🔗 Share this article

The conservationist's eyes scan over vast expanses of dense fields, searching for any movement in the pre-dawn darkness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a concealed position in the open area. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky starts to lighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

Across the heavens, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are journeying southward for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to southern locales to nest and feed.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow cross through China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a tiny bird was fighting hard to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

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 ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"In the early days, there was little interest," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police discovered that apprehending illegal hunters also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

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

His passion for avian life started in childhood. He grew up in the 1990s in a very different Beijing.

He recalls roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This expansion meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not sanctuaries to conserve.

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

"I made the choice back then to work in conservation and I took this path," 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 fought back.

"He assembled several of his associates 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 lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to solve this big problem, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."

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

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds during darkness.

"Certain prized species sell for a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some generations in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. 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 for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is valuable, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

The area alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that protected birds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

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 over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were covered in dark cloth.

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