Following Poachers Illegally Trapping China's Endangered Songbirds.
The activist's eyes scan over miles of dense fields, searching for any movement in the inky blackness.
He utters a hushed tone as the team seeks a spot to hide in the grasslands. In the distance, the sprawling city of Beijing has yet to wake. As we wait, we hear only our own breath.
And then, as the sky starts to lighten with the approaching day, we hear footsteps. The hunters have arrived.
Caught
In the skies above us, countless migratory birds, some tiny enough that they can fit in the palm of your hand, are migrating south for winter.
They have taken advantage of the extended daylight in Siberia, or Mongolia, consuming bugs and berries. As the year comes to a close and icy winds bring the initial freeze of winter, they journey to more temperate climates to nest and feed.
China is home to over 1500 bird species, accounting for 13% of the world's total – over eight hundred of those are migratory birds. Several of the major flyways 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 urban landscape offer few options to rest among forests of concrete.
It is equally attractive for the poachers and their "mist nets", so delicate you can hardly spot them.
The one we nearly walked into was strung across half the length of the field and held up with bamboo poles. At its center, a small finch was struggling frantically to free his legs, but the more it moved, the more its claws became tangled.
It was a meadow pipit, a species under protection in China, and an important "bio-indicator" – that means if its numbers are thriving, so is its ecosystem.
Tracking the Trappers
This activist, 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 persuading the police in Beijing to prioritize this issue.
"Back in 2015, authorities were indifferent," he says.
So he enlisted helpers who did care and established a group known as the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad. He organized public meetings and invited the heads of the local police and forestry bureau. These consistent and determined acts of advocacy seem to have paid off. The police realized that apprehending illegal hunters also led to uncovering other kinds of criminal activity.
"It became clear our goals were partially aligned," Silva says, adding the caveat that enforcement is still patchy.
Silva's love of birds began during childhood. He was raised in the 1990s in a distinct era for the city.
He remembers exploring the grasslands on the city's edges where he encountered birds, frogs and snakes. "However, beginning in the 2000s, the transformation was dramatic."
Industrialization brought millions of rural workers to cities. This fast-paced development meant grasslands were viewed as areas for development, not protected zones to preserve.
The transformation was alarming. The grasslands started disappearing, as did the habitats they supported.
"I made the choice back then to pursue environmental protection and I took this path," he says.
It has not been an easy life. One of Beijing's biggest bird dealers found out he was being investigated by Silva and fought back.
"He assembled several of his associates who surrounded me and beat me up," Silva remembers. 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 requires stealth and sleepless nights. Silva says not many are prepared for the difficult – and sometimes dangerous job.
"I do this full-time," he says. "I treat it as a mission because if you want to address this major issue, you must commit completely. You can't do it part-time."
He says donations covers some of the costs – more than 100,000 yuan annually – but funding has declined because of the slowing economy.
So he has adopted new ways to track the poachers.
He studies satellite imagery to find the routes 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 during darkness.
"Siberian rubythroats and bluethroats command a premium," Silva says. "In big cities like Beijing and Tianjin, those who want to keep birds are now often affluent."
While there are wildlife laws in place, Silva believes the fines to deter the activity do not exceed the potential profits of trapping and trading songbirds.
Owning a pet bird was – and for some people in China, still is – a mark of prestige. This dates back to the imperial era. Wealthy individuals would build ornate bamboo cages for their birds.
It's a tradition that continues mainly among older individuals in their later years. Silva says some elderly citizens don't realise they are breaking the law, or understand that numerous birds were killed in a trap so they could buy a caged bird.
"These individuals didn't even have enough to eat growing up. Now with a little money, they have inherited the practice of keeping birds in cages," 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
On a long low wall in Beijing, a vendor has several tiny enclosures with tiny twittering birds.
A separate individual stands outside a local market holding a bird cage shrouded in a dark cloth. He tells passers-by quietly that his songbird is rare, worth about 1900 yuan.
This is a glimpse of an traditional side of the city where informal vendors have created their own market.
The area by the river stretches for several miles and on a typical day, there were people looking at everything from old trinkets to false teeth.
We were told that wild songbirds could be purchased in a small park. The location was not concealed.
Music was blasting from a speaker in a shaded area where a troop of elderly ladies were performing a traditional dance. Nearby several men, all over 50, had congregated with bird cages – some had multiple in their hands. Most were concealed by black fabric.
But today there would be no transactions because the police had arrived. They were interviewing the bird owners and taking names. Unyielding, one man claimed he was {taking his caged bird for a walk|simply exercising his