Examining the Tensions Between Bird-Singing Tradition and Animal Welfare
It’s a tranquil Sunday morning as the hidden corner of Ang Mo Kio Blk 159 begins to stir. The carpark adjacent to Kebun Baru Bird Singing Club gradually fills with a variety of cars, all carrying precious melodic cargo—songbirds perched in cages, some more ornate than others, fluttering about as if warming up for a three-movement overture.
The nearby kopitiam buzzes with the lively chatter of bird enthusiasts conversing in a mix of languages and dialects. Most of these individuals are older; millennials in this community are scarce. The youngest enthusiasts are in their forties, and few know of any young adults who share a keen interest in songbirds.
I approach 57-year-old Malik, who sits on a red plastic chair, gazing up at his prized birds. One hand holds a raffia string attached to a metal cup filled with kopi, while he recounts tales from his early days as a novice birdman.
“More than 30 years ago, we used an invisible leash to catch wild birds. We would lure them with a trained songbird and birdseed placed near a trap. That practice is illegal now, so most people breed their own birds instead,” he explains.
While the songbirds appear content in their cages, Malik’s insight serves as a reminder that they are, at heart, wild creatures. I can’t help but question whether these birds, even those bred in captivity, can truly live happy, healthy lives while confined to cages.
The bird-singing community now faces an existential challenge: how to sustain this tradition. With a diminishing number of younger bird enthusiasts, this cherished hobby risks fading into obscurity. If it does survive, can birdmen and their songbirds align with our evolving standards of animal welfare?
Hope for the Future
Minutes before the bird-singing contest begins, a crowd of bird owners fills the arena, with fellow enthusiasts taking their seats on pavement and plastic stools. Some stand or crouch on the grassy path, while I spot a few younger faces among them.
Keshore, a 30-year-old birdman, proudly cares for over 20 pet birds in his HDB flat. His collection includes twelve jambul birds (Red-whiskered Bulbul) and the matah puteh (Swinhoe’s White Eye). Yet, managing such a sizable flock comes with significant responsibility.
“When I travel, I must ensure someone qualified can look after my birds. They need their dedicated bathing time, adequate sunlight, and appropriate food. Each bird has its own character,” Keshore explains, noting that he spends two to three hours daily caring for them.
Realizing he needed more time for his birds, Keshore left his job as a ship surveyor to become a freelance renovator. “If you work eight to five, coming home at 5 p.m. means you won’t have time for your birds. I’m passionate about this, so I find the time,” he shares, acknowledging that this commitment deters many aspiring birdmen.
On another visit, Malik mentions knowing some NSmen who keep pet songbirds. These teenagers typically prefer to keep their birds at home, bringing them out only during public holidays. “Most of us here are retirees; we can come anytime because we have the time,” Malik adds.
Surprisingly, Keshore finds keeping songbirds at home easier than one might think—at least from a neighbor’s perspective. “Despite having over 20 birds, I’ve been fortunate not to receive noise complaints,” he chuckles, attributing his luck to the previous owner, who also kept birds.
The Changing Landscape
As a bird-singing contest begins, several men pace in front of a sheltered area with clipboards in hand, their eyes darting between the fluttering white-rumped shamas nestled beneath the shelter.
Among the observing crowd is Jerry, a 63-year-old birdman who shares Keshore’s view that some areas are more accommodating for songbird enthusiasts. “In newer estates like Punggol, Sengkang, and Hougang, keeping birds is discouraged due to noise complaints. However, older estates like Woodlands and Ang Mo Kio tend to be more understanding of this hobby,” he explains.
Jerry recounts how noise complaints led to the closure of some bird-singing corners by the government. One such loss was the Bukit Panjang bird-singing corner, a casualty of previous bird flu outbreaks that shuttered many similar venues two decades ago.
This physical disappearance of bird-singing corners discourages potential participants. These contests serve as communal gatherings where traditions are passed down across generations.
The challenge for this cultural tradition may not be extinction but rather adaptation. The nature of the hobby appears to have shifted from a community-centric activity to one increasingly enjoyed in private.
Pandemic Effects on Bird-Singing
Elsewhere, songbird owners gather around a whiteboard displaying scores and shortlisted birds. As the competition unfolds, some appear dispirited, covering their caged pets before searching for a nearby spot to watch the rest of the event.
“When there’s a competition, you need to arrive early for parking,” Malik remarks. “This week, it’s quieter due to Hari Raya, as many friends are visiting relatives.”
Malik notes that during the pandemic, he sold some of his prized songbirds to friends. “They were expensive, but I sold them cheaply. I enjoy hanging out with my friends, but during that time, I couldn’t bring my birds out, which made keeping them rather dull.”
For senior birdmen like Malik, who view bird-singing as a communal activity, the isolation during the pandemic affected their social lives. Thankfully, many repurchased new songbirds after restrictions eased, Malik shares. Interestingly, the pandemic also sparked renewed interest in songbird-keeping among younger Singaporeans, mirroring the trend of millennials with houseplants.
A songbird breeder, preferring anonymity, noted that many bought their first songbird during the Circuit Breaker to pass the time at home. However, as COVID restrictions eased, many returned to work, leading to an increase in abandoned birds.
Wildlife Concerns
Despite the popularity of bird-singing, illegal poaching remains a concern, even with wildlife poaching bans in Singapore. Between 2019 and 2021, the Animals Concerns Research and Education Society (ACRES) reported 75 incidents of wild bird poaching.
This underground activity reveals a darker aspect of the hobby: some birdmen prefer wild songbirds for their unique singing styles. A 2022 Straits Times survey found that 17% of hobbyists favor wild songbirds, driving demand for unsustainable poaching practices. Some poachers resort to cruel methods, such as using trained songbirds as bait or applying glue to branches to trap wild birds.
However, birdmen like Jerry advocate for bred songbirds, believing they offer a better vocal quality due to early training for competitions. Despite concerns about poaching, local bird shops sometimes sell wild-caught birds, complicating the landscape for newcomers.
Jerry lamented the challenges new bird shops face in obtaining licenses, with the government imposing strict regulations. “It’s almost impossible for new shops to open unless they take over an existing one. Even then, an AVA permit is required to import songbirds,” he explains.
Promoting Animal Welfare
Despite these issues, some view licensed breeding as a potential solution for songbird welfare, aiding in the revival of endangered breeds like the matah puteh and sparrow.
Yet, not everyone agrees that keeping songbirds can be sustainable. Wildlife specialist Joe Kam, with five years of rescue industry experience, argues that birds belong in the wild, not cages. He highlights that captivity fails to meet the five principles of animal welfare, leading to fear and distress among caged birds.
“Whenever someone approaches their cage, you can see them trying to escape because they don’t know what’s coming. They’re stressed,” Joe observes.
He notes that caged birds cannot express their natural behaviors, like flying freely or choosing their climate. In the wild, a bird can escape heat by seeking shade, but caged birds lack that option.
Joe questions whether songbirds are comfortable singing near each other during competitions, as they naturally sing to establish territory. “Even if their calls sound pleasing to us, they might actually be expressing distress rather than joy,” he adds.
Preserving a Cultural Legacy
Despite the complexities involved in caring for songbirds, Keshore believes the bird-singing community will endure. Even if the social aspect diminishes, the tradition seems poised to continue.
However, when evaluated against modern standards of welfare and ethics, the practice may struggle to remain viable. The unresolved issues surrounding songbird welfare remain a significant concern.
Keshore, who followed in his father’s footsteps into bird-singing, expresses confidence that “someone’s son, the next generation, will take over. There will always be people keeping this hobby alive.”
