, searching for any movement in the early morning gloom.

He utters a hushed tone as they attempt to locate a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is our own breath.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have taken advantage of the warmer months in northern regions, consuming bugs and berries. As the year winds down and cold breezes bring the first frosts of winter, they head to warmer places to find food and shelter.

China is home to more than 1,500 bird species, which is about thirteen percent of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in and the urban landscape offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was desperately trying to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

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

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as 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 followed this course," he says.

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

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

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. Silva says not many 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 tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations pays for some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can capture hundreds 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 keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate 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 for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

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

A separate individual stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

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

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from old trinkets to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. 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 in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. 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