🔗 Share this article

Silva Gu's gaze sweeps over miles of tall grassland, hunting for any movement in the inky blackness.

He utters a muted voice as we try to find a place of cover in the open area. Behind us, 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, the sound of footsteps emerges. The poachers are here.

Trapped

In the skies above us, a multitude of winged travelers, many so small that they could rest in the cup of a hand, are traveling to the south for winter.

They have utilized the warmer months in northern regions, feasting on insects and fruit. As the year nears its end and cold breezes bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to southern locales to nest and feed.

China is home to over 1500 bird species, representing roughly thirteen percent of the planet's species – more than 800 of those are migratory birds. Four of the nine major paths they follow intersect in China.

The area of meadow in question, on the edges of the Chinese capital, is an oasis 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 "mist nets", so thin you can hardly spot them.

A net we almost encountered was extending over a large section of the field and supported with wooden sticks. In the middle, a tiny bird was desperately trying 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 "indicator species" – meaning if its population is healthy, so is its ecosystem.

Tracking the Trappers

Silva, who is in his 30s, does this work for free using his own savings. He has sacrificed many sleeping hours to rescue birds, and he has spent the last decade persuading the police in Beijing to take this crime seriously.

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

So he gathered a team who did care and formed a group called the Bird Protection Unit. He held community gatherings and invited the officials of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of persuasion appear to have worked. The police realized that catching poachers also helped in tracking down other kinds of criminal activity.

"It became clear our goals were somewhat shared," Silva says, while pointing out that the response is not uniform.

His passion for avian life began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.

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

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

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

"I decided back then to work in conservation and I took this path," he says.

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

"He gathered several of his accomplices who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. He says he went to the police but the perpetrators were not brought to justice.

He has also lost his team of helpers over the years. This work requires covert operations and lost sleep. Silva says not many are willing to take on the challenging and occasionally risky job.

"My life is devoted to this," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must give it your all. You can't do it part-time."

He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan a year – but support has waned because of the economic situation.

So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.

He analyzes aerial photos to find the routes created by the poachers. He maps those against the birds' flight paths 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 command a premium," Silva says. "In urban centers like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to own songbirds are now quite wealthy."

Although there are environmental regulations in place, Silva believes 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 generations in China, still is – a status symbol. This dates back to the imperial era. Nobles and elites would build elaborate bamboo cages for their birds.

It's a tradition that persists mainly among older individuals in their 60s or 70s. Silva says older Chinese people don't realise they are committing a wildlife crime, or grasp that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.

"These individuals often lacked enough to eat in their youth. Now with some disposable income, they have adopted the practice of keeping birds in cages," he says. "China developed so fast, there was little opportunity to educate people about the environment. Once adults' values are formed, they're extremely difficult to change."

Disrupted

On a long low wall in Beijing, a trader has several small cages with chirping songbirds.

Another man stands outside a nearby 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 is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where small unofficial traders have created their own market.

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

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

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 in their later years, had congregated with bird cages – some had two or three in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.

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