🔗 Share this article

Silva Gu's eyes scan across vast expanses of open meadows, searching for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He utters less than a whisper as the team seeks a spot to hide in the open area. Behind us, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. During the vigil, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

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

Snared

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

They have benefited from the long summer days in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year comes to a close and chilling gusts bring the first frosts of winter, they head to southern locales to find food and shelter.

There are 1500-plus bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow intersect in China.

This particular field where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – farther in and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

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

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and propped up with bamboo poles. In the middle, a small finch was struggling frantically to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a protected songbird, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its environment.

Tracking the Trappers

This activist, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has given up on many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.

"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned and formed a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the officials of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a much changed capital.

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

Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered land for construction, not conservation areas to conserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

It has not been an easy life. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he reported to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also lost 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.

"I do this full-time," 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 donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He studies satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' flight paths and looks for areas where they may rest. The satellite images can even show lines of net traps which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Certain prized species sell for 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 penalties to deter the activity do not exceed the financial benefits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet 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.

This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says some elderly citizens may not understand they are breaking the law, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of keeping birds in cages," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're really hard to change."

Busted

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

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 small unofficial traders have established a niche trade.

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

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a group of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional 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 dark cloth.

But today there would be no transactions because the police had appeared. 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