On the Trail Illegal Hunters Who Illegally Snare China's Endangered Wild Birds.
The conservationist's gaze sweeps over miles of open meadows, looking for any movement in the early morning gloom.
He speaks in less than a whisper as the team seeks a concealed position in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing remains asleep. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.
Suddenly, as the sky begins to brighten ahead of sunrise, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.
Trapped
Across the heavens, a multitude of winged travelers, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.
They have taken advantage of the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating bugs and berries. As the year winds down and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to warmer places to breed and eat.
The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major flyways they follow converge in China.
The patch of grassland where we were, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.
It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "barely visible nets", so thin you can barely see them.
A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and supported with bamboo poles. At its center, a meadow pipit was fighting hard to escape, but the more it struggled, the more its claws became tangled.
This 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 ecosystem.
Hunting the Hunters
The conservationist, in his thirties, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many nights of sleep to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.
"Back in 2015, there was little interest," he states.
So he enlisted helpers who did care and launched a group known as the Bird Protection Unit. He organized community gatherings and invited the heads of the relevant authorities. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion seem to have paid off. The police discovered that catching poachers also helped in identifying other kinds of illegal operations.
"We found our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that implementation remains inconsistent.
This fascination with birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.
He recalls wandering in the grasslands on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."
Rapid economic growth brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were considered empty places to build, not sanctuaries to preserve.
The transformation was alarming. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the habitats they supported.
"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I chose this direction," he says.
It has not been an simple journey. A major Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.
"He assembled several of his associates who confronted 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 seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work demands patience and night vigils. Silva says not many are willing to take on the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.
"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I made it a project because if you want to tackle this challenge, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."
He says donations pays for some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but support has waned because of the slowing economy.
So he has found new ways to track the poachers.
He studies satellite imagery to find the paths 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 capture scores of small birds at night.
"Certain prized species command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now often affluent."
Although there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the penalties to deter the activity 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 dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages to display their birds.
This custom that persists mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or grasp that so many more 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 a little money, they have inherited the habit and custom of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about ecology. Once adults' values are set, they're really hard to change."
Disrupted
On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several small cages with tiny twittering birds.
Another man stands outside a nearby market holding a bird cage shrouded in a black veil. He tells passers-by discreetly 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 established a niche trade.
The area alongside the water extends over several miles and on a typical day, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.
We were told that protected birds could be bought in a small park. It was easy to find.
Music was blasting from a speaker under the low trees where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a fan dance. Nearby 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 appeared. 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