🔗 Share this article

Silva Gu's eyes scan over miles of open meadows, hunting for signs of life in the early morning gloom.

He speaks in a muted voice as the team seeks a place of cover in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing slumbers on. During the vigil, the only sound is the sound of breathing.

Suddenly, as the sky turns a shade lighter with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.

Snared

Across the heavens, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in Siberia, or Mongolia, eating insects and fruit. As the year winds down and icy winds bring the early cold of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to breed and eat.

The nation hosts over 1500 bird species, representing roughly 13% of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Several of the major migration routes they follow cross through China.

The area of meadow being monitored, on the fringes of the Chinese capital, is an oasis for small birds – any further and the city skies offer scant chance to rest among towering rows of concrete.

It is also an oasis for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can barely see them.

A net we almost encountered was strung across half the length of the field and held up with wooden sticks. In the middle, a small finch was desperately trying to untangle itself, but the more it moved, the more its feet got ensnared.

It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – meaning if its numbers are thriving, so is its habitat.

Pursuing the Poachers

Silva, who is in his 30s, performs this duty for free using his personal funds. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last 10 years convincing the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he enlisted helpers who were concerned and established a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held public meetings and invited the officials of the relevant authorities. These small and persistent acts of advocacy have shown results. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.

"We found our objectives became somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

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

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

China's booming economy brought millions of rural workers to cities. This rapid urbanisation meant grasslands were viewed as land for construction, not conservation areas to preserve.

The change stunned Silva. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the wildlife they housed.

"I decided back then to dedicate myself to preservation and I followed this course," he says.

It has not been an simple journey. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was under scrutiny by Silva and fought back.

"He gathered several of his associates who surrounded me and assaulted me," Silva recalls. He says he went to the police but those responsible were not held accountable.

He has also seen the departure of his team of helpers over the years. This work requires patience and night vigils. 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 solve this big problem, you must devote yourself wholeheartedly. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but donations have dipped because of the economic situation.

So he has found new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes satellite imagery to find the paths created by the poachers. He charts these against the birds' migratory routes and looks for areas where they may stop for the night. The aerial views can even show netting setups which can catch scores of small birds at night.

"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats sell for a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."

While there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes the penalties to punish the crime do not exceed the potential profits of catching and selling songbirds.

Keeping a caged bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a status symbol. This originates from the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate 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 so many more birds had to die in a trap so they could buy a pet.

"This generation often lacked enough to eat growing up. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of caging birds," he says. "China developed so fast, there was no time to raise awareness about the environment. Once people's attitudes 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.

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 valuable, worth about 1900 yuan.

This offers a view of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have established a niche trade.

The path alongside the water stretches for several miles and on a sunny weekday morning, there were shoppers browsing everything from vintage jewellery to dentures.

Information suggested that protected birds could be purchased in a nearby green space. It was easy to find.

Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were choreographing a traditional dance. Close by several men, all in their later years, had gathered with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by dark cloth.

But today there would be no sales 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