🔗 Share this article

Silva Gu's gaze sweeps across miles of dense fields, looking for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He utters less than a whisper as they attempt to locate a concealed position in the fields. In the distance, the huge urban center of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, there is the crunch of footsteps. The poachers are here.

Snared

Overhead, billions of birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the long summer days in Siberia, or Mongolia, feasting on bugs and berries. As the year nears its end and chilling gusts bring the initial freeze of winter, they are flying to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

There are more than 1,500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the world's total – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow converge in China.

The patch of grassland in question, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an refuge for small birds – any further and the city skies offer little opportunity to rest among forests of concrete.

It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "fine nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.

The trap we stumbled upon was stretched across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to escape, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

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

Hunting the Hunters

Silva, who is in his 30s, carries out this mission for free using his own savings. He has forgone many sleeping hours to release trapped birds, and he has spent the last decade convincing the police in Beijing to enforce the law.

"Initially, no-one cared," he says.

So he recruited volunteers who were concerned 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 advocacy have shown results. The police discovered that catching poachers also led to identifying other kinds of illegal operations.

"It became clear our objectives became partially aligned," Silva says, while pointing out that enforcement is still patchy.

This fascination with birds started in childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a much changed capital.

He recalls exploring the fields on the city's edges where he found birds, frogs and snakes. "But starting from the 2000s, everything changed."

Industrialization brought a huge influx of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as empty places to build, not conservation areas to conserve.

This shift shocked him. The grasslands began to shrink, as did the ecosystems they sustained.

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

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers discovered he was under scrutiny by Silva and retaliated.

"He gathered several of his associates who confronted 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 team of helpers over the years. This work requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.

"This is my full-time commitment," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to solve this big problem, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – over 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the trails created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' migratory routes 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 during darkness.

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

While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva argues the fines to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the Qing dynasty. 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 grasp that numerous birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"This generation didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have adopted the practice 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 trader has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.

A separate individual is positioned near a local market holding a bird cage covered by a black veil. He informs passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth nearly 1900 yuan.

This is a glimpse of an old Beijing where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from vintage jewellery to false teeth.

Information suggested that wild songbirds could be bought in a small park. The location was not concealed.

Loud music played 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 two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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