🔗 Share this article

Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over miles of dense fields, looking for signs of life in the inky blackness.

He speaks in a hushed tone as we try to find a place of cover in the fields. Behind us, the huge urban center of Beijing slumbers on. As we wait, the only sound is the quiet of the morning.

And then, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The poachers are here.

Caught

Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the 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 chilling gusts bring the early cold of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to find food and shelter.

The nation hosts 1500-plus bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are birds that migrate. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an haven for small birds – farther in 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 almost miss them.

The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. In the middle, a meadow pipit was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.

This was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Pursuing the Poachers

This activist, does this work for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, there was little interest," he says.

So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group called the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized community gatherings and brought in the leaders of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police found that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

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

This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the nineties in a distinct era for the city.

He remembers roaming through the fields on the city's edges where he discovered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, everything changed."

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

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.

"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 fought back.

"He assembled several of his accomplices who confronted me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also seen the departure of his army of volunteers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are prepared for 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 tackle this challenge, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says fundraising covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.

So he has adopted new ways to hunt the hunters.

He examines 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 aerial views can even show lines of net traps which can catch hundreds of small birds during darkness.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a high price," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This originates from the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that continues mainly among retired men in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people may not understand they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap for them to purchase a pet.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat in their youth. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of caging birds," he says. "The nation progressed so fast, there was little opportunity to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes are set, they're really hard to change."

Apprehended

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

Another man is positioned near a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

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

We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Loud music played from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a fan dance. Close by several men, all over 50, had gathered with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

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