🔗 Share this article

The activist's vision darts across vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a spot to hide in the open area. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

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

Trapped

In the skies above us, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they head to warmer places to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. At its center, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Hunting the Hunters

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade urging the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who were concerned and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police found that catching poachers also helped in uncovering other kinds of illegal operations.

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

His passion for avian life began during 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. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not protected zones to preserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I made the choice back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," 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 fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but those responsible 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 willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You cannot be half-hearted."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.

So he has developed new ways to track the poachers.

He examines aerial photos to find the routes worn away by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show netting setups 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 often affluent."

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.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that so many more birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

Along a riverside path in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.

The area by the river extends over several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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