海角大神

A decade ago, when Kelik Suparno heard the Javan blue flycatcher鈥檚 melodic whistle, he perked up at the promise of a payday. Knowing a single bird could earn him two months鈥� salary at one of Indonesia鈥檚 bustling bird markets, he set off to capture the critically endangered creature.

Now, when he hears its distinct, high-pitched 鈥渢wee-twoo鈥� sounds, he perks up for a different reason. It means he gets to introduce a group of outsiders 鈥� researchers, photographers, tourists 鈥� to his favorite species.

Like many other men in the mountain village of Jatimulyo, Mr. Suparno made the switch from bird hunter to nature guide shortly after the village banned poaching. And now, as increasingly popular birdsong competitions across Asia threaten the country鈥檚 wildlife, Jatimulyo could set an example for other communities.

Indonesia is the epicenter of what ecologists describe as the Asian songbird crisis: the rampant, illegal trade of rare and endemic birds to the devastation of their wild populations. The crisis affects at least 26 threatened species within Indonesia, where it鈥檚 fueled by the rising popularity of high-stakes birdsong competitions. Everyone wants these species to thrive. The love of native songbirds runs deep, especially here on the island of Java, and many hope to pass that love on to younger generations. But protecting both the country鈥檚 biodiversity and its songbird culture will require balance.

鈥淚n Indonesia, all kinds of birds are being hunted, everywhere,鈥� says Mr. Suparno. 鈥淭he competition accelerates the rate of bird extinction.鈥�

Like meditating

The practice of keeping caged songbirds originated centuries ago in Java, and among general collectors, competitors, and breeders, up to 84 million caged birds are believed to be kept on this island today.

Six belong to Emmannuel Tantyo, head of a neighborhood in the heart of Yogykarta 鈥� a city about 20 miles away from Jatimulyo, and often described as Java鈥檚 cultural 鈥渟oul.鈥� Here, in the mazelike streets surrounding the city鈥檚 historic palace, a kind of perkutut, or zebra dove, reigns supreme.

For Javanese men, it鈥檚 a symbol of prosperity, Mr. Tantyo explains, and a source of calm.

鈥淲hen I wake up from sleep and hear the 鈥榯oo too too too鈥� ...鈥� he says, pausing to find the right word to describe the feeling. He taps his fingers to his heart. 鈥淧eaceful.鈥�

After Indonesia gained independence in 1945, the Javanese passion for bird keeping spread, spurred further by the introduction of birdsong competitions in the 1970s.

As the popularity of competitions steadily grew, so did the industry around them 鈥� bird markets cropped up in every major city, a network of birder associations flourished, and cash prizes ballooned. Today, Indonesia holds hundreds of competitions annually, drawing thousands of competitors from all walks of life, all hoping to win money and prestige with their champion crooners.

The competitions help uplift the entire economy, says Susri, a Yogyakarta-based perkutut breeder who, like many Indonesians, goes by one name.

In a dimly lit room attached to his house, he has dozens of birds in floor-to-ceiling cages labeled with the names of major international banks 鈥� because 鈥淎ll my money passes through here,鈥� he quips 鈥� but he didn鈥檛 snag these doves from the forests of central Java.

鈥淓ven a bird like the perkutut has its own role in the ecosystem,鈥� he says, and that鈥檚 where he believes wild birds should stay.

Competition coordinators generally agree. They are trying to phase out the use of wild-caught birds by requiring competitors to prove the origins of their flock, usually through special bands that are installed by breeders like Susri onto a bird鈥檚 leg when they鈥檙e young.

Phasing out wild songbirds would mark a seismic shift. A survey of 24 different songbird markets found that 71.5% of the birds were believed to have been taken from the wild, according to a preliminary study by Birdlife International and the international wildlife regulation group CITES. The study, presented during a 2023 workshop, found that only 2.2% of the birds were believed to be bred in captivity. Conservationists say that lax law enforcement and consumer preferences for wild-caught songbirds (which are often cheaper and, some collectors believe, sing better) help buoy the wildlife trade.

Ultimately, says Susri, it鈥檚 up to all sectors of society to preserve Indonesia鈥檚 wildlife. 鈥淲e are all responsible,鈥� he says.

In Jatimulyo, building that awareness took time.

For future generations

As the mist rises from the mountain top, Mr. Suparno leads visitors down a winding concrete path into the woods. Every turn reveals a new house or homestay, some with bird viewing areas set up in the backyard. High up in a tree, a man with a sickle is harvesting sap from a sugar palm, and a few feet off the path, a pair of brown Horsfield鈥檚 babbler chicks huddle in a low twig cup, safe from harm.

Back in the early 2010s, that nest may have been empty. It was villagers versus birds then, says Mr. Suparno. Today, they coexist.

In 2014, the village government passed a regulation banning bird hunting in Jatimulyo, home to at least 99 bird species, including four that are considered vulnerable or endangered. Initially the ban didn鈥檛 change things much. Villagers were unaware of the regulation; they also needed the income.

Over several years, the conservation group Kutilang Indonesia Foundation and other community development organizations helped raise awareness about conservation laws, and developed tourism and coffee programs to help boost Jatimulyo鈥檚 economy. In 2018, a group of ex-poachers started a nest adoption program, with funds divided between the landowners and former poachers who identify and protect hatchlings.

Mr. Suparno describes how, back in his hunting days, students and researchers used to stay in his home. Eventually, as he watched the local blue flycatcher population dwindle to just two, feelings of shame crept in. All these people were coming from afar to appreciate the birds in his village, while he was driving them out.

So Mr. Suparno decided to swap his glue traps for a green laser pointer and a bucket of bugs, which swings in his hand as he strolls down the path, listening.

鈥淭his is not ours to keep,鈥� he says, about the local wildlife. 鈥淚t鈥檚 what we pass on to future generations.鈥�

It鈥檚 possible that a couple villagers may still hunt birds in secret, he says, but most, like him, have given it up. He can see 鈥� and hear 鈥� the difference.