🔗 Share this article

The activist's vision darts across vast expanses of tall grassland, hunting for suspicious activity in the early morning gloom.

He utters a muted voice as the team seeks a concealed position in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. Illegal trappers are present.

Caught

Overhead, countless migratory birds, many so small that they could rest in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, eating bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts more than 1,500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the global population – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland where we were, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

The one we nearly walked into was stretched across a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a protected bird in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – which signifies if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Tracking the Trappers

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

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

So he recruited volunteers who did care and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, noting that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He grew up in the nineties in a very different Beijing.

He recalls wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."

Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were seen as land for construction, not conservation areas to conserve.

The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the wildlife they housed.

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

It has not been 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 associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators 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 difficult – and sometimes dangerous 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 devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has developed new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies aerial photos to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can capture hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"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."

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime 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 Qing dynasty. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was no time to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man is positioned near 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 is a glimpse 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 typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

We were told that wild songbirds could be bought in a nearby green space. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were covered in black fabric.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. They were questioning the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man said he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his