🔗 Share this article

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

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the fields. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, the sound of footsteps emerges. Illegal trappers are present.

Snared

Overhead, billions of birds, many so small 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 bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, which is about 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer little opportunity to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was stretched across a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. At its center, a small finch was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – that means if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, performs this duty for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he states.

So he recruited volunteers who did care and launched a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These small and persistent acts of persuasion have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in identifying other kinds of criminal activity.

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

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

He recalls exploring the fields on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were seen as empty places to build, not sanctuaries to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I decided back then to pursue environmental protection and I chose this direction," he says.

It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," 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 requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says few people are prepared for 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 cannot be half-hearted."

He says fundraising pays for 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 hunt the hunters.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the routes created 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 catch hundreds of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva reckons the penalties to punish the crime do not outweigh 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 dates back to the Qing dynasty. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation 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. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about ecology. Once people's attitudes are formed, they're really hard to change."

Disrupted

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

Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by discreetly that his songbird is rare, 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 path 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 protected birds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing 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 on this occasion there would be no sales because the police had arrived. 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