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Under cover of darkness: The fight to protect migratory birds
On the outskirts of Beijing, Silva Gu moves silently through tall grasslands before dawn, tracking poachers who trap thousands of songbirds each year. The illegal trade thrives as economic pressures push more people into wildlife crime.
The poacher's trap
In October, as billions of migratory birds flew south through China, Silva and a small team ventured into a grassland near Beijing. Their mission: to dismantle hidden nets that ensnare protected species like the meadow pipit, a key environmental indicator. The nets, nearly invisible, stretched across fields, trapping birds mid-flight.
A poacher appeared as the sky lightened, fleeing when spotted. Silva, a seasoned activist, blocked his escape until police arrived-40 minutes later. The man, dressed in construction overalls, had released several birds from his pouch before running. His phone later revealed photos of dozens of caged birds, evidence of his illegal trade.
A lucrative black market
Songbirds like the Siberian rubythroat fetch up to 2,000 yuan ($280) on the black market-more than a month's wages for many farmers. With China's economy slowing, poaching has become a low-risk, high-reward venture. Wildlife laws exist, but fines rarely deter offenders, Silva says.
"A pretty songbird can sell for more than many earn in a month. The penalties don't outweigh the profits."
Silva Gu, Beijing Migratory Bird Squad
Owning caged birds remains a status symbol among older generations, a tradition dating back to the Qing dynasty. Many buyers, often retired men, don't realize their purchases fuel wildlife crime.
A decade of activism
Silva, now in his 30s, has spent 10 years patrolling Beijing's grasslands at night, using his savings to fund his work. He founded the Beijing Migratory Bird Squad in 2015, persuading police to take poaching seriously. His efforts have led to arrests and disrupted countless trapping operations.
"At first, I was afraid," he admits. "But if you truly want to make a difference, fear fades."
His activism hasn't been without cost. A bird dealer once had him beaten, and volunteers have dwindled over the years. Most can't commit to the dangerous, nocturnal work. Fundraising, too, has slowed amid economic downturns, forcing Silva to innovate-like using satellite imagery to track poacher paths.
Police crackdowns and shifting attitudes
This year, Chinese authorities launched a campaign against wildlife trade, with state media calling bird protection vital for ecosystems. Silva's collaboration with police has yielded results, including a recent bust in Dalian where 13 suspects were arrested for trafficking 12,000 protected yellow-breasted buntings.
Yet penalties remain lenient, and illegal markets persist. Along Beijing's Liangshui River, traders openly sell caged birds, though recent police raids have disrupted sales. One defiant owner claimed he was merely "walking his bird"-a common excuse in parks where enthusiasts gather.
A lonely fight with hope for the future
Silva has rescued over 20,000 birds in a decade, but he feels isolated. "Sometimes, I'm so tired," he says. "I wish I had a team to share the burden."
His hope lies in younger generations, who may value conservation over tradition. Until then, he'll keep patrolling, driven by childhood memories of Beijing's skies alive with birdsong.
"This is my ideal. If you have this ideal, you must persist."
Silva Gu
