🔗 Share this article

Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across miles of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the pre-dawn darkness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a spot to hide in the grasslands. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, we hear only the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter ahead of sunrise, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

In the skies above us, billions of birds, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are migrating south for winter.

They have utilized the extended daylight in northern regions, consuming insects and fruit. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to nest and feed.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Several of the major flyways they follow converge in China.

This particular field being monitored, on the outskirts of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among clusters of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so fine you can almost miss them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a meadow pipit was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.

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

Tracking the Trappers

The conservationist, in his thirties, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has given up on many sleeping hours to set songbirds free, and he has spent the last 10 years urging the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, authorities were indifferent," he remarks.

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and brought in the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to tracking down other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, noting that implementation remains inconsistent.

Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

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

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

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands receded, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I followed this course," he says.

This has not made for an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He assembled several of his associates who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work demands stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says few people are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 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 satellite imagery to find the routes created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a high price," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now quite wealthy."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to deter the activity do not outweigh 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 dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or understand that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed 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 tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

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

This offers a view of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

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

We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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