🔗 Share this article

The activist's gaze sweeps across vast expanses of tall grassland, searching for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, the vast metropolis of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only our own breath.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Trapped

Overhead, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to warmer places to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the global population – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so thin you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across a large section of the field and held up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a tiny bird was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a protected bird in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has forgone many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last 10 years persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, adding the caveat that implementation remains inconsistent.

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

He remembers roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from 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 protected zones to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his army of volunteers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says few people are willing to take on 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 commit completely. 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 slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He studies aerial photos 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 netting setups which can catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a premium," 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 believes the penalties to punish the crime 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 mark of prestige. This originates from the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

This custom that persists mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once adults' values are set, they're extremely difficult to change."

Busted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

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

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

The path alongside the water extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But today 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