Precious Steppe: Mongolian Nomadic Pastoralists in Pursuit of the Market (AsiaWorld) [Text is Free of Markings ed.] 0739111159, 9780739111154

Citation preview

Precious Steppe Mongolian Nomadic Pastoralists Pursuit of the Market Ole Bruun

LEXINGTON BOOKS

General Library System University of Wisconsin - Madison 728 State Street Madison, Wl 53706«1494 U.S.A.

LEXINGTON BOOKS A division of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200 Lanham, MD 20706

PO Box 317 Oxford 0X2 9RU UK Copyright © 2006 by Lexington Bpoks

AH rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bruun, Ole, 1953Precious steppe : Mongolian nomadic pastoralists in pursuit of the market ! Ole Bruun. p. cm. — (AsiaWorld) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN-10: 0-7391-1115-9 (cloth : alk. paper) ISBN-13: 978-0-7391-1115-4 1. Nomads—Mongolia—Hotont—Social conditions. 2. Herders—Mongolia— Hotont—Social conditions. 3. Land tenure—Mongolia—Hotont. 4. Hotont (Mongolia)—Social conditions. 5. Hotont (Mongolia)—Economic conditior\s. 6. Hotont (Mongolia)—Ethnic relations. I. Title. II. Series. GN635.M65B78 2006 305.9'0691809517—dc22 2005030524 Printed in the United States of America

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO 239.48-1992.

aid^^ a visit in the fieldwork area, expressed it this way: 4^

It was the same everywhere, it was the spirit of the time. Everybody wanted to profit from democracy and start his own businesses and legally it was very easy at this time. The old leadership were the educated people and only they had the knowledge and power to do so—and they had been eating the fat meat of the negdel all these years, so they did not want to lose out. The herders knew nothing and cared only about their animals.

NOTES 1. The place name Beisiin refers to the prerevolutionary title of Beise, a Manchu prince of the third rank. 2. The distinction between monk and lama {lam) tend to be blurred in rural ar­ eas as even Buddhist lay practitioners tend to be addressed as lamas. See discus­ sion in chapter 5.

Khotont Sum in Recent Mongolian History

23

3. Erdene Zuu is a large temple complex situation outside the town of Kharkhorin, just 35 km southeast of Khotont sum center. Established in 1586 as the first lamasery in Mongolia, it is of key importance to the development of Buddhism in the country. Already in 1735 Chinese traders settled in a new Manchu military base in the vicinity of Erdene Zuu (Sanjdorj 1980: 44), all of which presumably gave rise to the present town of Kharkhorin (for the history of Mongolian towns and cities, see Campi 2006). 4. This comparison was made in the beginning of the fieldwork, before several consecutive zuds hit Mongolia. 5. In 1911 the Mongolian economy was considered bankrupt, the Mongols al­ together owing 11 million taels of silver to Chinese shops (Sanjdorj 1980: 107). Russian sources estimate the average indeptedness to Chinese traders of a Mon­ gol family to be 540 ounces of silver (Maiskii 1921 in Lattimore 1951: xxii). 6. This information is drawn from a small brochure written by a former sum governor and printed by local government: Arkhangai aiinag khotont sum tsetsral negdel. Khotont sum ca. 1990. 7. As counted in animal units, bod, with rich families owning over 100 bod, middle families 21-100 bod, and poor families 1-20 bod (Bawden 1968: 396). One bod is the equivalent of one head of cattle or five to seven small animals, varying with the weight and value of the animals. 8. "Khotont sum" brochure. 9. For national livestock statistics around 1960, see Bawden 1968, p. 401. 10. During the negdel period, the average number of animals managed by a ru­ ral household more than trebled (Asian Development Bank 1992: 105. In later years, however, the average number declined due to an increasing number of live­ stock herders (Asian Development Bank 1994:35-36), further decreasing after the zud (see chapter 2). 11. Interview with Dashrentseseg, vice chairman of the negdel up until privati­ zation. 12. For a personal account of the entire collectivization and decollectivization written by a famous herder-philosopher, see May and Morris Rossabi 2006.

2

Khotont People and Their Herds

his chapter describes my fieldwork methodology and introduces the fieldwork area and its present-day herder population. It also dis­ cusses the context of human-to-animal population ratios during the last century and the most recent changes resulting from decollectivization. Available information indicates that both the actual pastoral population and the livestock population have remained fairly stable throughout the twentieth century, whereas urbanization has absorbed the overall popu­ lation increase. The remarkable continuity of the Mongolian herding economy gives credence to the general argument that pastoral livestock herding is a specialized form of farming, neither capitalist nor subsistence oriented, yet structurally dependent on continuous exchanges with sedentary economies. Events associated with the transition in the 1990s, however, brought entirely new challenges to the herding economy. Access to exchange was restricted and terms of trade deteriorated due to a national economic cri­ sis, and large groups of herders were threatened with poverty.’ Under such circumstances, experiences from around the world suggest, no­ madic pastoralists may temporarily leave herding and take up other economic activities. The Mongolian national crisis and mass unemploy­ ment created a counterpressure toward herding, however; many of those in state and collective jobs had family roots in pastoralism and saw it as a way out. All to an increasing extent depended on state regu­ lation. The institutional collapse in rural areas further eroded pastoral management, regulation of movement, and policing, which are all es­ sential to the pastoral economy.

T

25

26

Chapter 2

GETTING ACCESS TO THE FIELD I first started a small pilot project with the aim of finding a suitable field­ work area. I made arrangements with local government and began re­ search visits to herder families. I went looking for an area in central Mon­ golia with features typical of the vast steppe and mountain-steppe zones inhabited by the majority of Mongolian livestock herders. From the out­ set I sought a place in Arkhangai, but it was mere coincidence that brought me to I^otont. I had contacted the anthropology department of the Mongolian National University to find a Mongolian counterpart and had asked whether the university had a jeep and a chauffeur I could hire. On my first visit to the department, a staff member took me to the head of the university's foreign affairs department. There in a black, leather chair sat Lodoysamba, my old friend and interpreter from a Danida project five years earlier. He was about my age and a mathematician by training, but he had worked for foreign donors during those tough years in the early 1990s. After I had detailed my plans and outlined the area in which I wanted to work, Lodoysamba quickly foimd a Mongolian research team headed to the same area. It was a group of biogeneticists going out to col­ lect gene samples from yak and khainak (yak and cattle crossbreed) bulls in southeastern Arkhangai. I paid the expenses for the jeep and they took me to their sample area—an agreement everyone was happy with. So far fieldwork in Mongolia seemed easy. We set out for Arkhangai a few days later, driving an old Mitsubishi Pajero packed with lots of baggage and people, with still more baggage waiting to be picked up around Ulaanbaatar. I had been exposed to these procedures many times before. Transportation is scarce in Mongolia and obligations are many, such as giving people rides or bringing loads to family and friends along the way. The biggest problem is getting out of the city, since everyone expects to be picked up at home or to bring chil­ dren and things to relatives before setting out—never missing a good chat and a cup of tea on the way. Although you pay for the trips, they set the terms. I recalled how Danida field trips frequently had turned into virtual fights when drivers simply refused to take orders that conflicted with their personal interests or obligations towards their relatives along the road—and the present generation of Mongolian adults have many rela­ tives owing to state encouragement of childbirth from the 1960s to the 1980s. Those I worked with were extremely friendly and professional, but the transportation headaches convinced me that I needed my own jeep for my fieldwork and that I should be the driver. Many people had suggested that I use the authentic Mongolian trans­ port, the horse, but I refused it. Too often I had witnessed even a skillful Mongolian herder spending several hours in the morning catching his

Kholont People and Their Herds

>

I

'

27

preferred riding horse, as herds of horses are left unrestrained at night because of a constant threat from wolves. On the loose, the horse would dodge him by bolting across the steppe, only to return to the camp at the same speed once the herder reached it. The Mongolians are bom horse­ men, it is said, and usually they have exceptional control of their horses. But the uncertainty gave me pause. It should also be pointed out that if drinking and driving is hazardous, drinking and riding is equally dan­ gerous. That was constantly evident during fieldwork when herders ended up in hospitals—or even six feet underground—after riding home from nightly drinking sessions. In Central Asia, drinking with people is an obligation that a man cannot avoid and can only hope to limit. You are constantly greeted with "come and have a vodka!" followed by "who cares about tomorrow!" We reached Khotont late at night after getting lost in the darkness sev­ eral times on the last bit of rugged tracks. But the warm welcome we re­ ceived from the herding family who were to be our hosts more than made up for our trouble. After plenty of airag, vodka, and meat, we crashed in our sleeping bags on the wooden floor of the family's ger. The following week I underwent my first tests of life on the steppe: wash­ ing in ice-cold water, sampling a vicious dietary cocktail of vodka and sheep fat, and watching big khainak bulls being castrated and their bloody testicles sliced up on the dinner table to take out genetic material. My stom­ ach caved in one night and I had to face the ferocious herding dogs that fought outside the ger at night, despite warnings from our hosts. But I was too pitiful to arouse the dogs, and two big ones quietly sat down on each side of me as I emptied my guts. This was truly the Mongolia I had envi­ sioned and the general area seemed a sufficient choice for my fieldwork My first talk with the sum government confirmed that fieldwork in Mongolia would be a different animal than fieldwork in China. One might expect that seventy years of Communist rule would have created a heavily politicized public administration with lingering authoritarian manners. But that was not the case. Though Mongolia did away with Commimism in 1990, something else made a bigger difference: a concept of knowledge much closer to our own. Westerners do not usually have to justify the pursuit of knowledge in itself. That is where I had frequently clashed with Chinese authorities. Whether the result of Russian influence or just open-mindedness, information in Mongolia was not imbued with political value or consciously traded for money or privileges. The ease with which people walked in and out of the sum government compotmd and even burst into the governor's office demonstrated a radically dif­ ferent political culture. My first visit to the local goverrunent was just to obtain some key population figures and to seek their acceptance of my fieldwork. The seat of the sum government, an old school building from

1 I

28

Chapter 2

1950 waving the flag of the new republic, was in a terrible state, with peeling paint and rotten floorboards that left big holes in the floor. But I was impressed by the staff's openness, and they received me in a straightforward, matter-of-fact way. The sum head of staff, Vandahuu, a bright and energetic young man who also turned out to be one of best lo­ cal wrestlers, greeted me with "tell me what you want and I will get the books." In a matter of minutes, I had gained access to information that I would have had to collect myself with some difficulty in China: figures on the local population, household compositions, the occupational struc­ ture, the income distribution, migration in and out of the sum, and so forth. The local government even voiced their appreciation that some­ body like me took an interest in their affairs. That would have been rather unheard of in China. After a week in Khotont, I made several trips to explore the neighbor­ ing sums, partly to see if there was a better fieldwork area. I soon decided to stick to Khotont, however, as I discovered that it had all the features I sought: vast steppe areas in the north and hilly areas mixed with exten­ sive riverbeds and higher ground to the south, rising nearly to alpine al­ titude. The whole area was incredibly diverse with a great variety of eco­ logical niches, including some beautiful spots—for instance, an ancient hot spring resort in the south. On top of that, I had already come to know several families in and around our camp, and the local government was very friendly, not least of all in the person of Vandahuu, who later became a great friend. I made arrangements to return after the winter to start the actual field­ work, convinced that my success depended on getting my own transport. A sum inhabited by merely 5,000 people but covering 3,500 square kilo­ meters demanded considerable mobility in order to reach all population groups and to follow the herders in their seasonal moves. The following spring I was- back in Mongolia, and I immediately ob­ tained a Mongolian driver's license, a jeep, and an assistant who was will­ ing to stay in the countryside for the required length of time. I learned a lot about Mongolia through these processes and became acquainted with new sides of the Mongolian "system," which had retained many predemocratic characteristics. Frankly, I learned first of all to avoid the Mongo­ lian police, if possible. I had been somewhat naive about Mongolian au­ thorities. Arriving in Mongolia on an official aid mission with everything prearranged was radically different than coming as an academic and or­ ganizing everything on your own. The Mongolian National University had already obtained permission for me to conduct my fieldwork, but getting a driver's license and vehicle registration were a nightmare. The obstacles included hordes of people at small counters, countless forms to complete at different counters, constant small fees for this and that, pub­

Khotont People and Their Herds

29

lie offices that did not open on schedule, and so forth. In one episode, four police station (DMV) officials sat behind a row of desks, each officiously defending his own little domain in the registration of motor vehicles. The first clerk handed out the vehicle registration document, the second stamped it, the third entered the registration number in the books, and the fourth handed out small stickers to place on the windscreen. What's more, each clerk demanded a fee for his service, which was against regulations since the registration fee had already been paid in another office. Getting the license plates required another transaction in a separate building. This proved to be the pattern for all of our encounters with the Mongo­ lian police during our fieldwork: if you entered their offices or they stopped you on the road, it would most likely cost you. Buying the jeep was a study in the Mongolian business mentality. On the northeastern fringe of Ulaanbaatar is a car market where individuals can buy and sell motorcars under public supervision. I had already de­ cided to buy a UAC, the standard Russian jeep developed for the army and by far the most common vehicle in Mongolia. In the countryside it has no peers. Incredibly sturdy, cheap, and easy to repair, it will traverse any ground, including rivers nearly three feet deep. Driving the UAC is tough on your arms and shoulders since it has no modem accessories like powersteering, but it is great fun. You do not just go out and buy yourself a car in Mongolia, though. As with everything else there, it takes time, almost as if the time constraints we Westerners face are deliberately suspended. Mongolian "business­ men" travel to the Russian border or all the way to the factory in Ulianovsk to buy jeeps and then drive them back to Ulaanbaatar to sell them at a profit at the car market. There they and other traders announce their "regular" price to passersby—or place their big boots on the dash­ board and go to sleep, waiting for a buyer who is desperate enough to pay even more. Buying a jeep may take days of coming to the market, checking vehicles, comparing their conditions and equipment, and so forth. Many traders would rather wait three months to get a good price than to sell a car quickly and return to Russia to purchase a new one. What complicates matters further is that you often do not negotiate with a single person but with a whole family, and you can never be sure that the person you are talking to has the authority to make an agreement. In one instance, I managed to agree on a price with the driver and in prin­ ciple to buy the car, but on the way to the police station to register it we were stopped by his younger brother, who withdrew the deal because I was a foreigner—and thus I should pay more. I refused and returned to the market. Eventually I bought a jeep from two Kazakhs, who appeared very straightforward and offered me a quick deal. My Mongolian companion

30

Chapter 2

protested: "You should never trust a Kazakh." But I chose to ignore her, having already sensed the prejudices against all non-Khalkh Mongolians that had built up during the intense post-Conununist nation-building ex­ ercises. I now had my jeep and was one step closer to take-off. At the National University I found a good assistant, a young bio­ genetics graduate, who was already working with the team I had set out with the year before. She was hoping for a scholarship in Europe and was eager to make money in hard currency to fund her studies. I could have chosen a fellow anthropologist as an assistant, but in my pilot study I had come to appreciate the biologist's knowledge of domestic animals and decided that she would better complement my own pro­ fessional skills—little of the herding lifestyle is without reference to do­ mestic animals. It had taken me three weeks to get ready. But it was a fabulous feeling to finally be driving my own jeep in Mongolia, which only a decade ear­ lier had been among the most remote and inaccessible places on earth.

CREATING THE FIELD Without question, the most critical stage of fieldwork is establishing one­ self in the field. One hopes that the site will live up to your expectations as you gauge the responses and attitudes of the local people. You wonder if the whole setup will really work. When we arrived in Khotont, I already knew several families from the year before who were glad to help me. But their help proved unnecessary, since we were met everywhere with hos­ pitality beyond imagination. For a long period we chose not to base ourselves anywhere, but rather to "nomadize" with all our possessions in the jeep. I was traveling lightly, with just a bag of clothes, simple equipment, and most importantly my notebooks. With just the two of us, traveling was very pleasant and con­ venient, since we had plenty of space in the jeep and were able to pick up passengers along the way. We carried no tent and thus stayed overnight with herders, with people in the sum center, or in the hot springs resort (where simple accommodations in wooden cottages were available). Dur­ ing these first months, when we traversed the sum to check out every bit of it, we made occasional stopovers at a simple hotel in Kharkhorin, a large town in neighboring Overkhangai approximately 35 kilometers from the Khotont sum center. Only much later did we rent a room and fi­ nally a small house in the sum center, which served as a base for some later stretches of the fieldwork. During the first summer we were mostly on the move, getting to know as much as possible about the herders and their vast pastureland.

Khotont People and Their Herds

31

Before setting out for the countryside I was obligated to meet the gov­ ernor and present my research to him. Again, my first impression was that the governor's office would not cause any trouble. It helped considerably that Danida was my sponsoring agency, since the educated, in particular, know Danida—including its press house with printing facilities, educa­ tional programs, and much more—from its aid program of the 1990s. That I was sponsored by this agency and had been involved in several aid proj­ ects created expectations of aid, but I made it clear that my fieldwork was purely research oriented. My sincere hope, however, then and now, is that this book will serve aid agencies when setting up projects in rural areas, which receive much less attention than Ulaanbaatar (see chapter 8). The governor's office, equipped with a desk, a meeting table, a small cabinet, and a picture of the Mongolian revolutionary hero Sukhebaatar on the wall, gave the impression of a quiet rural sum without much busi­ ness activity, investments, or foreign aid. From the governor's brief intro­ duction to his sum, it quickly became clear that the new democratic gov­ ernment's ability to reach out to rural areas was indeed limited. The joint sum government administration possessed only one jeep, which belonged to the governor's office. By comparison, the joint negdel-sum under Com­ munism (the negdel and the sum government were separated in 1990) had approximately one hundred vehicles at its disposal. Because the governor was mostly out of his office to attend an endless series of openings, re­ ceptions, and banquets across the aimag, or had meetings in the aimag cen­ ter, this jeep was usually occupied. The little sum police station, also in the government compound, had one motorcycle to be shared among its three staff. In a sum stretching approximately 100 by 50 kilometers, and with its administrative center in the northern part, even the best governmental in­ tentions were not nearly sufficient. A single trip to the southernmost part of the sum was enough to reveal the Mongolian state's massive retreat af­ ter the democratic revolution (the real-life consequences will be made clear in the next chapter). Nobody in the entire sum could fail to notice that I had a brand-new jeep usually occupied by just two people, although seven people or a sim­ ilar number of sheep could easily fit in. Since transportation is scarce in rural areas, it was only natural for people to ask us for a ride. I knew I had to develop a policy on this matter in the long run in order to carry out my research, but in the beginning the extra space proved a tremendous asset. It was easy to get to know people, see their camps, and interview them for my research. Passengers in my Russian jeep included the governor, the sum director, lamas, midwives, veterinarians, sick people going to the hos­ pital, children going to school, and common herding people of all ages. A city person, I loved driving my jeep in Mongolia—on simple tracks or cross-country, over mountains and through rivers and swamps, in

32

Chapter 2

weather conditions that were a constant source of drama of rapidly changing light, temperatures, and precipitation. Rain and snowstorms, with giant temperature drops, would hit at any time of the year, endan­ gering people and frequently killing thousands of animals. Just being part of this drama and occasionally able to lend a hand was exhilarating. The participant observation that is so essential to anthropology may be practiced fully in Mongolia. There were always things I could do for the herders that made me less alien to them. Apart from transporting all kinds of people, animals, and things, I was the family photographer. People loved to have their photos taken. They would dress up in their finest deels, the women would do their hair, and the children would have their faces cleaned. People would pose as individuals, families, or, sometimes, entire camps (ail or khot ail). The elderly would pose with their grandchildren. When I would return from the capital with the prints, people would ex­ citedly skim the entire set to find pictures of friends and relatives from other camps. When I returned from Derunark with a pile of 12- by 8-inch prints of the best photos, I was sure they would be pasted on the portable board of family pictures, and indeed they were. There were other things I could do as well, although they never really matched the hospitality people showed us. Whenever possible, I assisted people with their herding tasks; for instance, by checking the animals, get­ ting cows back on their legs after giving birth, feeding sick animals, and carrying water. Sometimes I had to drive long distances to fetch a veteri­ narian or lama, or to bring a woman to the sum center clinic fifty kilome­ ters away to give birth. Whenever we stayed overnight in a camp, we would give the family a bit of money. My real chance to pay people back came with the terrible zud in the winter of 1999-2000 (described in chap­ ters 3 and 4), after which I bought and distributed bags of flour for some of the hardest-hit families. There is no social, administrative, or territorial unit that naturally frames one's area of fieldwork. Whether nomadic or sedentary, people are constantly on the move, and social networks connect one local area with another area, cities, and even foreign countries. Increasingly, people live complex lives that defy easy categorization. The theme of one's work de­ fines the boundaries of the social group you are studying, not vice versa. I could have chosen a smaller unit; for instance, a bag consisting of 100 to 150 families, or even an ail consisting of usually 2 to 5 families. Since my study involved a number of political and economic issues bearing on the general development of Mongolian livestock herding, I wanted my field­ work area to represent Mongolia as a whole as much as possible. BQiotont sum satisfied this need since it contained tremendous topographical and territorial variation, which induced a variety of herding strategies, and the sum is an ancient Khaikh-Mongolian core area.

Khotont People and Their Herds

33

The seasonal moves in the pastoral lifestyle also influenced my choice of fieldwork area. Historically and politically, the herding population has been confined by administrative boundaries and has built corresponding identities. Although administrative borders no longer legally confine the herders' movements, social boundaries persist: herding families tend to keep inside their own sums and to oppose outsiders moving into their cus­ tomary pastures unless driven by famine or natural disaster. People allow families from far-away, poverty-ridden aimags to move in, albeit with some resentment, but they violently resist herders from neighboring sums encroaching upon their pasture under normal conditions. To give some structure to my study, I worked my way down from sum to bag level, and further out to each individual encampment; I eventually built relations with a smaller number of chosen families. I started by vis­ iting the old bag centers, which are now mostly in ruins or used for stor­ age, while calling on the present bag leaders to inquire about the special ecological zones and conditions in each micro-area. This way I also made sure not to step on anyone's toes by ignoring formalities. The sum contains approximately 800 nomadic families, spread out in approximately 230 en­ campments in summer (more in winter). In practice, most of these en­ campments cluster in favorable locations on lower ground along rivers and tracks, forming an estimated 30 to 40 localities in summer. During my fieldwork it was possible to visit all these localities, thus making sure to include all ecological zones. For anyone who grew up in a sedentary community, it is a tremendous challenge to orient oneself in a nomadic community and to establish the necessary points of reference. In our memories, we tend to associate peo­ ple with their immediate surroundings and to use that information to keep track of individuals and groups. But this does not work among pas­ toralists with a customary habitation such as gers, which all look exactly alike except for the painted door patterns. It was embarrassing when I carried out a standard household interview and a family politely yet per­ plexedly answered all my questions until one daughter asked, "Why do you ask all these questions again? We answered them all three months ago. Don't you remember?" The family had moved to a new location and I had failed to recognize them.

THE TERRITORY

Situated in southeastern Arkhangai, Khotont has an average elevation of 1,500 meters above sea level, close to the Mongolian average. The lowest point is 1,374 meters, the highest peak 2,364 meters.^ The land steadily rises from north to south. Khotont encompasses steppe, forest steppe, and

34

Chapter 2

mountain steppe zones. The northern steppe is suitable for sheep, goats, and horses; cattle are less common. The only herd of camels in the sum is grazed here. The forest steppe is in the central parts of the sum and suit­ able for all kinds of animals, including khainak and some yak. The moun­ tain steppe, with pastures over 2,000 meters, is found in the southernmost parts. Sheep, goats, and horses are grazed there, but cattle have beJen mostly replaced by yak. To the south and east, Khotont is confined by the famous Orkhon River, which also marks the boundary between Arkhangai and Overkhangai aimags. Two tributary rivers to the Orkhon River traverse the entire sum from south to northeast. These rivers have tremendous importance for grazing and settlement patterns, particularly the larger White Temple River, as an estimated 60 to 70 percent of all herding families cluster around them in the summer, when the large animals, in particular, want to be near the water; the horses tend to stand in the river much of the day to avoid being bothered by insects. The most fertile land is in the wide riverbeds around these two tributaries; the land is excellent for grazing and has rich, but unexploited, potential for vegetable growing. To the northeast, where the two tributary rivers feed ti^e Orkhon (in the summer they mostly dry out before reaching it), the ground descends into a large steppe plain, stretching beyond the Orkhon toward the town of Kharkhorin. This area, approximately 250 square kilometers of which belong to Khotont, has always had great economic significance. As far back as is known, the wealthiest herders have lived here, because there is boundless space, good grazing, river water, groundwater close to the surface, and shelter in the nearby hills towards the southwest. The site of the old monastery, which later became the site of the new sum center, is strategi­ cally placed at the White Temple River just before it flows into the north­ ern plain; it is thus sheltered by large hills to the north, has access to plenty of water, and is close to where wealth customarily is generated. Out of a total land area of 3,387 square kilometers, 58 percent is com­ mon pasture, while another 20 percent was set aside for cutting hay in so­ cialist times. Today there is no joint land management and much less hay is cut. Rich forests are found in the central and southern parts of the sum, covering 18 percent of the territory. The wildlife in and around the forests include wolf, fox, deer, and boar. Marmot and rabbit inhabit the open, hilly areas. A wealth of large birds are found everywhere, including steppe eagles, red kites, vultures, owls, cranes, ducks, and even a small transient population of pelicans. In socialist times up to 50 square kilometers (1.5 percent of the sww) was under plow, mainly for growing wheat. Today this area is merely one square kilometer but slowly expanding. The land is relatively bountiful, with water sources accessible in most parts: 1.3 percent of the surface is

Khotont People and Their Herds

35

made up of rivers, swamps, and lakes; the latter are mostly alkaline and suitable only for watering animals. A plethora of flowers and herbs grow in the higher mountain valleys, where billions of insects keep grazing an­ imals away during most of the summer. As many as a hundred medical plants can be found in the mountains, including some rare species, but to­ day very few are exploited. The climate of Arkhangai is temperate for Mongolia, with monthly av­ erage temperatures ranging from -15° C in January to 14° C in July. Its an­ nual precipitation of 350 millimeters is among the highest in the country, though in Khotont the annual precipitation ranges from 250 to 300 milli­ meters in the north to 300 to 350 millimeters in the south. Precipitation is concentrated in the summer months, with more than half falling in JuneAugust (Arkhangai Atlas 1987). Both temperature and precipitation are very unpredictable, however, with great spatial and temporal variation. Summer temperatures may reach 40° C and winter temperatures may drop to -40° C. Blizzards and hail storms may hit at any time of the year since temperatures easily jump 25 to 30° C over a 24-hour period. Despite high average precipitation, all kinds of water sources occasionally dry up. Wind patterns are typical for Central Asia: strong winds frequently blow from the northwest, bringing very low temperatures in winter.

INTRODUCING SOME FAMILIES I first met Batmonkh when driving across the northern plain on the way to check out the archaeological site of the Black City, an ancient Uigur set­ tlement. He nearly rammed my jeep with his old truck, packed with gers, equipment, and people, as he assertively signalled me to stop. Worse, when he jumped out and strode towards me, a big grin on his face and his silver teeth shining in the sun, he fitted perfectly into my picture of a Mongolian highway robber, which I thought he might be. He flung my door open and started talking brusquely: "So he is the new foreigner in town," he said to my Mongolian assistant while grabbing my arm to feel the hairy coat. "Such a rich man, new jeep and all. What is he doing here?" I was flabbergasted. "Can you give an old grandma a lift," he said as an excuse for stopping us. "She is not comfortable in the truck." We agreed— we did not seem to have much choice—and brought her to their destina­ tion a few miles away. Before leaving their new campsite we had to prom­ ise to come back for food and drink. Ihis was how Mongolian hospitality mostly worked: incredibly brusque and direct, but with a warmth I had not experienced elsewhere. Batmonkh was a born joker, always in high spirits and ready for a good laugh, which he elicited either through practical jokes or his great wit.

36

Chapter 2

Since he owned a truck as well as a little gas station in the sum center, one could not avoid meeting him again and again, and I gradually came to appreciate him. In the end he was one of my finest informants because of his clear mind and excellent herding skills, which his two brothers also possessed. But his practical jokes tested my tolerance and constantly em­ barrassed me. For example, one day we met him in the sum center, and as he was talking through my open jeep window two young police officers came by on foot—pretty low style for men in the countryside, where horses and vehicles are the everyday manly symbols. Batmonkh's face lit up as he told us to watch. He resolutely went up to them, placed a hand on the chest of both men, and pushed them. He then immediately kneeled down and stretched out his arms, yelling, "Please handcuff me, I have done bad things." Then he laughed uproariously. Everybody knows that the police in rural Mongolia have neither firearms nor handcuffs, which makes them look rather pitiful among the stout herders, and the little po­ lice station possesses only one motorcycle to share among its three staff; it is usually occupied by the chief. I drove off to avoid being associated with the villain. Batmonkh was from an extraordinary family. Until some years ago he had lived as a herder, and like everybody else he started from scratch with privatization. But upon reaching the 1,000 animal mark, he had started selling the animals and investing in a truck, then a gas station, a jeep, and eventually a house in the sum center, where he moved with his family. Bat­ monkh's two brothers, Ba^argal and Batsukh, were heading in the same direction, both possessing around 1,000 animals. Batjargal, the elder brother, who specialized in horses, was ready to purchase his first jeep, and Batsukh, the younger brother, was considering going into business. Both brothers had built small wooded cottages on their summer pasture in recent years. Batmonkh's sister, who was married to a local man and lived close by, also contributed to her household's wealth, as she and her husband possessed over 500 animals. What made this bunch of people so extraordinary was not so much their wealth as the means by which they had acquired it. They were all en­ ergetic, determined, and business oriented, and always helping each other out. And they all shunned alcohol. As will become clear later, this is not only unusual in rural Mongolia but controversial, since country peo­ ple rarely take no for an answer when it comes to drinking. All three brothers explained that they had obtained their herding skills and priori­ ties in life from their parents, who were dedicated and much-respected herders during the negdel. Their father had died just after privatization, but their mother was still alive, having her own ger close to the summer camps of Batjargal and Batsukh on the northern plain, where the family belonged.

Khotont People and Their Herds

37

I originally visited the elderly mother to get a firsthand impression of the stuff the entire family was made of. She was a stern and thrifty woman who made sure that everything was properly used and reused in her ger. Though around seventy years old, she was always busy, whether milking, processing, cooking, or repairing something. When her boys sheared the sheep, she would collect the wool, and when they castrated the young horses, she would bring hot water to sterilize the knives. When the new­ born animals were sick or suffering in cold weather, she would take them into her ger and nurture them, wrapping foals in sheepskin and placing them beside the fire, and feeding small calves from a cow horn equipped with a rubber teat. She often seemed kinder to the young animals than to her grandchildren, whom she constantly corrected while she was busy with household chores. When I expressed my respect for her boys' achievements, she offered a traditional remark: "A good herder always puts the needs of the animals before his own." The example set by her family was important to my study, since it indicated that below the level of convention, which everyone adhered to, different value complexes might coexist among the herders, representing alternative interpretations of the same Mongolian herding culture. Many of these different values re­ lated to conceptions of time and timeliness, but gender issues and exces­ sive consumption of alcohol certainly also played their parts. Batmonkh and his siblings had demonstrated that under auspicious circumstances a competent herding household could accumulate a large herd and trans­ form it into other forms of wealth in a relatively short span of time. They provided a model of success among the herding community. Another family that came to mean a lot to me was Undendorj and Punsal, a couple in their mid-fifties, and their three sons who were still at home (a son and a daughter lived in the capital), of whom the youngest was eighteen. In addition to being lovely people, this family in a strange way embodied the complexity of the entire collectivization and privatiza­ tion processes in the countryside. Born in herding families, Undendorj and Punsal were young when negdel industrialization took off and both got jobs in the sum center, Undendorj as a truck driver and Punsal as an accountant in a grain mill. They both worked for the negdel for the better part of their lives, until all local industry was dismantled with privatiza­ tion. Undendorj returned to herding with his sons, while Punsal was lucky to get a job as a cleaning lady in the government compound. Today her cash income is a precious contribution to their household budget, which enables them to live a relatively comfortable life. Punsal lives yearround in the sum center in the family ger, which they move down to the nearby river in the summer, and takes care of a few milking cows. Un­ dendorj lives partly with her, and partly out on the pasture with his sons, who take care of most of the family's animals. There is a lot of coming and

38

Chapter 2

going, however, since the boys also want to be in the sum center as much as possible and enjoy their mother's cooking. Their ger was a popular spot for visitors owing to its friendly atmosphere and the good company of Undendorj and Punsal, who are highly respected folks. I do not believe much in having a "family" in the field, which so many anthropologists claim to proye their immersion in the field and to add credibility to their work. My family is at home, and when I am in the field I settle for being a stranger. But because Undendorj was a gentle and kind man equipped with a strong memory, a sharp mind, and a passion for talking and socializing, he was invaluable to me, and his household be­ came a close substitute for family in the field. Frequently I brought him a bottle of whisky when I returned from trips to the city, and he enjoyed it immensely. It appeared to increase his capacity to focus and talk at length about issues which came up during the course of my work, such as negdel history, traditional herding and breeding technology, religious practices, and so forth. Once again, the stark differences between fieldwork in Mon­ golia and fieldwork in China struck me: I always felt that the Mongolian herders could easily be people of my own society, perhaps just warmer and more direct on average. Undendorj was content to be a common herder with fewer than a hundred animals, but he enjoyed socializing and airag tasting far more than was good for his health, because the men's tast­ ing expeditions frequently progressed from drinking homemade prod­ ucts to drinking vodka from the store until late at night. He always com­ plained that he could not use me as a regular drinking brother because I was always so dedicated to my work. I had to explain that this was a onetime-only opportunity for me to do some real serious fieldwork in Mon­ golia and that I needed to see everything before I returned home. Several other family members made this group extremely interesting. Punsal's father, Osor, had been vice director of the negdel during the 1970s and possessed the memory of a computer. To any question about the run­ ning and administration of the negdel during this period, he would spit out an answer as if you had pressed a button. Maiiy times I was im­ pressed by the solid administrative tradition presumably established by the Russians in Mongolia, which promoted really competent people in the countryside. These people were generally well-educated and scientifically minded and appreciated knowledge for its own sake. Osor was a herder before receiving his education as an agricultural economist and then working for the negdel. After retirement he had returned to herding, living in Khoover bag where his family belonged. Ganbold, Undendorj and Punsal's youngest son, was equally impres­ sive. Ever since he was a child he had wanted to become a lama, and af­ ter Dorjtseveen lama established his new temple in Khotont, Ganbold got the opportunity to study with him on an everyday basis. For several years

Khotonl People and Their Herds

39

he had also practiced traditional wrestling, and after winning several competitions at the sum and aimag levels he had started competing at the national level. Thus, he was often away either to participate in wrestling tournaments or studying in the temple to become a lama; no one saw a conflict between the two activities. (Mongolian monks and lamas always tended to engage in physical activities. Most were also herders, some were craftsmen at temples or had policiiig duties, and many participated in uprisings during the twentieth century.) The eldest son was also of great interest to me. Altangerel belonged to a generation of young people with conflicting identities; they graduated in those years when the negdel collapsed and they had never envisioned themselves becoming herders, but they were left with few other options. He saw himself as unemployed, and he had tried out several jobs, but he led the life of a herdsman. Altangerel was typical of scores of young peo­ ple in the center, many of whom spent the better part of their time drink­ ing, gambling, or just hanging out. In addition, he had married when quite young and his parents had bought a nice little house for him and his wife in the sum center, but he divorced a few years later and moved back in with his parents; thus the house stood empty. This was the house we rented as a base during the latter part of my fieldwork. Yet another family I frequently visited was that of Gonchig, an unmar­ ried, middle-aged man living with his seventy-year-old mother in Burgaltai bag. They were small herders, possessing only fifty animals, which was just enough for their basic needs. They were from a family that had counted many lamas, including high-ranking ones at the Beisiin Khuree, among them. In addition to being exceedingly warm and hospitable, they were good informants, both on historical and present-day matters. A last family I shall present here is that of Banzragch, a retired schoolmaster from the small school in Undersant. He later lived as a herder with his wife and two daughters in the south of Undersant bag near the hot springs. In his late sixties, Banzragch seemed an old man, clear of mind but suffering badly from hypertension, a disease associ­ ated with the Mongolian nomadic lifestyle. His family in many respects also embodied the complexities of modern Mongolia, torn between the values of a traditional nomadic lifestyle and those of the fast-moving cosmopolitan culture of the capital. Banzragch's wife had died a couple of years earlier from the aftereffects of a fall from a horse, in part due to his stubborn belief in traditional cures and resistance to modern medicine. His oldest daughter went to study at the university in the capital, but away from her family she fell victim to the liberated lifestyle and casual relationships of the campus; she got pregnant be­ fore finishing her studies and had to return to her father's ger, where she now lives with her young son.

40

Chapter 2

The close interaction between the steppe and the city in Mongolia finds odd expressions. Many educated people live a herding lifestyle be­ cause the collapsed "market" society offers them no other choice. Banzragch was an invaluable informant particularly on this relationship between old and new. His father had been an important member of par­ liament in the old society, so the family had lived in the capital for many years, but they had eventually returned to their native area. Banzragch himself had received a higher education in the capital and spent a great part of his life in Undersant, previously an independent sum, which had kept its school after being merged with Khotont. Banzragch was an au­ thority on Mongolian nomadic culture, including common values, reli­ gion, views of nature, and so forth, and was always able to put it into comparative perspective. He shared with many other herders a keen awareness of the unique qualities of the Mongolian herding lifestyle and the Mongolian people in the modern world, particularly in relation to the Chinese. During fieldwork, one is constantly drawn to the wealthier house­ holds, either by invitation or simply because they have a surplus of time and goods. If the anthropologist is not conscious of this tendency, he or she may frequently be reminded of it by informants complaining that he or she "only hangs out with the rich and powerful." Economic collapse and governmental neglect after independence certainly made this perti­ nent in Mongolia, where a majority of households now complain that they have absolutely no cash and hardly any means of generating cash income. I frequently visited three very poor families (related through a man called Erdenebaatar) living in ragged gers just outside the sum cen­ ter when I was investigating issues of herd size, poverty, and domestic organization.

PEOPLE AND HERDS Despite Mongolia's endless political struggles, persecutions, and reforms throughout the twentieth century (Bruun and Li 2006), as well as its mas­ sive modernization and urbanization drive, a complete transformation of both urban and rural institutions, and a quadrupling of the population, the people-to-livestock and livestock-to-land ratios did not change radi­ cally. The size of the herding population was fairly stable, and urban ar­ eas largely absorbed the overall population. This general pattern changed after independence, however, when total economic collapse and de facto deindustrialization in rural areas forced large population segments into full-time livestock herding. Ironically, a common pattern of animal hus­ bandry that had survived both Chinese domination and Soviet integra­

41

Khotont People and Their Herds

tion was seriously disturbed with independence. Failed development strategies and misplaced foreign aid were major factors. Local and national sources on these production ratios are scarce, how­ ever, particularly for the early twentieth century. But a number of differ­ ent materials may be compared to construct the overall picture. By 2000 the total population of fChotont was 5,415 individuals, com­ prising approximately 1,400 households. Of these, approximately 1,500 individuals in 400 households lived in and around the sum center. Yet the distinction between herders and the sum center population is vague, and therefore so is the people-to-livestock ratio, since individuals living and working in the center may possess a limited number of animals, and in­ dividuals registered as herders may reside in the sum center during parts of the year (for instance, if one household member holds a job there or if their children attend school). In general, however, families and individu­ als whose main profession is animal husbandry are registered in the rural bags. Similarly, rural herding households may have one member with a job in the center. Another matter complicating statistics is that one bag, Undersant, used to be a separate sum before it merged with Khotont in 1961. Today nearly one hundred families live in the Undersant bag center. Of the public institutions only a school remains, providing jobs for twenty-five people. In addition, one family runs a small store and another does some transportation business, but most of the little town's inhabi­ tants are herders. The total herding population of the five rural bags is approximately 3,800, making up 900 households (with an average of just over 4 mem­ bers). The crucial question is the number of livestock (or bod, meaning livestock units) per household. At the official count in late 1999, the total number of livestock was 189,776, an all-time record. Divided by the total number of households we arrive at an average of 136 animals per house­ hold, counting the sum center population. I noted earlier that one of the great pleasures of working in Mongolia was the openness of local author­ ities and their appreciation of knowledge. Those traits are reflected in the fairly accurate statistical material collected each year by rural bag leaders and reported to the sum government. Due to taxation practices, however, only households owning over 100 animals are reported in great detail. Thus the best estimate of the average herd size may be obtained from sta­ tistics from the four rural bags without any town populations: Bag Khoovor Burgaltai Ulaanchuluu Orkhon

Individuals

Households

Animals

Units per capita

730 718 952 596

213 164 245 154

33,100 32,900 35,300 18,300

14.9 15.8 12.3 11.2

42

Chapter 2

Thus, in the winter of 1999 the overall average for these four bags was 13.6 large animal units per capita, or 52.5 units per household,^ corre­ sponding to, for example, 180 sheep and goats, 15 horses, and 12 heads of cattle. The average household size has decreased since the end of the birth-promotion policy of the socialist era; from 4.2 in 1992 it dropped steadUy to 3.8 in 2000. Considerable wealth differentiation between herding families has emerged since the collapse of the negdel in 1991, showing in widespread poverty. The livestock ownership distribution for Khoovor bag shown be­ low is typical for the swzw:^ Number of animals

0-50 50-100 100-150 150-200 200-300 300-400 400-500 500-1,000 over 1,000

Number of households

35 81 34 24 24 4 7 3 1 {owning approximately 1,100)

Poverty is rampant despite record-high livestock numbers in the late 1990s. In 2000 an estimated 55 percent of all herding families in the sum had fewer than 100 animals; over 60 percent did after the consecutive zuds in 2001.5 While many families have additional incomes from wage labor or pensions, the swm government estimates that two hundred families de­ cisively live under the poverty level and some fifty to sixty families are desperately poor. We shall later see what this means in real life. The dreaded zud hit in the winter of 1999-2000, after poor rainfall the previous summer. Especially in January 2000, when temperatures dropped to -45° C and snow and ice covered the ground in many locali­ ties, animals died in the thousands. When I returned to the field in early 2000, carcasses of the large animals especially lay scattered across the steppe and were piled up at a distance from winter camps, since they could not be buried in the frozen earth. In the spring, approximately 15,000 animals had died, about half of them large animals, and many of the surviving animals were in such an exhausted state that they could not bear offspring. The starved cattle refused to get on their legs, horses were dragged to the pasture, and even the agile goats would stumble as they ran to avoid cars. At the livestock count at the end of the year, the total number had dropped to 165,000, equal to the 1998 level. After my field­ work had ended in late 2000, another harsh winter took its toll, bringing

Khotont People and Their Herds

43

the national livestock count down to the level of the early 1990s. Yet an­ other bad winter in 2002 reduced the total livestock count to 23.9 million by the end of the year. For the larger livestock owners these losses were bearable, but for die poorer families they could be devastating, and the zud surely enhanced the differentiation in wealth among herders. Whereas nature is easy to blame for these losses, not much attention was paid to the human factor involved in zud preparation, something we shall discuss in the following chapter. AVERAGE HERDS AT NATIONAL LEVEL

Let us briefly review estimates of the people-to-livestock ratios during the twentieth century.^ The national figures give us a better picture than local figures, which are incomplete for the early revolutionary period and com­ plicated by shifting territorial boundaries due to administrative reform. Even the national statistics have limited use, however: for die early revo­ lutionary years we cannot fully depend on their reliability, while for the later socialist period, when the negdels provided large-scale nonherding employment in rural areas, it becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish between the herding population and the general rural population. Historical sources on the population and the herds are equally incon­ clusive. Back in the late nineteenth century, the Russian explorer Prejevalsky wrote about the Khalkh that "there is hardly a native who does not possess some hundred of the fat-tailed sheep" (Prejevalsky 1876:57). Pre­ sumably, a growing pauperization of herders took place in the 1880s and 1890s, when many were reduced to beggars (Bawden 1989:142-143). Mis­ ery and starvation, sometimes a residt of bottomless debts to Chinese banks and shops, continued into the new century. Foreign observers of the early twentieth century gave little credibility to Mongolian statistics. The former Russian consul in Urga I. J. Korostovetz argued that they hardly corresponded to reality and believed both people and animals to be far more numerous (Korostovetz 1926: 51). The Russian delegation leader Maiskii conservatively assessed the 1918 figure to be 12.5 million animals (Friters 1951: 18). The German explorer Hermann Consten in 1919 estimated the total number of animals at no less than 37.7 million, distributed among 3 million Mongols: by his count the average household possessed only 75 animals or 41 bod (Consten 1919: 138). The American author Richard E. Goering in 1923 made an even higher esti­ mate based on Russian and Chinese sources: 75 million ai^imals for Khalkha and Outer Mongolia. At the household level, several sources suggest that at least the ideal herd size was far greater than statistics seemed to indicate. The Russian economist E. Botviiinik in the 1920s

44

Chapter 2

posited 100 bod as the lowest level of a viable production unit (Potkanski 1993:124). Based on the account of a lama who emigrated to the United States, Herbert Vreeland details the wealth of lay families in a community in western Mongolia around 1920. He puts average herds to be close to two hundred animals, which were mainly sheep, with over half of the families possessing two hundred to three hundred animals (Vreeland 1953: 31). Families with fewer than one hundred animals were regarded as poor. Although the data is inconclusive, the average size of herds was likely greater than reported at the Communist takeover. Statistics in the early period showed rising figures to the effect that they were perhaps closing in on the true figures. With gradually improved means of penetrating the countryside, the Communist authorities imprisoned anyone hiding ani­ mals during the yearly counts, but rich herders apparently often "lent" animals to poor herders at the end of the year. To provide context to written historical accounts, I habitually asked the herders what they knew of their families' herds in the old days.’’ When mentioning historical benchmarks, most people in Khotont pointed to the establishment of negdels in the 1950s rather than to the Communist revo­ lution of the 1920s, which was less relevant to their own lives. Only the eldest people had experieiiced the old society and the coming of Com­ munism. For the entire period of the 1910s to the 1950s, a remarkably large proportion of the people interviewed remembered their family herds to be larger than now. Apart from the very rich, such as leading lamas and nobility, who definitely had large herds, many people remem­ bered herds in the ranges of two hundred to three hundred and three hun­ dred to four hundred animals—for example, three hundred small and sixty large animals, which was,frequently mentioned as an id^al herd size. Yet these accounts were not numerous enough to be representative and they were potentially shaped by poor memories, a tendency to glorify family history, political biases, and so forth. Other accounts indicated a smaller difference between then and now. For instance, a ninety-two-yearold herding woman who provided a detailed account of life in her camp in the 1910s and 1920s recalled that many families had few animals and that only a small number of rich herders had very large herds. Present assessments of the ideal herd size compare well with historical accounts, however. People with one hundred or fewer animals are now considered poor; the minimum number of animals necessary for survival is commonly believed to be around fifty. Possessing two hundred animals is considered common, and possessing three hundred to four hundred an­ imals is considered very good..Wilb four hundred to six hundred animals, herders may accumulate wealth fast; people with one thousand animals are the "rich herders."

Kholont People and Their Herds

45

Rural Population, Herder Households, Total Livestock, and Estimated Average Herd Size, 1918-2001.

1918 1930 1935 1944 1956 1963 1979 1986 1989 1990 1995 1999 2000 2001

Rural Population

Herder Households^

Million Livestock^

Animals per Household'^

500,000 600,000 640,000 660,000 662,500 608,300 778,000 850,000 887,900 1,197,400 1,119,600 986,700 1,030,500 1,045,400

100,000 110,000 110,000 115,000 115,000 95,000 77,100 62,700 69,000 74,700 169,300 189,900 191,500 185,500

9.8 23.6 22.6 22.0 23.0 23.6 24.3 22.6 24.7 25.9 28.6 33.6 30.2 26.1

60 120 115 130 150 160 col./ private 230 col7 private 270 col./ private 270 col./ private 260 col./ private 130 160 140 120

In 1918, out of a total population estimated at 650,000 (including 100,000 Chinese), approximately 450,000 to 500,000 people were in rural areas. Not counting monks who resided al monasteries, we can estimate the livestock-dependent population at over 400,000 people, corresponding to approximately 100,000 herding households. This was a period of consid­ erable distress due to political unrest, indebtedness, excessive taxation and draught, but a livestock figure of only 9.8 million is doubtful and pre­ sumably much below the historical average. In 1940, after monasteries were demolished and a certain redistribution of livestock had taken place, the Mongolian authorities determined the rural population to be around 500,000, comprising 110,000 herding house­ holds. Total livestock had then increased to 23.7 million (Academy of Sci­ ences 1990). In the late 1950s, when the renewed collectivization of the herding economy began, the total rural population was 670,000; an esti­ mated 125,000 households were herders, possessing approximately 23 million livestock. In 1961, as a reaction to collectivization, total livestock had dropped to 20.3 million. In the following decades, massive construc­ tion in sum centers and cities attracted many families to nonherding ac­ tivities. The population increased significantly between the 1960s—when large families were encouraged by state population policy—and the 1980s. Urbanization absorbed much of this population increase as the capital and aimag centers were built from scratch. Thus Mongolia has experienced a steady rural-to-urban migration during half a century, keeping the population increase in rural areas at a moderate level and

46

Chapter 2

gradually concentrating population in the sum centers after the estab­ lishment of the negdels in 1960. If we subtract the sum center populations from the total rural population, we arrive at around 650,000 for the year 1989, close to the 1935 level. When the industrialization of rural areas reached its peak and the transfer of the herding population to wage labor within the negdel cul­ minated in the late 1980s, only 41.5 percent of the rural population (which totaled 877,000) were Counted as herders, corresponding to some 76,000 households. However, scrutiny of Mongolian statistics reveals that these were the families who belonged to a suur. Another 19 to 20 percent of the rural population, corresponding to over 30,000 house­ holds, lived a nomadic herding lifestyle on pastureland with a limited number of private animals, but had one or more family members en­ gaged in wage labor, either in the sum center or outside (for instance, in negdel cattle farms, greenhouses, sawmills, and so forth, or in state farms and other state units).

THE PRIVAtiZATION RESHUFFLE

During most of the nineteenth century the actual herding population thus remained stable until the 1990s, when there was a dramatic increase in households whose primary source of income was livestock. The regis­ tered number of herder households rose from 74,700 in 1990 to 185,500 in 2001. For Arkhangai aimag, they increased from 16,400 in 1985 to 19,100 in 1990, then to 22,100 in 1995, and to 26,000 in 2000?^ International donor reports commonly interpret these figures as a sign of the influx of maiiy new, mainly young and inexperienced herders.Yet the reports do not fully reflect social and economic developments in Mongolian rural areas. First of all, the most significant increase in herder households occurred between 1992 and 1995, when they reached 169300. Secondly, if we look at figures for livestock-owning households, a much greater continuity with Mongolian society prior to independence appears: 262,300 house­ holds owned animals in 1990 as compared to 256300 in 2001. As shown in chapter one, primarily negdel workers of all age groups reverted to herding. Equally significant are the total population figures of the transitional period. In 1990, when the negdels were still in existence, the rural popu­ lation was listed at 1,197,000 people (57.7 percent of the total population). It declined to 1,045,000 (42.8 percent of the total population) in 2000.'^ These herder households now comprise 780,000 people, or roughly threequarters of the rural population, as opposed to 351,000 people in 1990, when they made up only 41.5 percent.

Kholont People and Their Herds

47

To a very large extent, then, the rural population remains the same, apart from common life-cycle events of births and deaths and a steady flow of population from rural to urban areas, mainly to the capital of Ulaanbaatar. It remains stable even though migration across regions is rel­ atively extensive in Mongolia; it was shown in a sample survey to include 17 percent of the total population over the last five years (PTRC 2001; 5). This migration includes the flow of population to the capital as well as some rural-to-rural migration consisting of households (mainly from the western and northwestern aimags) in search of better terms of trade who settle down in the central parts of the country. More consequential than previous migration, however, is the widespread intention of rural house­ holds or individual household members to move to the city in the future, partly in response to general despair and lack of positive government in­ tervention (PTRC 2001: xix), and partly in response to the zuds. When the negdels were industrialized in the 1970s and 1980s, herders were employed as negdel workers, mechanics, drivers, accountants, and so forth. The vast majority never got into permanent housing but set up their gers in a fenced compound in the sum center, allowing them to retain a few animals. When they lost their jobs in 1990-1991 and rural areas were de­ industrialized, the majority reverted to practicing animal husbandry. These people now constitute a large portion of the middle-aged and eld­ erly herders. The younger age groups were brought up in industrializing herding communities within a society that provided a high level of edu­ cation and plenty of employment opportunities in the modem sector. They definitely held nonherding aspirations. A large segment of these , young people now make a living from animal husbandry, but they may see themselves as "unemployed" since they still look for regular employ­ ment opportunities. Yet the vast majority were brought up living simply in a ger and have been close to domestic animals their entire lives. If we look at the total pasture area, we see a similar picture of very mod­ erate changes. After 1940 state farms were established to ensure native Mongolian grain and vegetable production, which grew steadily until reaching a peak in the mid-1980s. The total area under plow apparently never exceeded 10,000 square kilometers and was never significant com­ pared to the total pasture area. Even more important, despite cropping in good pasture, a large part of the grain output was turned into concen­ trated fodder for supporting the large animals in particular. Let us return to our starting point—the people-to-livestock ratio in ru­ ral areas. Although the above statistics may not be fully representative of any region in Mongolia, they still show quite clearly that neither the herding population nor the total number of animals in their possession (privately or collectively) changed radically over nearly a century, until die economic and—more importantly—institutional collapse of the

. I

*

, J »

48

Chapter 2

1990s. What does that tell us? The historical continuity of the herder population and the people-to-livestock ratio would suggest that Mon­ golian nomadic pastoralism is an optimal form of production and that there is a clear ecological limit to the size of the population that may be supported in rural areas. A number of resources in Mongolian cinimal husbandry are not being fully exploited or are poorly exploited because their management is based on labor-consumer balances and culturally informed choices rather than any sense of capitalist maximization. The population and livestock figures above are therefore the effects of a remarkable continuity in the pastoral economy itself, which survived both collectivization and decollectiviza­ tion without much actual change in the essentially household-based no­ madic form of production.

NOTES 1. Differences between native and foreign conceptions of poverty are discussed in chapter 8. 2. This information is drawn from the brochure, Arkhangai aimag khotont sum tsetsral negdel (c. 1990). 3. Statistics reported to local government by the bag leaders at the end of 1999 and tabulated by the sum director; Khotont sumin baguudin orkb khun amin sudalgaa. 4. These figures are only indirectly available from the yearly bag reports, since the number of livestock is not specified for households with less than one hun­ dred animals. The figures are obtained from interviews with the bag leader and herders. 5. At the national level, 60 percent of herder households possessed fewer than 100 animals at the end of 2001. 6. General information may be found in Mongolian Statistical Information, 1921-1991, Ulaanbaatar: State Statistical Office, 1992; Agriculture in Mongolia, 1971-2995, Ulaanbaatar: State Statistical Office, 1996. 7. In the early 1990s I made a short field investigation of nomadic herders in northern Tibet, now the Chinese Qinghai province, which showed most herding household to possess in the range of two hundred to four hundred animals. This was in a highly regulated environment and under much pressure from Chinese authorities, however, who generally extracted yearly taxes in the range of five per­ cent of production assets (Bruun 1993). I somehow expected Mongolian herders to compare with this, since both ecology and culture were very similar. 8. "Herding population" is counted as total rural population minus state farm workers. It therefore also includes lamas, rural government staff, and other rural groups, most of whom have owned animals. 9. Number of livestock is based on Mongolian statistics mentioned above (note 6).

Khotont People and Their Herds

49

10. These are rough estimates: for the period until 1945 they are based on the work of Friters (1951), using mainly Russian sources. For the later period they rely on Mongolian statistics, counting the herders' private and collective animals, but not those belonging to state enterprises or nonherders. 11. Agriculture in Mongolia, pp. 5-6. 12. Some examples of development reports are WB 2002 and ADB 2002. 13. Statistical material are gathered from Mongolian Statistical Yearbook, years 1995-2002. 14. Now as before, in truly rural areas 90 percent of the population live in gers (NSO 2001, Housing-. 4).

Movement and Work

he nomadic household's seasonal movements are determined by the availability of grass, water, and shelter for the animals. When these conditions are stable from year to year, so are grazing patterns, since Mon­ golian animal husbandry and the nomads' lifestyle are shaped entirely by the natural environment (Tumurjav 2003: 87). That is the conventional wisdom, anyway, and it is supported by much Mongolian and foreign scholarship and is part of the Mongolian national identity. Such environmental determinism has entered the political debate in post-Communist Mongolia and is evident in statements like "When the environment is healthy, the herders are rich."^ Thus, perhaps conve­ niently, only pasture degradation is seen as a threat to the herding lifestyle. Incidences of poverty, it is claimed, are results of inferior skills, laziness, and the like. Environmental determinists often imagine an archetypical state of no­ madism, practiced in a golden era of cultural integrity and political inde­ pendence. But if one goes back in history, whether to pre-negdel, pre­ Communist, or pre-Buddhist eras, one hardly finds a primordial state of nomadism. Political institutions, power relations, and wealth differentia­ tion, as well as herd size and composition, influenced nomadic practices in each historical period. Those who derive their livelihoods from no­ madic animal husbandry know this, of course, as they are keenly aware that shifting political structures bring new means of subordination. Fieldwork, too, will quickly reveal that patterns of movement and work are anything but predetermined. For one thing, technological fac­ tors such as watering points (some simple wells have been maintained

T

51

52

Chapter 3

since decollectivization, while nearly all motorized wells have been abandoned) and infrastructure (tracks, bridges, and communication have deteriorated since privatization) exert great impact on grazing pat­ terns. Those patterns have changed dramatically since the time of the negdel, when specialists controlled all herds and movements. In addition, the herding strategies allowed by the natural conditions vary substantially (as outlined in the next chapter). E>emographic factors, such as family size and age composition, as well as the need to send chil­ dren to school in the sum center, also have a profound impact on the choice of pasture. Last but not least, the state of the market affects the overall conditions for the herding economy. Separate factors relate to cultural patterns and religious values. They provide herders with a distinct identity, clearly demarcating the nomadic lifestyle from that of sedentary populations. They may also influence the choice of lifestyle and herding strategy by defining what belongs to Mon­ golian culture and what does not. Technological change is a catalyst for cultural change; an increasing number of herders now build permanent wooden cottages on their summer pasture, giving them incentives to ex­ tend their stay in one place. Also, entrepreneurship breaks new ground and provides new models for economic activity. In sum, changes in seasonal movements and herding strategies occur as herders respond to many external circumstances, either individually or jointly, and act to improve their lives. This chapter outlines the basics of the nomadic household's production routines, including work tasks and common principles for breeding and movement.

WORK AND BREEDING ROUTINES' Spring

My fieldwork started in the spring, when the coming of new grass occu­ pies everyone. After several years of good summer grazing and moderate winter temperatures, livestock numbers had reached their highest levels ever. In Khotont these favorable conditions had generated enthusiasm among the newly privatized herders for the first time since the national economic collapse in the early to mid-1990s. The majority of herders had freed themselves from the grip of poverty by building herds of over one hundred animals, and many households aimed at building herds severalhundred strong. In February or March when rising temperatures permit, the camp is moved from winter to early spring pasture. The onset of spring is critical for the animals, as they are fatigued and hence totally dependent on the

Cycles of Movement and Work

53

herders to find good grass. By the end of winter the animals are a dread­ ful sight. With their hide stretched over a frame of bare bones, the cattle have a ghostlike appearance; they frequently refuse to stand up as if they are waiting to die. They have to be pulled up on their legs and pushed out to graze the tiny sprouts of new grass. The horses are too frail to be rid­ den and some can barely walk. Otherwise adroit goats stumble on hill­ sides and when crossing tracks in front of vehicles. When the new grass appears, however, native Mongolian breeds of animals tend to recover very quickly. The multiplication of animals in spring is the basis of the herder's wealth. It is thus critical to see the female animals through their labor. Sheep and goats give birth from April into summer, mares and cows from May into summer. Humans and animals develop great confidence in each other from the time that animals are born. The animals readily leave their offspring in the care of the herders—for instance, when lambs and kids are kept in the ger right after birth, when nights are still biting cold. A small fold easily ac­ commodating thirty newborns may be set up inside the ger to the left of the entrance, or the young animals may be tied to the ger wall. Frequently they run loose in the ger, though, and the small children enjoy playing with them while learning basic herding skills. The children learn to dis­ tinguish between individual animals and identify them by their charac­ teristics; for the cherished horses, a taxonomy of almost two hundred dif­ ferent color patterns is common (see chapter 8). The large animals, in particular, may be given personal names, and tlie children will closely fol­ low their growth into maturity. Calves and foals are also cared for individually. If shivering with cold from rain or snow, they too may be taken into the ger, and if they're in bad shape they may be wrapped in sheepskin and placed beside the hearth. Young animals that have lost their mothers may be nursed in the ger, where women or children make them suckle milk from a cow horn equipped with a teat. In late April or May the adult goats are combed for the precious cashmere, which in recent years has become a major source of cash income. The goats are laid down with their legs tied up and brushed with a spe­ cial comb that retains the fine downy hair that develops underneath their coat of fur in winter. When the comb is full, containing approximately 100 grams, the cashmere is pulled off and collected in a bag, making sure that nothing is wasted. The young animals will give 200 grams of cashmere, the mature animals usually 300 to 400 grams. Cashmere is worth twenty to forty dollars per kilogram. The sheep are sheared in early summer depending on the weather, usually at the end of June. Unlike the goats, which retain their normal

54

Chapter 3

coat of fur, the sheep are stripped of the entire coat of wool and are there­ fore much more vulnerable to shifting weather conditions. The herder judges when weather conditions allow shearing, which may be a bit of a gamble. Shearing makes the animals more energetic, but if done too early they are in danger of getting sick and dying. In early July 2000, for in­ stance, just after most herders had sheared their sheep, a rapid change of weather resulted in a freezing cold rainstorm, which killed sheep in the thousands. Flocks of helpless sheep panicked in the strong winds, run­ ning with the wind in search of protection and eventually getting lost and freezing to death. Combing and shearing are done by the entire family. Small children are taught how to tie the animals' legs and to use the comb and scissors. A single animal may be finished in ten to fifteen minutes. Thus, depending on the size of the herd, the work may stretch from a day or two to several weeks.

Summer

After all female animals have given birth in the spring, the most impor­ tant activities in the summer are milking and processing. The milking sea­ son for cattle comes first; a small number of cattle may be milked already beginning in February. The milking lasts until October. Controlled breed­ ing of cattle is now at a low level, and thus the distinction between milk and meat animals has weakened. Some herders maintain a few milk cows, which may give as much as twenty liters per day in the summer, but most "common" cows will give only a few liters. The yak cows also give very little milk, but their milk is very tasty and of high fat content, so it is ex­ cellent for processing. For sheep and goats the milking stretches from June to August. Milk from cattle, yak, sheep, and goats is used for the tra­ ditional products listed below. It has again become customary to ask a lama's advice on the proper time to start milking, especially for the horses, which are commonly milkpH from mid-June to late November. Thus an auspicious day will be chosen for this event, and first milk may be offered to spirits. Summer is the sea­ son of abundance for all, and any herding family with more than just a few animals will have a suiplus of milk far beyond what they can consume. This milk is worked up into various traditional products, including several kinds of butter, yoghurt, cheese, and curd as listed on p. 64. Each product has specific qualities and uses. Except for horses, all animals are milked twice a day. It is the exclusive responsibility of the women to milk the animals and to process the milk, on top of cooking and cleaning for the family. For this reason, the Mon­ golian men enjoy a freedom from work in summertime unparalleled in

Cycles of Movement and Work

55

most other cultures. The first milking must take place in the early morn­ ing hours when the animals are still gathered around the camp and the lit­ tle ones are kept inside a fold close to the ger. After being milked, each an­ imal is united with its little one, which eagerly runs to its mother, and after it has sucked her teat they wander off to the pasture together. All milk from cattle, sheep, and goats is first boiled at the hearth inside the ger, using mainly dried animal dung for fuel. In late afternoon the animals are driven to the camp to be milked anew. All male animals are castrated, except for a few bulls, rams, and stal­ lions chosen for breeding purposes. Castration is necessary to avoid fight­ ing for male dominance in the herd, and it prevents the animals from de­ veloping the male hormones that will make their meat inedible. Sheep and goats are castrated after one year, calves at two years, and the colts at two or three years. The castration of the precious horses is a particularly ceremonious event involving both the advice of a lama for proper timing and the joint work efforts of the entire family. We were invited to participate in this event at the summer place of Batmonkh's brother, Batjargal. An auspicious day in the lunar calendar, the fifteenth of the first summer month is chosen and relatives are called in to make sure all horses are castrated the same day. If a family owns just a few colts they are caught with the urga (a long pole with a loop in the far end) one by one, but if more numerous aU horses may be driven into a corral, where the colts can be singled out. Batjargal owns nearly one hundred horses and over twenty must be castrated this day. Catching horses with the urga, driv­ ing teams into a corral, castrating the colts, and so forth demand great skills. The Mongolian horse is small of stature but sturdy and extremely fast. All work with the horses tends to be time consuming, as the nerv­ ous and swift-moving animals frequently bolt for several miles across the steppe, only to return at the same speed once a rider reaches them; a herder on horseback will hardly catch up with a horse on the loose. Even inside the corral, working with horses is hazardous, as particu­ larly the young colts may kick and bite each other viciously. Handling the horses is a job for several men and generally demands cooperation between households. Once a colt is taken out, its legs are tied and the animal is knocked over. The hind leg on the side of the animal facing upwards is pulled forward and tied with a rope around the neck to give access to the genitals. The colt's testicles are washed and a knife rinsed in boiling water is used to cut the skin open. The two testicles are cut loose and taken out and the wound is rinsed in mare's milk, which is supposed to promote healing. The animal does not appear to experi­ ence much pain during the operation, but tends to be in a state of con­ fusion when let loose on the steppe. Then come several ceremonial acts.

56

Chapter 3

which BaQ'argal cheerfully performs: one testicle is pierced with a knife and fastened to the tail of the animal; it is assumed that once the testi­ cle is dry the wound has healed up. The confused animal is then let loose and eventually joins the team. The other testicle is fried in the ashes of the hearth and eaten by the head of the household—the horses are the herder's pride and by this act he is believed to gain some of the stal­ lion's vitality. This area of Mongolia specialized in cross-breeding between Mongo­ lian cows and yak bulls, which produces the khainak. The cross-breed, of which the bull is sterile and the cow unfit for further breeding, is bigger than both of the parent animals. Indeed, the castrated khainak bulls can reach a considerable body weight. They are used for traction, most im­ portantly when moving the camp, and have considerable value as a source of meat. Because transportation is now scarce, khainak breeding has gained importance. For Mongolian livestock herders, summer is a short period of freedom and joy. Milk is plenty, work is relatively easy, and there is extensive so­ cializing. In late summer, however, preparation for the tough winter months calls the herders back into action.

Autumn August and September are the months for cutting hay in the mountains. The large territory of Khotont sum leaves many areas ungrazed or specif­ ically set aside for hay cutting. Since the density of population and ani­ mals is greater in the northern part of the sum, which is also lower ground with higher grazing pressure, most hay is cut in the southern parts. The vast majority of herding families cluster on the northern steppe and along the two rivers in the summer, when there is plenty of water for the ani­ mals. Hay-cutting areas are typically hillsides, valleys, and ravines that are either too far from the main tracks, without stable water sources, or plagued by insects in the summer that cause the animals to run away. The large animals, in particular, are attracted to running streams of water in the summer. Previously hay was cut on a collective basis as organized by the negdel leadership. Tractor-drawn mowers were frequently used, and the hay was transported to the individual suurs on negdel trucks. The negdel sup­ plied ensilage and fodder pills as calculated in production plans. Emer­ gency fodder supplies were organized at the national level to be em­ ployed in needy areas. Today this is all history and every family must cut and store hay for its own needs. Transportation is scarce and most herders now make use of oxcarts. One result of these changes is a stronger emphasis on native Mongolian breeds of animals that can toler­

Cycles of Movement and Work

57

ate the cold weather better; pure milking breeds of cattle, for instance, are no longer found. Another result is that considerably less hay is cut, as every household collects only enough to carry the animals through shorter periods of heavy snow cover. Assuming good quality hay (2 kilograms of hay for 1 fodder unit), we may roughly estimate fodder needs as 1.5 kilograms per day for small animals and 6 kilograms per day for large animals.^ A household with a total of 140 animals (100 small and 40 large animals) would accord­ ingly need 390 kilograms of hay per day to maintain the body weight of the animals. In theory, feeding the animals for a full winter month would require over ten tons of hay, feeding them for two months would require over twenty tons, and so forth. In actual practice the animals are left to graze for themselves throughout the winter months according to the natural capability of each species. The crucial variable is snow cover, which under some weather conditions may freeze to a hard icy surface, preventing the animals from grazing. When protracted this condition is known as a zud, or white zud. The animals have very dif­ ferent means of coping .with snow and ice; some are more sensitive to it than others. The cattle tend to be the most sensitive, since they may scrape the snow with their hoofs but have little ability to separate grass from snow with their lips. Most cattle today are various hybrids be­ tween the native Mongolian race and imported Kazakh, Frisian, Here­ ford, Simmental, and other breeds, some of which are very sensitive to cold weather (particularly the milking cow hybrids). Horses, goats, and sheep have greater ability to scrape and segregate the grass with their sensitive lips; the sheep are the least adroit of the three. When the dreaded zud hits, animals tend to die off in the following sequence; cat­ tle, sheep, horses, and finally goats (the most resistant), though not every animal conforms to this pattern. Because of Central Asia's immense climatic variation from year to year and the unequal spatial distribution of precipitation, even from one val­ ley to the next, a herder can never calculate with any accuracy the amount of fodder needed to carry his animals through the winter. Assuming the average number of days with heavy snow cover—approximately thirty— a herder should prepare a minimum of ten tons of hay. In practice, each kind of animal and each individual animal is fed hay according to its con­ dition, taking into consideration its age, sex, value, health, and ability to survive. Also, the animals' natural ability to live off the body weight they put on in summer is exploited in that they are rarely fed the volume needed to maintain their body weight. In addition to hay, some herders collect wild onions, mushrooms, and other herbs, particularly to support weak and sick animals. Providing for one's animals is a matter of pride few herders would admit to collecting insufficient hay for the winter.

58

Chapter 3

Generally speaking, the exemplary herder discussed above would esti­ mate that he needed at least five tons of hay. During the first autumn of fieldwork, the herders generally collect any; where from a few tons to up to twenty tons of hay, according to their es­ timates. Yet it was our impression that they sometimes overestimated their store of hay. For many herders, this would prove fatal in the heavy zud of the following winter. The zud is not so much a natural catastrophe as a natural condition that occurs at regular intervals, on average every six to seven years. It is af­ fected by heavy snowfall, which sometimes creates a layer of ice that pre­ vents animals from grazing. If the snow or ice covers all accessible pasture for a long period of time, the store of hay will be eaten up, and within a couple of days the animals will start perishing. If weather conditions al­ low, the herder may try to reach distant pastures; this activity is called otor, or long-distance migration. If the zud is accompanied by extreme tem­ peratures and strong winds, such migration is not possible. Thus the zud may turn into an economic and eventually a social catastrophe. The year of my fieldwork, however, nobody felt they were taking chances. The na­ tional economy was picking up, and nature and society finally seemed to be working together to ensure the Mongolian nation a brighter future. Cutting hay may be organized on a joint basis in the ail, but the func­ tion of this unit as a cooperative unit to replace the old socialist institu­ tions should not be overstated. In fact, most households collect hay on a private basis, since the technology now used is so simple that joint work is hardly feasible, or they collect hay on the basis of father-son or brother­ brother relations. In most cases, the hay may be cut and stored in the win­ ter camp in one or two weeks. The products of the entire milking season are to a large extent the same as those of the late summer and autumn. Except for the milking of cows, which in good years may take place year-round, the milking of horses ex­ tends the longest, typically from mid-June into November or even early December. Mare's milk is exclusively used for fermentation to produce the highly cherished Mongolian airag (kumiss). Horses carry only small amounts of milk, though, and they must be milked several times a day (typically five to six times) to optimize production. At each milking, the foal must first suck its mod^er's teat to start the milk running, after which a few deciliters can be milked. Each mare can produce approximately 1.5 liters per day. The production of airag is very simple and follows ancient ways. The milk is collected in medium-size containers of wood, plastic, or aluminum and left to ferment by means of its own natural bacteria. A large rod is used to stir the milk to keep it from getting lumpy; the more frequently it is stirred, the better the result. After a few days the fermentation slows

Cycles of Movement and Work

59

down and the milk becomes fizzy with an alcohol content of 2 to 3 per­ cent. If well stirred, fresh, and served cool, the airag is both tasty and nour­ ishing. But if it is neglected during fermentation it becomes lumpy, dirty, and quickly turns sour; drinking it can thus be a real trial for a foreigner. The final product is collected in large containers and may keep fresh for a few months, only gradually turning sour. Since many families produce far more airag than they can possibly con­ sume—even when they do their best—a surplus will typically build up. There are three possible ways of dealing with this surplus: storing, selling, or distilling it. Most families will store some airag for use in the winter, es­ pecially during the traditional New Year, the White Moon festival. Most families attempt to sell airag, but with varying degrees of success. Only ur­ ban areas constitute real markets, though some airag may be sold along the main roads. Surplus airag and yogurt (which is mixed and left to ferment further) may be distilled to become shimiin arkhi, the Mongolian vodka. The equip­ ment used is quite simple and efficient.^ It consists of a common rounded cooking pan placed on the stove. A wooden barrel with open ends is placed on the pan. Another pan similar to the first is placed on top of the barrel. Inside the barrel, a small container is suspended. Portions of the pulp are heated in the lower pan, which makes the alcohol evaporate into the open space inside the barrel. Since the pan on top is cooler, the alco­ hol condenses into small drops on the lower side of the top pan and slowly runs to the center point of the curved pan, yvhere it drips into the small container suspended inside the barrel. After distilling, the pulp is left to drip into a bag. It is finally dried in the sun to become curd. Drinking arkhi is considered good for your health. All family members except infants will drink at least a few cups every day. The men tend to drink a lot more, however, and often become intoxicated. Some men are intoxicated regularly, or in fact the better part of the milking season. Drinking arkhi is considered manly and is a subject of much joking among the men; anyone who cannot drink is considered a wimp. When I visited a herding household one hot summer day, several men were lying on the floor in the central section of the ger, singing and toasting. When I teasingly asked them what the toughest part of being a herder was, one man replied, "To wake up at two o'clock in the afternoon and start distilling arkhil" li the arkhi distillation is less successful and the milk of lower qual­ ity, someone may suggest, "Think of it as Bingo (a Russian soda) and swallow it!" When I asked about their work routines in the summer, one man replied, with gusto, "Drinking airag and distilling arkhil" Given the considerable consumption of alcohol, I decided to estimate the amount of arkhi distilled in a "typical" household. We spent some time in the household that had received the group of biogeneticists and myself

60

Chapters

the year before, observing their production routines. On the basis of their 150 animals, and with little access to marketing, they estimated that they distilled approximately 30 liters of pulp every day, producing 3 liters of arkhi with roughly 20 percent alcohol content. Higher volumes may be distilled with a lower alcohol content depending on the equipment and care used. Households with larger herds may distill 6 to 7 liters or, in the­ ory, as much as 10 liters per day, depending largely on their energy and the fuel available, since milk is abundant in summer. The slaughtering season starts in late November when the animals reach their maximum weight. The domestic meat requirement for a household of four is estimated at two large and three to five small ani­ mals per year, allowing a daily consumption of 150 to 250 grams of meat per person (not counting the consumption of fat and inner organs). Herders tend to prefer the meat of sheep, followed in order by that of cat­ tle, goats, and horses. The meat of mature animals is preferred since it has developed a "good taste." It may be necessary to slaughter animals in summer in order to get fresh meat, but herders deplore this. Meat can­ not be sold locally and cultural values dictate that nothing be wasted (see chapter 6). The animals are mostly slaughtered the traditional way, which pre­ vents loss of blood and leaves pelts undamaged. Blood is considered sacred and pouring blood on the ground is taboo, as is pouring milk into the river. The sheep or goat chosen for slaughter is separated from the flock and put down on its back while its feet are bound. The animals are accustomed to this handling from the yearly shearing and combing, and the trust they have built in humans limits their struggle. Once the animal is tied, its abdomen is cut with a cleansed knife, making an opening just big enough for a hand to slide in. The herder finds the an­ imal's heart and clamps it to stop the beat. The animal does not seem to be in great pain, but for several seconds the clutching of its heart causes spasmodic reactions throughout its body, until the blood circulation ceases and the animal dies. With all blood retained in the animal, the skin is stripped off; cuts are made around the hoofs, along the legs, around the neck, and all along the abdomen, allowing the skin to be pulled off easily like an overcoat. Only then is the abdomen cut open and the inner organs removed. The animal's blood is then collected from the cavity with a small bowl, and finally the head, feet, and tail are chopped off, leaving the pure meat and bones for further cutting. Whereas the men caii slaughter an animal in just five to ten minutes, cooking and processing its individual parts takes considerably longer and tends to be a joint family undertaking. The inner organs are usually boiled and eaten immediately, since they are not suitable for storing. The blood is poured into intestines and boiled to become blood

Cycles of Movemeni and Work

61

sausage. All meats are hung up to be stored for longer or shorter peri­ ods. The head of the animal is a delicacy and is prepared in several tra­ ditional ways. While mutton starts rotting when stored too long, goat meat and par­ ticularly beef are suitable for drying. The meat is separated from the fat and bones and cut into large slices one to two centimeters thick, p^e sUces are hung up to dry in the storage ger; they're usually freeze-dried since temperatures have already dropped below zero. After a few months the meat is hard and dry enough to be stored in small sacks or containers. For cooking, the meat must be cut and softened with metal tools (for instance, by pounding it with a hammer) before it is boiled in a soup with noodles. Dried meat, known as bortz, may be stored for very long periods and serves as the stable source of protein through the year when fresh meat is not available. Late autumn is also the season for trading live animals to be slaugh­ tered in the city. Private traders roam the countryside at irregular inter­ vals. Their business practices (described in chapters 6 and 8) account for the irregularity and to some extent for the lack of trust between herders and traders. Transportation is scarce, and deteriorating infrastructure fur­ ther impedes steady trade relations, particularly in the remotest areas, where trade is affected dramatically. Only cashmere and live animals pro­ vide a steady source of income for herders, while wool may be sold at a very low price. The traders usually exchange these products for the com­ mon necessities of the nomadic lifestyle: flour, sugar, tea, clothes, shoes, boots, candles, and other items. Felt making is another vital part of preparation for winter. Heavy felt is used for ger covers, mats, boots, and many other purposes. During the period of the negdel, a collective unit for making ger covers was estab­ lished to serve the herders, but after it was discontinued felt had to ei­ ther be bought on the market or produced at home. Felt making is a tra­ ditional craft that all herders master. The sheep wool is separated by hand and spread out in an even layer on a large cloth, tarpaulin, or sheet of rubber. Then the wool is repeatedly struck with a stick or leather belt to make it fluffy; periodically it is pulled apart and leveled out by hand. When the wool has reached a satisfactory condition, it is soaked with water to affix the fibers, and the carpet of wool is covered with a layer of material similar to the layer below. The two layers with the wool in between are rolled up tightly and left to dry for several days. The mois­ turizing and drying process is repeated several times before the felt has become strong and smooth on the surface. The felt produced this way has a thickness of approximately one centimeter. Larger pieces of felt are rolled up on a long pole, with the ends of the pole exposed. Ropes are fastened to the pole ends and joined. A horse and rider will pull the roU

62

Chapter 3

over level ground for many miles, until the felt has reached the state de­ scribed above. To keep people warm during the cold winter months, it is essential that the ger be kept in good condition. The felt covers may last for sev­ eral years but will eventually rot and fall apart. In autumn faulty pieces of felt must be replaced and an extra layer added to the one used in sum­ mer. To make the ger weather resistant, a thin cover of waterproof mate­ rial, usually cotton or linen, is placed over the felt, giving the ger its char­ acteristic white appearance. This cover must be purchased from traders or in the city. Collection of the dung of large animals for fuel is an activity that stretches year-round, but during autumn a reserve is collected for the winter months, when more dung is needed for heating and when collec­ tion may be hampered by bad weather. Dried animal dung is an excellent fuel, and horse dung especially (and perhaps surprisingly to the uniniti­ ated) gives off a nice fragrance resembling that of incense. Since Khotont is fairly rich in forests, many herders bum wood or use a combination of wood and dung. Trees may be felled in the forest with permission from the local government, and the trunks are transported to the camp, where they are sawed and cleaved by hand. The animal shelters placed at the winter campsites are relatively small, built from small tree trunks and laths, with flat, low-pitched roofs and the south-facing front left open. Since the woodwork is thatched with turf and animal dung, the shelters must be repaired in early winter. The north Tibetan-type closed stable dug into a hillside is not used here, although it would offer better protection for the animals. In cold weather the front of the shelter may be closed with a tarpaulin, but most often the animals just keep each other warm, as the temperature inside the shelter will hardly rise above that outside. Sewing and repairing clothes and boots is a year-round activity that also intensifies before winter. The traditional dress for both men and women, the deel, is usually sewn at home from garments bought in town or traded for animals. Ordinary boots and shoes are also purchased, but the traditional felt boots, that are more suited for extreme temperatures, are made by hand. The mating season of the various kinds of animals, stretching from Au­ gust to October, is also a time when the herder must see to the healthy breeding of his stock. For sheep, for example, custom prescribes that five rams be exchanged with other herders yearly to avoid inbreeding (some­ thing that should not be taken literally). Male animals are exchanged on a regular basis, such as every second year, but the meticulous animal selec­ tion and controlled breeding activities of the negdel have mostly been dis­ continued.

Cycles of Movement and Work

63

Winter

ITie winter period is more quiet than autumn, and if the nomadic house­ hold is well prepared for it, winter may allow for much rest and leisure. Due to the extreme temperatures of Central Asia, which occasionally drop below -40° C, winter is also a test of the herder's ability to make sure humai'JS and animals survive. Even in the winter the climate usually is very dry, with frequent sunshine and high blue skies, permitting people to move about weariiig little more than a common deel and the animals to graze in the hills all day. But rapidly dropping temperatures and vicious blizzards that cut through one's bones may hit at any time—indeed, at any time of the year—when it may be nearly impossible to leave the ger and the animals cannot graze. The blizzards rarely last more than a few days, though, and if the animals are protected in their shelters and fed snxall amounts of hay, they will survive. Most dreaded are prolonged pe­ riods of heavy snow or ice cover, which inevitably will wear down the an­ imals' protective fat and muscle. As noted, the common herder may only feed his animals on a limited number of days in winter to support them in extreme circumstances; when the hay is used and the animals still can­ not graze they will die off one by one. The extreme cold and heavy snow cover in the winters of 1999-2000 and 2000-2001—two consecutive years of zud—decimated many herds and left no herder undamaged. Once the milking, mating, and slaughtering seasons are over, the care of the animals is limited to herding them to pasture, checking them a few times during the day, and making sure that they return to their shelters at night. Since the herder knows every single animal, he must ensure its in­ dividual care and guard its health: when the animals are fatigued in win­ ter and early spring, they are prone to contracting a number of diseases, some of which are contagious to both animals and humans. Wolves take a heavy toll when the animals are fatigued. Since joint preventive action against the wolves' puppies has terminated, nearly all herders occasion­ ally lose animals. The yak need less care than other domestic animals. Well adapted to mountain territory, the yak are let loose in the mountains to care for them­ selves in winter and need only be checked a couple of times a month. Even the wolves refrain from attacking herds of yak, since the sturdy bulls will defend the herd aggressively.

DOMESTIC PRODUCTS

At first glance, the common products of the herding family reflect a re­ turn to a traditional lifestyle and diet, with an emphasis on domestic

64

Chapter 3

milk and meat products. The products listed below are indeed of ancient origin, but their dominant position at present results from a low level of exchange, which forces most .herders to pursue strategies with greater emphasis on "subsistence." Collapsing local markets, even the tradi­ tional ones connected to temples and fairs, and a low level of occupa­ tional specialization have resulted in a "primalization" of production. Today nearly every family, including those in the sum center, has some domestic animals for their own consumption needs and turns out these products.

Tarag Orum Shar tos Tsagaan tos

(yogurt) (raw butter) (yellow butter) (white butter)

Eezgii

(curd)

Khailmag

(flour balls)

Byaslag Aaruul Airag Arkhi Aarts Borts

(cheese) (curd) (kumiss) (vodka) (dried pulp) (dried meat)

Tsusan hiam

(blood sausage)

Made from sheep, goat, and cow milk Made from sheep, goat, and cow milk Boiled orum Mixed from boiled orum, aarts, flour, eezgii, and sugar Milk mixed with yogurt and boiled into small hard chunks Mixed from boiled orum, flour, and sugar Made from sheep, goat, and cow milk Dried aarts Fermented mare's milk Distilled airag and tarag Remains from distillation Preferably made from beef, but goat meat may be used Made from animal intestines filled with blood and boiled

COMMON DISHES AND DRINKS Lavshaa

(noodle soup)

Pyartem Suutei tsai

(noodle soup) (milk tea)

Bantan

(meat soup)

Camber bing

(pastry)

Boortsog

(pastry)

A common soup of homemade noodles and bits of meat Like lavshaa but with small noodles Tea (crushed brick tea) with milk, salt, and sometimes butter Chopped meat, boiled and stirred with flour into a thick soup Cakes made from flour mixed with oil and fried in animal fat Cakes made from flour fried in cattle or other animal fat

Cycles of Movement and Work

65

PHYSICAL AND SOCIAL DETERMINANTS OF MOVEMENT Since the animals graze continually, the grass will eventually be eaten up around the camp and in the surrounding pastures. In the cold Central Asian climate, the grass needs considerable time to recover—on sensitive ground, preferably a full year—and the grass roots are in danger of being trampled by the animals. The herding household must move on at regu­ lar intervals to optimize production and to protect the pasture. Except in the winter encampment, convention instructs people never to stay more than sixty to seventy days in one location. Consequently a household should move four to five times during a normal year, which is what most households tend to do. The major considerations for choosing campsites are grazing, water, and protection for the animals, including protection against insects and wolves, and access to roads, tracks, other campsites, and in some instances, schools. In the early spring months of February and March, the herder house­ holds move from their winter camps to the spring pasture. It is now vi­ tal to find new grass for the fatigued animals and to ensure their shelter from cold winds and snowstorms. In May, herders may make a short move into more open ground, taking advantage of the new grass sprout­ ing everywhere. When combing the goats for cashmere starts in the spring, the choice of pasture may be influenced by access to trading op­ portunities. In July, when grazing is abundant, both people and animals are at­ tracted to the cooler open spaces and water. The large northern steppe, which is relatively dry but with good watering holes, and the long fertile valleys along the rivers are the most attractive locations. In summer, the main considerations are water for the animals and access to social life, transportation, and trade; in this season mainly wool and airag may be sold. The northern steppe is excellent for horses and also good for sheep and goats, but herders in this area tend to have fewer cattle. The only flock of camels in the sum, totaling several hundred, is also kept here. All kinds of animals are grazed along the rivers, which are mostly surrounded by forest steppe. The river basins are fertile and in many places quite damp; in several localities they turn into marshland. Cattle and horses will stay in the valley (horses frequently stand in the river itself), while sheep and goats will graze the steep hillsides on either side of the river basin. The combination of plentiful water in the valleys and a vast number of insects in the mountains in the summer expbins why summer grazing tends to take place at a lower level and winter grazing at a higher level. But the dif­ ference in elevation is not great, usually no more than a few hundred me­ tres. Only in the southern territories, which mostly consist of mountains and mountain steppe and in some places have alpine characteristics, may

66

Chapter 3

herders move up to higher ground in summer to exploit pasture that is inaccessible in other seasons due to the cold climate. In autumn, usually in September, herders move away from the summer pasture toward less grazed pasture along rivers and on open ground. They may take advantage of hilly areas that were inaccessible in the sum­ mer because of insects. The trade in live animals takes place in late au­ tumn and early winter, when the animals have reached their maximum weight; the nomadic household prefers to stay close to roads and tracks then. The ability to cut hay and store it in the winter quarters also counts in the choice of pasture. In October and November, herders begin to move towards the actual winter grazing areas, usually the naturally protected valleys and hill­ sides at slightly higher ground found in the mountains behind the front row of hills that tend to be grazed year-round. Winter pastures must have high grass, be protected from spring to autumn, and have shielded south-facing slopes that are heated by the sun and thus better resist snow cover. The winter shelters are usually placed in the moun­ tains at mid-elevation, preferably in south-facing recesses and con­ nected by small tracks to one of the main tracks that follow the rivers or traverse the mountains. During the socialist era, the negdel leadership allotted both animals and pasture to every single household; any strategic decision was made cen­ trally. Thus, for a full generation, allocation of pasture and determination of herding strategy was not a matter of individual choice. But with decol­ lectivization came a complete breakdown of pasture regulation. Inadequate regulation and communal pasture management continue to cause problems, particularly the concentration of people and animals in the north, but a failure to protect the vital winter pastures from trespass­ ing herders in summer also brings problems. For example, one summer day we drove through a narrow gully in the northwestern part of the sum that is exclusively used for winter pasture. Suddenly a lonely ger became visible among several winter shelters. Since it aroused my curiosity I de­ cided to pay the inhabitants a visit. They were newcomers from another sum, having camped here while contemplating where to go next. These trespassers were already under much pressure to move. Herders who feel their domains are being encroached upon may take matters into their own hands: a few days prior to our visit, two large calves were stolen from the trespassers, a heavy blow considering their small herd. When we came back the same way two days later, the family had moved. Both pressure from other herders and my attention had presumably influenced their movement. Besides the need for grazing and water for the animals (both of which must be available at all times of the year) ai^d for protection against the

Cycles of Movement and Work

67

biting northern winds in the cold seasons, other considerations in the placement of the camp are also important. We have already mentioned those pesky insects, which particularly in July and August are hatched in such numbers that they become pests everywhere. The insects are mainly varieties of flies and mosquitoes that are not harmful to the animals, but in some locations where the grass is fine (for instance, on higher pastures near the forest) they are so numerous that the animals cannot stay there. The insects swarm in such numbers that the sky darkens and any living creature will be swathed in insects that fill its eyes and even get into its mouth; even breathing can be difficult at times. It is a common saying that "the good herder puts the needs of his ani­ mals first." In real life, the herding household will balance the needs of animals and humans; after all, animals are domesticated for the sake of human survival. The desire to live near friends and relatives strongly af­ fects people's choice of pasture, especially in the summer when affluence permits people to form larger encampments. Tradition requires sons to set up their households at their father's encampment, but in reality the choice of encampment (ail or khot ail) tends to be a pragmatic one that takes into account both kinship and friendship. The nomadic household's movements follow a set pattern only to the extent that natural and social circumstances permit. Apart from access to trade, the social conditions include the distribution of camps and an­ imals over the landscape, a consideration that we cannot truly call pas­ ture management since no supervising body or local associations allo­ cate pasture to people and the grazing pressure is not monitored. The natural conditions include the unequal and changing distribution of rainfall as well as changing temperatures that influence grass growth. No two years are similar, and when we consider all the major natural and social variables involved in the choice of a campsite—adequate grass, a reliable sources of water, protection for the animals, access to transportation, and the social or work-related choices of the herding households—the result is that great variation in patterns of movement is seen from year to year. Many households acknowledge that only their winter quarters are "permanent." Yet they tend to stick to a pat­ tern of movement between general locations, such as specific valleys, riverbanks, and wells. It is left entirely to the herder's individual judg­ ment where he can graze his animals at all times of the year, but informarprinciples apply, just as informal means of protecting one's pasture may be used. The conventional principles for choosing a campsite first of all re­ quire a herding household to "belong" to the area in question, meaning that they were born and raised there. It is accepted that younger gener­ ations will settle down where their parents and grandparents grazed

68

Chapter 3

their animals, including when returning from the city or from employ­ ment assigned elsewhere during Communism. With the simultaneous breakup of the negdel and the breakdown of the national economy, which resulted in mass unemployment, thousands of families returned from towns and cities to a herding lifestyle. This did not generally cause con­ troversy, since the migrants could claim a native status, and urban life had only thm roots in the young MongoUan state. Young townspeople were occasionally looked down upon for their poor herding skills, but their presence was accepted, much like the grazing of animals by herding fam­ ilies in another area is accepted in times of natural disaster such as the zud. Whenever possible, the young settled with relatives. Joining the ail of a group of local people has not only social and coop­ erative purposes. It is also a protective measure against potential hostility from surrounding herding families. Weak individuals, incomplete fami­ lies, families with insufficient labor sources or other problems, and those who have been forced by circumstances to leave their homes commonly join an ail. Acceptance by an ail gives access to the local area and the op­ portunity to graze one's animals within an established herd that enjoys grazing rights and protection. Although closer kin have easier access, re­ lations of kinship are "stretched" to include distant relatives, in-laws, and in-laws' relatives, without, however, retreating from the principle of one family-one hearth. Thus, newcomers must have their own ger and their own animals.

MOVING AND BELONGING The historical administrative units of aimag, sum, and bag (Khotont consti­ tutes orie of nineteen sums in Arkangai aimag) still form the bases of terri­ torial division. In 1990 central government regulations stipulated sum ter­ ritories as natural boundaries for nomadic movement, while permitting out-of-bounds grazing under severe conditions. In 2000 all restrictions on nomadic movement were abolished. Tradition still tends to rule, however, as the herders in many localities will defend the sum borders against even casual intruders from neighboring sums. During the negdel, herders were in principle limited to their bag, and a certain competition between bags sometimes resulted in grazing skirmishes along bag borders. Today herders definitely feel a sense of belonging to the sum adminis­ trative unit, which used to be their negdel. But they feel a stronger sense of belonging to the bag, which was their work brigade with its own leader­ ship and facilities. In practice, most herding families tend to move within their own bags, whose borders were originally laid out to permit gracing in all seasons. ®

Cycles of Movement and Work

69

Like other agriculturists and despite their nomadic way of life, herders are home-loving people with strong bonds to their native land: the bag is the native landscape that frames their home. Only a more com­ plex conception of home distinguishes herders from sedentary farmers in this respect. While for the sedentary farmer home is strictly localized in the tilled land and the farmhouse, for the herder home is a moveable structure (the ger) and a landscape combined. In this landscape, the herder appropriates a transient campground as well as pasture for the animals, but gives them back in the same unspoiled condition upon the land's re­ covery, thereby fostering a spiritual perspective on the living habitat. While for the common farmer the tilled earth is life-giving and sacred, for the herder the entire landscape is animated with restorative forces. Thus home is a pattern rather than a location for herders. They pursue a cycle of movement through well-known territory, exploiting dissimilar grazing opportunities in well-defined eco-zones as permitted by cir­ cumstances. From ancient time, herders were forced to depart from their home ter­ ritories when the grass vanished or snow and ice prohibited the animals from reaching it. The temporary grazing of some or all animals away from home is called otor. The zud measures, whereby strangers in need are per­ mitted to graze their animals away from home as long as natural condi­ tions prevent them from returning, are known to everyone. A new situa­ tion arose after 1990, when an excessively liberalized market society combined with government neglect of infrastructure and communication in rural areas resulted in a mass exodus of herders from peripheral terri­ tories. For these herders, the crucial rate of exchange between outputs and inputs in the herding economy deteriorated unbearably. Within a radius of several hundred kilometers around Ulaanbaatar, the only true market in Mongolia, every sum received herding families who had migrated from their native lands. Khotont is at the watershed between sums characterized by in-migration and out-migration, with almost equal numbers of families leaving and coming. In recent years, fifty to one hundred people have settled down in Khotont annually, coming mainly from the western and northwestern aimags. To a large extent they have replaced local families who have gone to the city, though movement in both directions affirms the attraction of the central parts of the country and ultimately the city. A more somber consequence of this migration, however, is a growing divide between ru­ ral and urban areas. Those who leave for the city are the wealthy and the educated, including young people enrolling at the university, while those coming in are mainly marginalized herders. The herders coming in may be compelled by circumstances, but it is a challenge to any herding community to admit strangers who have sufficient

70

Chapter 3

grass in their own lands. Convention demands that new herder families consult local people and respect their advice on where to graze their an­ imals. But they are still seen as intruders, and since they are vulnerable to theft and harassment they need to be cautious to avoid confronta­ tion. Conflicts over pasture are one of the biggest sources of controversy in Mongolian herding culture, but they are only communicated to outsiders with great reservation. Herders are taught to welcome compatriots, as the steppe is customarily viewed as a boundless space that will accommodate all true Mongolians. When asked about such conflicts, they will maintain that relations among local people are harmonious. Like thefts of animals— which I only learned about from police—arid violence (the results of which are difficult to hide), conflicts over pasture are usually considered strictly personal business. Unlike the Chinese, however, Mongolians will not deny instances of such conflict once they are confronted with other people's knowledge of them. They will talk, for instance, of knocking over gers when people were not home, chasing their animals away, or stealing animals or equipment. Apart from the essential requirement of "belonging" to a local area, so­ cial rules regulate the choice of campsite. Herders are expected to respect established campsites and to keep a distance from them—for example, 200 meters—allowing each camp enough space to gather their animals at night without strife or interference. People who "belong" to the same ter­ ritory usually get along very well. However, there may be competition over attractive sites, such as those with abundant grass along the rivers in summer, and in all seasoris' moving early may involve risks—most herders prefer a well-considered move over taking their chances. Nobody can claim an exact location for their camp, though, and the prerogative of those arriving first is respected. The recent habit among wealthy herders to build small cabins on their summer pasture should be seen in the con­ text of a wish to mark territories with good grazing. Given the prospect of new land law granting private ownership to land, anyone in Mongolia who has the ability has joined the craze of seizing control of areas to be prepared. Thus, the small cabins are status symbols in a double sense, as they demonstrate both the herder's success and his interest in national politics and development.

SETTING UP THE CAMP Convention requires that settled families receive new neighbors well. A thermos of fresh milk tea and sometimes a bite to eat are brought to new-

Cycles of Movement and Work

71

coiners as soon as they arrive and start setting up their ger, since they can­ not cook until the hearth is installed. Setting up or dismantling the ger usually takes a couple of hours. AU family members participate, perhaps assisted by other relatives or friends. The sequence of work follows a highly ritualized pattern that is known to anyone and serves to emphasize social organization and the herding iden­ tity. Choosing a site for the ger is the responsibility and privilege of the male head of household, or of the eldest male in the case of a camp with several gers. The two center poles (bagana) are erected with the wheel (toono) on top. The sixty-four beams, or "spears" (wn), are placed with their pointed heads in the square holes on the edge of the wheel, and the rear ends are tied to the circumference of the waU sections, made of foldable wattle. Wooden storage chests, dismantled iron beds, and other furniture are car­ ried into the ger and placed in their proper positions before the waUs are in place to get easy access; this is the work of women and children. Each piece of furniture and equipment has a predetermined place and order of arrangement in a ritualized and highly efficient joint operation. When putting the waU sections into place (usually six in the normal-size ger used today), the door is positioned toward the south. Dismantling is done in the exact reverse order. When everything is packed, the train of oxcarts and pack animals set out in a clockwise circle of rotation before heading in the direction of the new campsite. If it consists of several households, the camp wiU form an east-west line of gers, in which the elder households are placed toward the west and the younger toward the east. This is the ideal arrangement, but sloping ground or rocks may upset the pattern since the pragmatic need for level camping ground takes priority. When the camp is moved to a new location, the animals must also adapt to new territory. "Introducing" the animals to each other may, in fact, be more unpredictable than whether people accept new neigh­ bors. Under nomadic conditions the animals are constantly uprooted from their territories and driven into a new locality where other herds may have already begun to assert their dominance. The animals are as used to moving as the herders, but herds often clash when they are left alone on the pasture. Upon arriving on new pasture a herd of ani­ mals may start encircling another herd to force it out and male animals may start fighting. One time when we were talking outside a ger with a family, one of their girls dashed toward us, shouting and pointing to­ ward the hillside. Their flock of sheep and goats were turning against a neighboring flock, and several hundred animals from each side were running their heads together. In such cases, action must be prompt.

Chapter 3

72

A young woman jumped on a horse and galloped up the hill to sepa­ rate them.

DIVERGING PATTERNS OF MOVEMENT

Tremendous variation in topography, precipitation, biomass, and access to water, even within Khotont sum, makes for diverging patterns of movement.^ Natural and social incentives for each movement in the no­ madic cycle can hardly be discerned precisely, though, and the grazing preferences of an individual herder will also shape the next herder's choice. Let us look at some typical patterns of movement in various parts of the sum and the extent to which they reflect common principles. We may speak of four structured forms of movement: moving inside a valley, moving around a water source, short-range topographic move­ ment, and long-range topographic movement. Another unstructured form, described last, is the casual selection of pasture. During my fieldwork a large number of herders were questioned about the existence of a vernacular typology for nomadic movements, but they did not articu­ late one. Herders may identify and name patterns like "moving around a water source" or "moving inside a valley," whereas the other types of movement tend to be distinguished as merely long and short cycles of movement. The general typology below would nevertheless be accept­ able to most herders. Moving Inside a Valley

The huge territory and low population density of Khotont combined with the concentration of herding families around rivers and tracks leave ample room for grazing in the interior mountainous regions, par­ ticularly in Ulaanchuluu and Orkhon bags. Apart from pasture set aside for winter grazing, these landscapes may be grazed all year. A number of fertile valleys are found here. They are usually secluded and pro­ tected by mountains that only allow access by steep tracks. Densely forested slopes and good soil with lush green grass in the valley base contribute to a landscape of exquisite beauty. Several families may oc­ cupy one valley, moving their gers a short distance only a couple of times a year. For instance, they may occupy the northern end in winter when shielding from wind is needed and other sections of the valley in other seasons. Since the carrying capacity of each valley is more or less naturally determined, the majority of these families are small livestock owners with a relatively low level of trade. A direct consequence of liv­ ing in these somewhat isolated small communities is a poor rate of ex­

Cycles of Movement and Work

73

change between livestock and traded items, so all nonlocal goods are sparse. An example of this herding pattern, taken from Orkhon bag, is shown in map 1. The ail in question consists of four families: the old couple with their youngest two sons, their daughter with her husband and three children, their son with his wife and son, plus the old woman's cousin with her husband and three children—seventeen peo­ ple in all. The ail's yearly moves are unorthodox but bom out of the up­ heaval following decollectivization: in the spring the four families move to the western confines of the valley, where the grass has grown tall the previous autumn, but in the summer they move back to the fer­ tile pasture right in front of the winter shelters, to "protect," as they say, the area against intruding families. Herders may also move within a valley in landscapes with other topo­ graphical characteristics—for instance, in the grand rolling hills of Khoovor bag in the northwest part of the sum. Where no natural barriers restrain the movement of the animals, moving within a valley is prac­ ticed by households with relatively small herds. Sociologically, such households tend to consist of either young herders in the early process of building their herds or those with deficient labor due to early death, dis­ ease, divorce, old age, or the like. This pattern of movement necessitates access to water year-round, and thus to some extent overlaps with the category below. Moving Around a Waler Source Depending on soil conditions and precipitation, this pattern of movement tends also to be practiced by owners of relatively small herds. For ails as well as households, the herd size must fit the grazing area; an ail consist­ ing of several families and numerous livestock will not be able to practice this type of movement. Thus, if new households and their animals are ac­ cepted in the camp or if existing herds are substantially increased it will immediately affect the feasibility of various patterns of movement. Mov­ ing around a water source is mostly practiced by a single or a few house­ holds, frequently without literal khot ail organization; for instance, by moving to the same general area each season but keeping a distance from one another. An example of a camp consisting of three households with a total of 180 animals is shown in map 2. The households move together year-round, keeping a distance of a maximum of two kilometers to the well. The well (which is twelve to fifteen meters deep) was previously horse-drawn but is now operated by hand and used seasonally by several other house­ holds. The first household is the old couple with their youngest son, the second the one son and his family, and the third the divided household of

76

Chapter 3

one son, Undendorj, whose wife works in the sum center and therefore has a separate ger there in winter and by the river in summer. Their cleaved household, consisting of the parents and their three sons, has a peculiar organization adapted to the circumstances of privatization (as described above). On an everyday basis, the two unmarried sons are in charge of herding the animals at their grandparents' place in the country. The mother attends to her job in the government compound and looks after a number of milking animals, mainly cattle, yak, and a few horses. The fa­ ther travels back and forth a lot on horseback to make use of both gers and to spend time with his sons and wife. The example of Delgerma, the mother of the three entrepreneurial brothers—Batmonkh, Batjargal, and Batsukh—is shown in map 3. At the age of seventy-two but still living in her own ger, she wants to stay near her sons, two of whom have built wooden cottages on the northern plain. With a small herd of her own animals, she moves only twice a year be­ tween the summer and winter camp of Batsukh, her youngest son; both camps make use of the same surface well on the plain. Batsukh is a largescale horse breeder, however, who needs to move four times a year with his own household, consisting of himself, his wife, and three children. Members of Delgerma's family tend to be within reach of each other throughout the year, and Delgerma is seldom left without the company of her children. One daughter lives nearby with her family. Map 3 also includes the example of a household consisting of a single man and his seven children. They generally move only twice between their cottage on the plain and their winter shelter at the foot of the hills, thus in practice more or less grazing the same pasture throughout the year. In summer, five to six families make use of this weE.

Short-Range Topographic Movement

This form of movement consciously makes use of the topographical fea­ tures of the landscape and its diverging conditions for plant growth. Yet the movement is limited in scope, making use of seasonal pastures that may easily be inspected at other times of the year, and the full cycle of movement almost always takes place within one bag. Households mak­ ing use of this pattern thus more or less remain within the same visible landscape. Each move stretches over one to several kilometers, but rarely exceeds a single day's march with the oxen, including packing and putting up the ger anew; total distance hence is within six to eight kilometers. This is the most common form of movement, employed by small-tomedium-scale livestock herders in most parts of the sum, and in some ar­ eas also by the larger livestock owners when circumstances permit. The

Map 3. Simple movement of two households having built wooden summer bouses on the plain, Burgaltai bag.

78

Chapter 3

many households who cluster around the rivers in summer tend to be­ long to this category, moving into the nearest mountains and gorges in other seasons. Around the sum center this is also the most common pat­ tern, as it permits individuals to have jobs in the center, children to attend school without having to live in the dormitory, and common access to shopping and trading throughout the year. Map 4 shows the movement of an ail consisting of four households, all related but in an odd combination that takes into account kinship and pragmatism: an elderly man with his youngest children, his eldest daugh­ ter with her family, a younger daughter with her family, and the eldest daughter's in-laws. The households move together year-round, except for one household that lives in Undersant bag center in winter for the sake of its children who attend school. The ail has 600 to 700 animals, half of which belong to the eldest daughter's household, the wealthiest of the four. The longest single moves are approximately eight kilometers; the yak are let loose in winter to graze the high pastures (pasture elevation ranges from 5,000 to 6,500 feet). Map 5 shows the movement of another ail having the same summer pasture as the one above but moving southeast into a long sheltered val­ ley in other seasons. The ail consists of five brothers and sisters, two of whom have their own families while the remaining three live together in one ger (see figure 3.7). All three households practice animal husbandry at a modest level, possessing a total of only 175 animals, which are fairly equally distributed. The ail has made use of the same seasonal pattern of movement over the last fifteen years. A final example of short-range movement is given in map 6. This ail, consisting of the two households of an old couple and one son with his wife and children, has a total of three hundred animals.

Long-Range Topographic Movement

The longer-range type of movement makes use of topographical features and ecological variation to a greater extent, frequently induced by the grazing requirements of larger herds. Large numbers of livestock require a more carefully chosen grazing pattern; it is a general fact that larger live­ stock owners may have to deviate more often from routine patterns of movement than smaller ones. Optimizing herd size also implies making optimal use of grazing resources, which again demands more frequent change of pasture and campsite. Since a large herd concentrated in one place will quickly graze down the vicinity of the camp and wear down the camp area itself, both longer and more frequent moves may be the conse­ quence of the market-oriented herding strategies previously described. An example of a large livestock owner's movement is given in map 7. The

Map 4. Movement of khotaW in Undersant bag; out of the four households, one spends winter in the hag center.

Map 6. Movement ofkhol ail consisting of two households, Undersant bag.

Map 7. Long-range movement of a large cattleowner, Ulaanchuluu bag.

Cycles of Movement and Work

83

herder specializes in cattle breeding and owns nearly two hundred head of cattle plus a smaller number of other animals. The longest single move from autumn to winter pasture is approximately thirty kilometers, cross­ ing bag borders, and the total distance covered through the year is over sixty kilometers. Another example, that of Osor, the stout former civil servant and vice director of the negdel, is shown in map 8. This example illustrates how individual preferences of pasture quality affect khot ail organization, since his household, which consists of himself, his wife, and their two adult children, moves independently in spring and autumn seasons while joining the ail in summer and winter. The household itself may occasionally split up when Osor moves to new pasture in the early spring to make optimal use of the thin new grass. With a total of 250 an­ imals, this is not a large livestock-owning household, but rather an ex­ ample of a charismatic and respected herder of the elder generation up­ holding conventional values: submitting to the needs of the animals and enduring the hardship of frequent moves. He usually moves five to six times a year, covering approximately thirty kilometers. People like Osor in many ways embody tradition, as they convey an immense knowledge of nomadic animal husbandry while practicing conven­ tional cycles of movement to underpin their knowledge and personal prominence. Osor was among the very few herders who would specify the desired pasture qualities for each season, such as the need for agi and butuul in spring; juicy Mongolian grass without flowers in summer; taana, khumuul, tarvagan shiir, and shuvuunii khul in autumn; andsar tolgai and khuur in winter. An ail in Burgatai bag consisting of four gers provides a last example of medium to long-range topographic movement (map 9). The four families are closely related: elderly parents with one unmarried son, one daughter with a husband and three children, another daughter with a husband and two children, and another son with a wife and two children. The ail owns a total of 450 animals, but with a highly unequal distribution, as the second daughter's household owns approximately half of them.

Casual Pasture Selection There are several categories of herders who may pick their pastures arbitrarily—that is, without a specified and locally sanctioned pattern of seasonal moves. These include newly established households without ac­ cess to good grazing at their parents' camps who may try out various pos­ sibilities before settling down to practice a set of preferred seasonal pas­ ture routines. They also include new livestock herders forced out of sum

Map 8. Movement of khot ail consisting of three households, Khoover bag.

Map 9. Movement of khol ail consisting of three households, Khoover bag.

86

Chapter 3

centers, towns, and cities by economic circumstances. Migrant herding households from other aimags and sums constitute another major category of herders who must rely on unstructured moves before either moving on to another area or being able to settle. Casual movement requires great sensitivity to the practices and common use rights of local herders and should in principle be based on consultations with local herders and re­ spect for their advice. Map 10 shows the movement of a household from the western Khovd aimag that migrated into Khotont via several other Arkhangai sums be­ cause life was becoming too difficult in their home area. After camping in a number of locations around the sum center and feeling unwelcome (such as when camping at the autumn pasture of some local families without their consent), the household decided to move eastward toward Ulaan­ baatar.

Figure 3.1. Khot ail in Khoover bag, consisting of the ger of a woman aged 87, the ger of her daughter, daughter's husband and three children, the ger of daughter's husband's brother and his wife, and the ger of their son and his family.

Figure 3.2. Khot ail in Orkhon bag consisting of a single household. They used to live with the wife's parents, but after the death of her mother her father went to work in the

aimag center.

Figure 3.3. Khot ail in Khoover bag showing those children, out of a line of ten, who have remained in their father's camp (mother has died). The remaining children have set­ tled in other sums, other aimags and the capital. The three households move together ex­ cept in winter, when one son's household moves to a separate location.

Figure 3.4. Old woman living alone in her ger, but sharing a khot ail with her oldest and youngest sons; her other six children all live elsewhere. In summer she puts up her

ger between the new summer houses of her sons.

Figure 3.5. Khot ail in Undersant bag consisting of four families. This is a common ex­ ample of daughters settling in their parents' camp in spite of the patrilocal ideal. As it is also very common, the families may split up in certain seasons depending on the grazing.

Figure 3.6. Complex khot ail in Undersant bag consisting of four households: old man (wife has died) living with his two youngest children (out of a line of eleven) and his di­ vorced daughter's two children, one daughter with her own family, another daughter with her family, and daughter's husband's divorced mother, who has recently joined them with two daughters and the younger daughter's two boys.

Figure 3.7. Five brothers and sisters, aged 25 to 43, staying together in a khot ail in Un­ dersant bag after their parents have died, the three youngest sharing a ger.

Figure 3.8. Khot ail in Ulaanchuluu bag consisting of six families, including a couple in their sixties, nine children (of which five have married and settled in their parents' camp) and sixteen granchitdren. Only a single son has moved away. All families move together year-round.

Figure 3.9. Khot ail in a valley in Orkhon bag consisting of seventeen people: a couple living with their two youngest children, two older children having their own families and the wife's cousin with her family.

Figure 3.10. Khot ail consisting of three poor families from Burgaltai bag, camping out­ side the sum center in summer to enable their children to attend school. The three fami­ lies are connected through one central couple. Despite being in their thirties, both sets of siblings have lost their parents and one sister's husband has died from liver cancer.

90

Chapter 3

NOTES 1. This was the common stance of the Democratic Coalition government, 1996-2000. The new MPRP government has rural and regional development on the agenda, but its leading members still tend to disdain traditional nomadic prac­ tices. 2. One fodder unit is the equivalent of one kilogram of barley. 3. Distillation of fermented milk products is a pre-Russian technique, described in the Scottish Congregational Magazine already in 1842 (Michie 1864:188). 4. In the 1930s, the Russian ethnographer A. D. Simukov (see Humphrey and Sneath 1999: 220) identified six types of movement based on geographical loca­ tion. The "Hangai" type, practiced in areas with fairly rich and stable pasture and involving relatively short moves, may characterize the movement of many herders in the central parts of the sum.

4

Social Organization and Family Life

hen examining any aspect of Mongolian culture and society, it is important to sort out the various influences that have interacted to inform individual choice and behavior. This is not merely an anthropo­ logical exercise in abstract ideas: contemporary Mongolians are acutely aware of the various foreign influences in their culture and the challenges they represent. Three different strands of social thought in Mongolia de­ rive from the three major traditions at play in the Mongolian countryside:^ the native Mongol religion and nomadic way of life; Buddhism and the monastic form of organization; and the complex of modem ideas and in­ stitutions, represented by early Mongolian modernizers, the Communist state, the more recent democratic institutions, and the urban lifestyle. At any given moment over the last several hundred years, these distinct sources of influence have both competed and interacted in the ongoing process of cultural and social recreation. Today, Buddhism is cherished, but many Mongolians are skeptical of many of its tenets and its propo­ nents. Communism was credited for bringing essential modernization to Mongolia but seen as an entirely foreign invention. Modernity, Western style, is now becoming a distinguishing factor between rural and urban lifestyles, which are rapidly drifting apart. Thus, the nomadic society is far from a closed, internally cohesive system that reacts in unison to out­ side pressures. Native Mongolian cultural creativity may be strongest in verbal expression and the arts. Chinese culture and values have made their presence felt strongly, par­ ticularly during the late Qing dynasty, although anything Chinese has re­ mained intensely controversial and has often served as the antithesis to

W

91

92

Chapter 4

the Mongolian self-identity. Even today, everything Chinese tends to be despised as the major threat to the Mongolian way of life.

SOCIAL ORGANIZATION AND POWER

The traditional Mongolian social order is structured around principles of patriarchal leadership and patrilocal organization. As elsewhere, this order of things unfolds in a series of norms and obligations that bind kin together according to sex and age. The herding household usually con­ sists of a nuclear family related by blood and marriage.Common vari­ ations may result from the death of a spouse, children moving away i from home, or both, whereas divorces and remarriages are rare.^ It is im­ perative that each nuclear family has its own herd of domestic animals ■ and its own hearth (piishin)—the latter really meaning a common ger j with processing, cooking, and storing facilities—sitting and bedding space for the family, and a place of honor (khoimor). Children commonly live in their parents' ger until marriage, when the young couple is as­ sisted in establishing their own herd and hearth; three generations never share a ger. Even when only one person in the eldest generation is still alive, he or she is expected to continue the household, possibly assisted by unmarried children. The dwelling unit at the level above the household is the encampment, termed khot ail or just ail, and consists of between one and fifteen house- . holds (gers). Two to five gers tends to be the norm, though. The households making up an ail may or may not stay together during the seasonal moves, but commonly ails are larger in the summer when grazing is abun- J dant; households disperse more often in winter. According to the patrilo­ cal pattern of encampment organization, sons are expected to set up their own households in their father's camp if pasture is sufficient. At collec­ tivization the traditional pattern was deliberately broken up, but with decollectivization the importance of kinship relations returned. My investigation of encampment organization in Khotont found that nearly all khot ails were structured along lines of kinship, but in the broad­ est sense with pragmatic considerations clearly evident, as shown in the kinship diagrams above. Discussing kinship principles with herder fami­ lies, we learned that patrilocality was upheld as the general rule, but that young couples were free to go and live with the bride's family if condi­ tions were unfavorable at the groom's house. But as shown in die kinship diagrams, in actual practice deviations were based on ecological, ge­ nealogical, and purely social considerations. For instance, an elderly fam­ ily member's need for care may tie down the young couple, just as all sorts of skirmishes might drive them away.

Social Organization and Family Life

93

We were still rather astonished to find in the ails we investigated that camping with matrilateral kinsmen was slightly more common than camping with the patrilateral group. Presumably two factors account for this. One is the prevalence of pragmatism over tradition when young cou­ ples prefer the best grazing and the ail that functions best socially, which may be found on either side of the family. Another is that young men more often than young women seek nonherding jobs and activities in sum centers, towns, and cities, thereby breaking habitation patterns. Not infre­ quently, a marriage may result in the formation of an ail that includes par­ ents on both sides, the young couple thus forming the core of a dual con­ sanguineous structure (see figure 3.6.) Kinship organization has regained importance in the recent period of immense distress over losses of jobs and social security provisions (among other things), but social and economic strategies frequently con­ verge in the fight for social and material survival. Although revived, kin­ ship ties have taken on new forms and even shaped new institutions for mutual support between households. Individuals and households in weaker positions have particularly been driven toward abler relatives. Relatives organize new ails across conventional boundaries with the clear aim of securing their herds and establishing use rights to pasture in the absence of public regulation. A larger, well-organized ail also holds po­ tential intruders at bay. The modem kinship group is loosely structured around social and eco­ nomic necessity and individual fortune, allowing a high degree of choice but also a renewed sense of obligation. Social obligations are mostly evi­ dent toward one's own consanguineous group; they are individualized and outweigh traditional patrilocal principles. More precisely, the great­ est sense of social obligation exists between people who once shared a household. The ail organization is limited by natural constraints. There is a definite maximum number of animals that can be retained around the camp— usually set at around 1,000—and thus there are clear disadvantages to be­ ing rich herders, not least for the children since they cannot inhabit an ail with other families. Cooperation among the households forming a khot ail has become con­ troversial, but more in theory than in actual practice. Some Western writ­ ers of the post-Communist epoch (most prominently Robin Mearns and Jeremy Swift), apparently disillusioned with the international collapse of socialism, began to identify a series of "traditional" local groupings with natural cooperative potential. At the bottom of the structure they deliniated the ail (household) banded into the khot ail (encampment), which formed part of the saakhalt-ail (neighbouring groups) and the larger negushiinkhan or neg-nuutgiinkhan (people of the same living place). These

94

Chapter 4

larger groupings do not correspond to socioeconomic reality, however, but merely have ethnographic value. Above the loosely structured and impermanent khot ail, no conventional forms of organization exist, and the idea that the member households of a khot ail should pool their resources is overly idealistic and, in most cases, is sheer nonsense. Also, the term khot ail is of relatively recent origin; it was apparently introduced in the mid-nineteenth century (Bold 2001: 68-75) and it is still used only irregu­ larly. In Western works the term often conveys the romanticism of pas­ toral village solidarity, even a lost brotherhood. The dismal experience of a visionary bag leader trying to boost economic cooperation among his bag members will be recounted in chapter 8. What some Western writers'envisioned for these imagined institutions became a self-fulfilling prophecy as Western-funded NGOs started or­ ganizing herding cooperatives as an alternative to the disintegrating negdels^ Some Mongolian urban intellectuals, sensing a boost for their na­ tion and culture in international circles, echoed this praise for "primordial Communism." The old negdel organization, now representing the man­ agers of the post-negrfel private companies, also appealed for foreign donor assistance to "cooperative development" in the countryside.^ But the cooperatives remained alien constructions that expired as quickly as the external fimding dried up. When anthropologists and other foreigners start inquiring about "mu­ tual aid" inside the khot ail, romanticism of life on the steppe distorts field­ work, creating awkward situations that remind herders of the days when party hypocrites roamed the steppe. To make my point absolutely clear, in actual practice, households are expected to care for themselves and no­ body expects aid, alms, or gifts from members of other households; our experiences during the zud made this even more apparent. I must admit that I slipped a few times myself—for instance, when I was sitting in the ger of a khot ail with six households and a total of tliirty people in Ulaanchuluu bag. Nearly all of the encampment's inhabitants were gath­ ered around us in the ger, where a leisurely and joyful atmosphere pre­ vailed, full of mutual expectation. My assistant and I always used these occasions for bringing up matters of communal interest, such as family or­ ganization, children, elections, government, pasture quality, the zud, and so forth, aU matters suitable for spontaneity and small talk. We jointly saluted the khot ail for functioning extremely well, but when I inadver­ tently asked about mutual aid, a ghost went through the ger. A young woman broke the silence as she corrected me: "We have a strong princi­ ple of one family—one hearth. Everything we produce belongs to the family and we do not cook together." Authority over the household is considered the natural privilege of the man, just as authority over the khot ail rests with the eldest male. Crucial

Social Organization and Family Life

95

decisions in the pastoral economy—such as when to start milking, shear­ ing, slaughtering, and so forth—are taken by the men, either by the household heads or by the khot ail leader. All decisions follow discussions among the men, however, and quite frequently also the advice of a lama, who employs the traditional calendar for sorting out fortunate and un­ fortunate days. When and where to move the camp next is a strategic de­ cision, with repercussions for months ahead. Pasture capacity and the weather conditions are discussed on an everyday basis, but the final de­ cision lies exclusively with the leader of the ail, who is supposed to be the most experienced herder. The refined interplay between pragma and culture in Mongolia, cher­ ished by Westerners and giving fieldwork such a vastly different flavor than in a Chinese setting, bears particularly on interpersonal relations. Eti­ quette affixes role and hierarchy, but no one at the household, encamp­ ment, bag, or sum level enjoys an exclusive authority that can exclude other arguments and silence other people. Anyone feels free to comment and criticize, while the art of joking remains a powerful and culturally sanc­ tioned means of challenging formal authority. Rural leaders (darga) must have strong charisma to enjoy respect, and preferably radiate traditional herding virtues and bodily strength. The herding lifestyle embodies liberal values, as every man is his own boss and every individual—male and fe­ male alike—is brought up to be stout and independent, not easily incor­ porated into formal institutions, and certainly not into the machine of modem wage labor. Religion in the broadest sense still tends to permeate every aspect of daily life, though sometimes in a discreet way not visible to the observer. Mythology and taboos support the social order as well as its patriarchal premise, but social interaction appears less rigidly regulated by spiritual agency than human interaction with the natural environment. It is fre­ quently surmised, not least by Mongolian writers, that foreign and par­ ticularly Buddhist influence strengthened social differentiation and sex­ ual inequality or was even the cause of them (Hyer and Jagchid 1979: 95; Bold 2001: 145). As will be shown in chapter 5, however. Buddhism far from eradicated the common pragmatic attitude to life in the Mongolian countryside: now as before, killing animals, drinking alcohol, fighting, and having sex escape religious influence.

LIFE IN THE GER

If you imagine fieldwork on the steppe to allow sweet dreams at night in a quiet country atmosphere, you will be disappointed. Quite frequently, and especially in summer, the night is filled with a cacophony of noises

96

Chapter 4

from both human and animal activity. First of alb the big watchdogs that doze all day outside the gers come alive at night when they are let loose to protect the animals. They roam around the camp, fighting each other as well as stray dogs, while barking viciously at the slightest opportunity. As they keep you awake, you imagine their communiques to other animals carrying all the way across the steppe—when the wolves attack in Khovd aimag, it seems, the dogs will bark in Ulaanbaatar. The slightest distur­ bance will then send the horses bolting around the camp, nervous crea­ tures that they are, but they will still stay close to the camp for protection. At times you fear they will run down your ger. If all that isn't bad enough, rodents will stick their heads up from their holes inside the ger at any time and squeak; birds, especially sparrows, will dive down into the opening in the roof in the early morning hours for an easy catch; and flies and mos­ quitoes will work their day and night shifts, annoying animals and hu­ mans alike. Quiet? Forget it. The irregular sleeping hours of the human population will add con­ siderably to the cacophony. Someone may return on his motorbike in the middle of the night after, perhaps, a drinking session in another camp, a shopping trip to town, or a visit to a hospital to see a relative. Little, if any, consideration for those inhabitants who are already asleep may be shown. The latecomer will knock about as if he were alone, coughing, spitting, making tea, or even waking up people if he thinks he has something interesting to report. And there is often no fixed arrangement of sleeping places; a latecomer may crash anywhere there is a space (this is where my sense of privacy was transgressed). Visitors may knock on a locked door or come straight in late at night for all sorts of purposes. Then there are the wolves. After the breakuppf the negdel the organized hunting of wolves and the collection of puppies in the spring are no longer practiced on a regular basis, so the wolves multiply and become a real nuisance in the countryside. They are cautious and calculating hunters, capable of waiting many hours before striking silently and effi­ ciently at just the right moment. The good herder must always be alert and listen to the mix of sounds to determine when the danger is real and then act accordingly. Wolves hunt to eat and they are usually satisfied with a single kill, but in situations of stress they may bite at random and inflict much damage. Their tactics are to lie in wait at a proper distance until all human activity dies out. Domestic animals usually sense the dan­ ger and their nervous behavior alerts the herders. One or several men may be in charge of staying up to keep tabs on events, firing shots into the air at regular intervals to scare off the wolves. As we experienced in more than one camp, when several men pass the night together this way they may start drinking and sooner or later fall asleep. This is the moment for

Social Organization and Family Life

97

the wolves to strike! They noiselessly separate one animal from ttie herd, chase it out to a safe distance from the camp, and then kill it. The pack of wolves will then move on to another camp for their next prey. Cunning creatures, indeed. Activity starts again in the early morning hours when the animals must be milked and sent to the pasture. There is no sleeping in. Hence there are many reasons why herding families doze for several hours in the early af­ ternoon when everything is quiet and the animals are mostly safe. The pe­ riods of relative leisure in both the winter and summer months are ap­ preciated by both sexes. Everyone may then sleep long hours, while husband or wife may occasionally throw a few stones at the sheep from the ger opening to shoo them toward the pasture. Family life in the ger in many ways is rich, with plenty of time to be together, and the khot ail itself is a natural venue for socializing among relatives. Despite the extraordinarily low population density, a stream of visitors may call during the day whenever weather conditions per­ mit, drinking tea or airag, passing information, exchanging herder knowledge and experiences, discussing weather and pasture condi­ tions, borrowing tools and utensils, and so forth. In fact, the social life of the herders easily surpasses that of common city dwellers, and it is rather uncommon for anyone to be alone. The children can usually en­ joy the company of many brothers, sisters, and cousins in the encamp­ ment, and children above the age of five or six are frequently sent to stay with relatives in other camps for several days or a week at a time, just for leisure. In terms of communication, the correlation between distance from cen­ ters and poverty in die post-Commxmist era has contributed to the break­ down of all flows of information to herders except what is conveyed by word of mouth. Radios were sold to herders by the negdel at a cheap price. Thus every household previously had a Russian transistor and access to good and cheap batteries. But today the radio has ceased to play any role in rural life. The transistors are now old and run-down, and only Chinese batteries of varying durability are available. The resulting difficulties and often high cost of keeping a radio running exceed most people's tolerance level. Broadcasting to herders is badly neglected by government institu­ tions. A radio station in the aimag center with the capacity to make local radio programs has been abandoned, leaving only a broadcasting station in the capital, which has inadequate capacity. In the remote areas of the sum, my little shortwave radio would frequently pick up stations from around the world, including northern Europe, but not a single Mongolian station was accessible on any band. People talk a lot and the atmosphere in the ger is generally relaxed, without strict rules of conduct between the sexes or generations. In the

98

Chapter 4

absence of print or broadcast media the main source of information is word of mouth. Whenever circumstances permit, people visit each other to socialize. After the customary greetings of sain baina uu? (how are you?) or just baina uu?, followed by inquiries about other people's fami­ lies or animals, the first thing people want to hear is the latest news and stories from other camps and afar. Social gossiping may go on for hours, reflecting the social purpose of language as much as its ability to convey information. Storytelling in Mongolia earlier constituted a distinct tradition, as it did in other preliterate societies. It was a favorite form of amusement (Jaghid and Hyer 1979: 80) and included stories of life and adventure on the steppe, Buddhist didactic stories, and pre-Buddhist legends, myths, and fables. A wealth of native songs and poetry was documented by foreign expeditions in the early twentieth century (Haslund-Christensen 1943; 1946). The appearance of centrally controlled modem media in the mid­ twentieth century mostly put an end to the oral traditions, but children may still gather around old people who recite stories they were told in their own childhood. Musical instruments were always rare among the herders, being lim­ ited to the two-stringed horse-head fiddle. One reason is they are too fragile to transport. Musical instruments were plentiful in the monastery, however, and had religious significance; they were used for ordinary prayer sessions, religious ceremonies, and tsam dancing. Given the lack of musical instruments, people sing a lot. A host of traditional and more recent songs are known to everyone, and especially the women and young girls frequently sing as they work. Several times dur­ ing my fieldwork, young girls, dressed up for the occasion in their finest deels, would pose in the center of the ger to sing for us. Traditional song and dance are still quite popular and yearly contests are held in towns and aimag centers; one girl who sang for us was the aimag champion. Mongolian traditional music has a strong Chinese influence in instru­ ments and tone system, but sounds much more powerful. These were exquisite moments when the wall and felt cover of the ger would expand to form a concert hall and we were carried away to a spiritual dimension of the steppe life. Other pastimes include playing games, notably the famous Mongolian ankle-bone throwing, and playing cards, both Western and Chinese. Chil­ dren may enjoy a wide range of traditional games, several of which in­ clude throwing bones of domestic animals; in one they made the bones skid on an icy surface. The joyful atmosphere that usually prevails in the ger is shaped by con­ ventional patterns of avoidance. In conversation, things that are unpleas­ ant or thought to carry bad omens are commonly evaded or addressed in

Social Organizalion and Family Life

99

a low voice; for instance, matters involving sickness, violence, death, loss of animals, or theft. When asked about unpleasant things, people may simply answer, "I don't know," to avoid further inquiry. Maintaining har­ mony is as strong an ideal among Mongolian herders as it is among Chi­ nese peasants, particularly when receiving visitors or representing their households to the community. The avoidance of unpleasant topics—including rustling, violence, poverty, and despair resulting from loss of animals—at first presented a tremendous obstacle to my fieldwork. An example: When visiting the ger of a herder named Delegnyam in an elongated valley in Ulaanchuulu bag, we discussed grazing patterns in this particular area. It turned out that this year he had not moved his camp according to the pattern earlier de­ scribed. In fact, he was still at his winter campsite although it was late summer. When asked the reason, he answered, "I don't know." Deleg­ nyam had been a herder all his life and he knew, of course, why he had not moved. He ultimately offered some evasive answers, like "My gercover is bad," "There is a strong wind blowing," and "Maybe somebody else has taken the place." Then he blurted, "I cannot tell you the main rea­ son!" Only much later in the conversation did he reveal the loss of threequarters of his animals the previous winter. When asked specifically if this was the reason he had not moved, he confirmed that with only thirty animals left there was no reason to move to new pasture. Although now desperately poor he had not received aid from the local government. Delegnyam and his wife are in their mid-fifties, but their youngest son is still in their household. Without access to restocking, they will slowly eat their own animals and in a matter of a few years they will be forced to abandon herding. Mongolian men are not supposed to show strong emotions. They are expected to restrain themselves as they speak, answering questions in a well-considered manner. Yet the Mongol perception of masculinity in­ cludes a good command of language or song. Men must choose their words carefully, just as they may consider other people's words a long time afterwards. Manner of speech is important for one's reputation. Elo­ quence is essential to authority building in politics, local leadership, and stature within the camp, sometimes even to an extent surpassing the im­ portance of practical skills. The frequent use of both traditional and mod­ em proverbs is characteristic of the highly ritualized, "wise" mode of speech, which resembles linguistic styles of Chinese and other East Asian elites. A very profound Mongolian proverb says, "By gold is measured the wealth, by words the wisdom." The solemn and ceremonious speech so common to Mongolian national politics has traditional roots and is echoed in local leadership and administration; a proverb that expresses skepticism of speech without corresponding action says, "The tongue is

100

Chapter 4

the honey, the deed is the spear." Similarly, another proverb says, "Fine words dress ill deeds." It has been inferred about Middle Eastern pastoralists that their cul­ tural creativity is chiefly expressed verbally, through a large vocabulary denoting the social world in idioms, proverbs, poetry, rhetoric, and cus­ tomary law (the latter frequently developing into litigation) (E. Marx 1996: 77). In Mongolia, too, flowery language, which makes speech re­ semble poetry, is the cultural ideal and is used for many purposes in the male world when masculinity and leadership abilities are displayed. It is hardly coincidental that several schoolmasters and local leaders, in­ cluding a present bag leader, have university degrees in literature. Prevalent artistic and poetic strains also find expression in the fact that politicians frequently go on stage to sing at festivals, meetings, and so on, and are expected to have the ability to perform one way or another. Similarly, when Vandahuu, the sum chief of staff, participates in every wrestling competition in the sum it reflects the customary expectation that leading community members perform in the arts. The leading lama, whose story is told in the next chapter, was active in the arts before go­ ing to the capital to study Buddhism. Joking is a distinct form of everyday speech used for all sorts of pur­ poses, but it serves a special purpose in more sensitive matters such as confronting authority or addressing controversial issues like work and gender relations; for some individuals it may develop into a rhetorical art in itself. Several prominent members of the local community are constant jokers, notably Batmonkh, Vandahuu, and Undendorj, whose company is widely appreciated and who derive considerable respect for their ability to confront people in all positions and outwit them by joking. Despite the relatively relaxed manner of speech and conduct in the ger, daily life is strongly ritualized around rules and avoidance behav­ iors (not taboos in the strict sense), which turn the ger and its vicinity into a highly structured and regulated domain that contrasts with the uncultured steppe. Some common rules include never pour milk into a river, never return an empty pot, never point your feet at anyone, never touch the hearth with your feet, never leave dirt or garbage at an old campsite, and never cross a hilltop without going three times around an ovoo. Other common conventions include always place the first boortsog in a small bowl on the family altar, sprinkle the first airag or vodka into the air, only travel or move the ger on a lucky day, and bring stones from one's local area when away to work or study (as Djenghis Khan report­ edly brought stones from Mongolia to the conquered lands). Religiously informed commands and avoidance behaviors are further discussed in the next chapter.

Social Organization and Family Life

101

CHILDREN AND SOCIALIZATION Someone brought up in the Euro-American world is bound to be puzzled by the seemingly contradictory pattern of socialization in Mongolia. On the one hand, parents treasure their children. On the other hand, several aspects of parental behavior may seem to a Western observer repressive and even exploitative. Childbirth is marked by several rituals. Relatives, friends, and neigh­ bors may give presents to the family, typically garments, deels, boots, toys, and new milk products. Previously an astrological lama {zurkhaich} would attend to the newborn and predict their fate (tseded). Usually three or seven days after the birth he would come to the ger to conduct a ceremony (ugaalga uildekh) for purifying the baby and preparing it for life by wash­ ing it in holy water, stroking the body and the limbs, and divining a name that would be helpful to the child. He would read from classical books ac­ cording to the wishes of the parents; for example, he might read from the Book of Mind {Ukhaanii Nom). The condition of the child influenced his choice of reading. He might read from the Book of Age {Nashii Nom} if the child was weak or from the Medical Book (Manal) to prevent difficulties. Today the ordinary lamas have resumed aU these activities; in Khotont, most importantly Dorjtseveen Lama has done so. Lamas are now fre­ quently called in to chant, give blessings, and choose names that are be­ lieved to result in good fortune. For this reason Tibetan Buddhist names were revived in most areas, as was the pre-Communist habit of changing the names of children suffering from serious diseases or numerous acci­ dents. There is some contradiction between Buddhist and native tradi­ tions because parents, primarily the father, may choose a name that is al­ ready in the family but with altered wording; for instance, by using synonyms. The most common native names refer to objects, weapons, an­ imals, virtues, or pre-Buddhist religious meanings.^ The use of revolu­ tionary names drawn from the third major tradition, Communism, has dwindled in most places. Previously all Mongolians had merely personal names with a prefix referring to the father's name and in some instances the mother's name. But in 2000 the Mongolian government reintroduced clan and family names, requiring everyone to register with their proper surname, if remembered, or to choose a new one. In Khotont, a map with pre­ Communist clan names and territories was posted in the hall of the gov­ ernment building. The majority of women give birth at the clinic in the sum center, but a payment of several thousand tugrik per day for hospitalization plus ex­ penses for medication, transportation, and so forth have increased the number of home births assisted by midwives, particularly among women

102

Chapter 4

in the southern bags. Infant mortality has been on the rise and health stan­ dards in rural areas have been declining. As a result of Russian influence, babies are most often wrapped in cloth to restrain their movements al­ most completely, but the duration of three to four months is considerably shorter than in Russia. Lucky charms such as small tools, containers, and pieces of jewelry may be placed in a string around the baby's stomach, il­ lustrating both pre-Buddhist and Buddhist influences, and particularly the boys' eyebrows are frequently smeared with coal dust to make their faces appear stronger and healthier.^ New births, human and animal alike, are celebrated events that call for the cooperation of all family members. The baby is nursed and cuddled in the ger by the mother, but all family members including the father com­ monly sit patiently with the baby, comforting and lulling it to sleep; they are keen to show the newborn to visitors. Particularly the small boys re­ ceive loving care from the fathers, who frequently sit and fondle their gen­ itals to make them grow strong. Several taboos accompany childbirth. For instance, new mothers are prevented from going out at night for fear of evil spirits. Divination by tin smelting may be employed if the baby is not well in order to identify the source of the evil. Signs are thought to appear in metal when it solidifies on a hard surface. Traditional means of baby care are still used often. For example, pieces of sheepskin are used for diapers, a sheep fat-tail serves as a comforter, a cloth soaked in arkhi is used for pacification, and Chinese-style slit pants are worn when the children start walking. Infants are not ^ways given proper care, however, as we much too frequently found babies left in their own feces or in diapers that stank from old urine, and babies were often exposed to animal dung. Childhood is short. It may reasonably be said that real childhood only lasts until the child can walk and the next baby is bom. From then on parental care is at a minimum and the child joins the group of small adults who must learn die hard way to take care of themselves. Usually no at­ tention is paid to children who cry, and all matters of clothes, hygiene, sleeping, and attending meals are left to the children themselves. Al­ though the birth of a child will dramatically decrease parental care of pre­ viously born children, this is not entirely a result of additional household chores. Though parents cherish their kids and generally provide well for them, I seriously questioned some parental behaviors I witnessed. Indeed, some challenged my sense of morality. They included not only the care parents allotted to each child but the family's distribution of food, cloth­ ing, boots, and sleeping places. The children most often wear ragged clothes and tend to be put last in line for new ones. When approaching new camps we often first saw a bunch of filthy kids in ragged clothes playing outside, and we were sur­

Social Organization and Family Life

103

prised to find the parents considerably better dressed and the interior of the ger far from displaying poverty. Children all over the world get dirty when playing, but children wearing shoes with holes and battered deels held together by pieces of string disturbed me. Children always came sec­ ond when allocating clothes: elderly people reported that in their child­ hoods they were not given shoes, which were very expensive and thus re­ served for adults, and they only wore felt boots in winter. I made similar observations in northern Tibetan areas, where small children were sent out barefoot in frosty weather, purportedly to harden them. Many eye in­ fections and skin rashes were not receiving attention, although they obvi­ ously bothered the children. That was even more disturbing to me. Numerous aspects of parental behavior emphasize the inferiority of children. For instance, many times we observed a father gnaw a boiled leg of sheep or goat and then pass the bare bone to his little son, who received it with a traditional gesture of thankfulness (right arm stretched forward and the left hand touching the right elbow). The father is served first and there is no question of who will receive the best bits of meat. Children are expected to restrain themselves at mealtimes and to eat only what is served to them. The children appear well fed, but inadequate dietary vari­ ation and lack of vitamins frequently cause malnourishment and consid­ erably less body growth than in city children.® In many cases, body growth was stalled, making twelve-year-olds look like eight-year-olds, for instance. In general it was difficult to judge the age of children. A hierarchy is also evident in the allocation of sleeping places. The head of the household has the honorable place opposite the entrance to the ger. His wife sleeps to the right of him and their children sleep either with their mother or to the left. But very often children are placed on the floor or under the beds. Perhaps as a result of their nomadic lifestyle, many families said that they had no fixed sleeping arrangements. Instead, peo­ ple will rest where there is space, depending on who is at home and who is visiting. Sleeping habits, or rather the lack of them, emphasize the point that Mongolian herders may be termed "nomads in time" as much as in space. Both schoolchildren and smaller siblings play long into the night, and they are taken to events such as family gatherings and performances in the cultural center at any time of the day or night. Living with the herders, one inevitably wonders if their experience rais­ ing animals under tough climatic conditions shapes the upbringing of their children. The herders' ideology emphasizes minimal interference with nature, taking merely what can be easily had without disturbing the environment. Nature is alive, giving and taking back what cannot support itself: Humans belong to this great immanent order of the ujiiverse. When the children reach a certain age, their parents will deliberately diminish their care while simultaneously giving them increasingly demanding

104

Chapter 4

work tasks. They are taught the use of a stick to control the animals, and even the ferocious Mongolian watchdogs have great respect for small children, who frequently give them relentless beatings. The children are obviously brought up to endure hardship and phys­ ical pain, and to fight back when assaulted. Many parents apply heavy blows with a stick when children misbehave; the children are expected to refrain from crying. When their toughening is accompanied by ex­ ploitation, however, the outcome of their socialization may be asocial behavior and a cynical attitude. To take one example of their exploita­ tion: from an early age children are habitually sent to fetch water in the river, hauling back heavy containers or pushing small carts over long distances—despite ample manpower in the camp. While the common pattern of socialization probably creates highly independent individuals with superior survival skills, it also generates a poor sense of commu­ nity and inhibits the development of cooperative skills outside the fam­ ily hierarchy. A gendered pattern of socialization occurs from an early age. Girls must help their mothers with the common household chores of milking, pro­ cessing, cooking, herding the sheep, sewing, and so forth, while boys fol­ low their fathers. From the age of four or five the children start riding horses alongside their parents, and from six or seven they generally race the horses alone both for fun and convenience; when starting school, countless children depend entirely on horses for transportation. This is also the age when children are supposed to have obtained basic herding skills so that herding jobs can be entrusted to them. They participate in shearing, combing, moving the camp, and so forth. The old hair-cutting custom is still respected, making it difficult at times to distinguish small boys from girls since both may have long hair. The hair-cutting event {sevleg avakh/us avakh) is celebrated by inviting guests for the good luck of the child, though the nature of the celebration varies locally. Boys usually have their first haircut at three years of age and girls at five years (though again local habits vary). For the ceremony, someone with the same zodiac (animal) sign of the child is chosen to cut the hair while uttering happy words and spells for the child's future. The hair-cutting ceremony marks a division between the sexes and inaugu­ rates an increasingly gender-based pattern of socialization. GENDERED WORK AND CONDUCT Mongolian animal husbandry is practiced within a social organization permeated by rigidly gendered work tasks. This social organization can­ not be sufficiently explained by the herders' interaction with nature and

Social Organization and Family Life

105

the limitations that climate and ecology may present. Rather, it should be seen in light of historical and cultural processes. Presently, important in­ centives for the continuation of traditional herding are to be found in gen­ der dynamics. Since the Communist era, when external authority inter­ fered with the social structure, gender relations to a considerable extent have been "re-traditionalized." From the time of the great nineteenth-century explorations and on­ ward, many authors have commented on the relationship between men and women in Mongolia. Most have praised the Mongolians for the relatively high status and degree of independence enjoyed by women of all classes, particularly as compared to Chinese women, while at the same time commenting on the unequal distribution of work among herders. Colonel Prejevalsky noted that the lot of Mongolian women was most unenviable: restricted to the ger and entirely dependent on their husbands, they spent most of their time nursing the children and attending to domestic duties. As for the men, Prejevalsky had this to say: The most striking trait of their character is sloth. Their whole lives are passed in holiday making, which harmonizes with their pastoral pursuits. Their cat­ tle are their only care, and even they do not cause them much trouble.... The women and children tend the flocks and herds. The rich hire shepherds, who are mostly poor homeless vagrants. Milking the cows, churning butter, preparing the meals, and other domestic work, fall to the lot of the women. The men, as a rule, do nothing but gallop about all day long from yurta to yurta, drinking tea or kumiss, and gossiping with their neighbours.... From • April, when transportation of tea and merchandise ceases, the men repose in complete idleness for five or six months. (1876,1: 58-59)

Yet in the household the rights of the wife were nearly equal to those of the husband; for instance, the wife enjoyed the right to desert a husband who was not affectionate or to be ordained as a lama (Prejevalsky 1876,1: 69-71). Sechin Jagchid and Paul Hyer also emphasize the higher status of Mon­ golian women than that of women in Asian agricultural societies. They point to their right to become the head of the household after the hus­ band's death, to remarry, or to return to one's original family. In tradi­ tional times, they note, "the wives of khans were seated beside their hus­ bands in audience" and the voices of women were heard in matters of importance (Jagchid and Hyer 1979; 94-95). Jagchid, being a Mongolian himself, and Hyer do not make much of the distribution of work between the sexes. They argue that the nomadic lifestyle is not conducive to the subordination of women: there is a natural division of labor in the tradi­ tional nomadic lifestyle that is not quite understood by foreign observers.

106

Chapter 4

they maintain, and the greater leisure time of men is due to their vigilance (night and day) to guard humans and animals, not Iciziness (Jagchid and Hyer 1979:111-112). In 1919 Hermann Consten emphasized that Mongolian worrien enjoyed a position far better than usual among nomadic peoples, although they were burdened with more household work than the men. He noted that most men held positions of lower lamas and thus seldom performed handicraft or field work (Consten 1919:166). Worse, young women were frequently driven to prostitution because of men's iiiadequate contribu­ tion to the household income. We can surmise that at least in pre-Communist society gender relations were knit into gendered work tasks that kept the women busy through­ out the year, while the men enjoyed extensive periods of leisure. Some would argue that the men's larger responsibility for staying alert around the clock to ward off dangers entitled them to their leisure periods. After the 1921 revolution, gender equality was rapidly promoted with the aim of creating equal opportunity in education and employment. Sig­ nificant results were achieved in education as the number of female stu­ dents enrolled in schools rose to 40 percent already by 1931 and to 50 per­ cent by the 1950s. During the socialist period women were encouraged to enter the modem-sector workforce and were promoted in local govern­ ment and elected bodies, supported by a socialist policy on health care, maternity leave, and children's institutions. Mongolia's second constitution of 1940 stipulated that citizens' rights be enjoyed by both sexes: attempts to undermine the equality of women— through the arranged marriage of juveniles, the payment of bride prices, polygamy, or hindering school attendance—were punishable by law (Sanders 1987: 64). Particularly the urbanization process and the rise of modem industry in the capital as well as in aimag and sum centers put women on a near-equal footing wid^ men. In the countryside the estab­ lishment of collectives served a similar purpose, because herders to some extent were individualized as wage earners. For several decades the Fed­ eration of Women secured the active participation of women in work, ed­ ucation, culture, and social life all over Mongolia, and a network of local branches worked actively for women's interests. Cultural media and lo­ cally based activities for women included color magazines, books, films (later TV programs), propaganda meetings, and evening classes in a range of activities of interest to women. At least on the surface, Mongolian women had achieved a degree of equality that would measure up with any modem society. Then came democracy in 1990. All socialist institutions were quickly dismantled and some struggled to survive as NGOs (for example, the Mongolian Women's Federation). With the economic collapse women lost

Social Organization and Family Life

107

jobs at a higher rate than men. Kindergartens closed or became too costly, maternity homes closed, and welfare benefits for unemployment or child­ birth dwindled. Much of what had been achieved over seven decades seemed to crumble overnight since the new government did not have a policy on women (Skapa and Benwell 1996: 135). Male dominance was perhaps most evident again in politics: women's representation in parlia­ ment dropped from 25 percent in the previous system to 4 percent in 1992, although it increased to 7 percent in 1996 and to 13 percent in 2000. When the Mongolian economy returned to square one with the end of Soviet support and tiie introduction of market relations, latent patterns of male chauvinism resurfaced. Increasing international aid during the 1990s (de­ scribed in chapter 8) brought attention to Mongolian women and fostered many improvements, but, as with the 1921 revolution, this was appar­ ently achieved by a foreign stimulus. Let us return to Khotont to examine the dynamics of gender relations since the establishment of the negdeL An ultimate aim was to proletarianize the herders by making them dependent on salary payments instead of private animals. Since .the number of labor-day units to be performed for the negdel in 1959 was set to 150 for the men and 100 for the women, work was increasingly individualized, with personal responsibility to the negdel and severe punishments for offenders (Bawden 1989: 402). The negdel un­ doubtedly raised the position of women, supported as it was by the tide of modernization in the form of education for all, the opening of new channels of information, and, not least important, the establishment of the rule of law, which curbed rape and violence against women? Similarly, women were favored with long maternity leaves and retired at age fiftyfive, while the men worked until sixty. Still, the negdel was ruled by a pa­ triarchal party organization without women in leading positions, and it hardly restrained the inborn machismo of male herders. It did, however, provide new intellectual support and stimulation to women. The activities of the local branch of the Mongolian Women's Federation were quite popular, as were the books and colorful magazines of the sum center library and the bag center reading rooms. Women were connected both locally and nationally, allowing them to share experiences and aspi­ rations for a better life. Many herding women remember the negdel for a richer and more comfortable everyday life, with work and pleasure more equally distributed between the sexes. Many herding women performed volxmtary work in the women's organization. A woman named Delgerma, who was the wife of a national model herder and very energetic in Sie organization, was particularly praised for her activities supporting women with difficulties. Despite the higher position enjoyed by women in the negdel, to a very large extent work was still gendered. The women performed routine

1

108

Chapter 4

jobs in processing and manufacturing, although some rose to positions as teachers, accountants, doctors, and veterinarians. The men worked with the animals and with machines such as trucks, tractors, and com­ bines, and were prominent in positions of authority and leadership. The position of truck driver was prestigious all over Mongolia, presumably because it was similar to the traditional role of caravaning, an exclu­ sively male activity. The real gender difference was that men were dis­ ciplined by their superiors to work hard for their income; thus women, who were already disciplined by convention, were favored in a relative sense. When the negdel broke up, mass unemployment ensued, disci­ pline was relaxed in all job functions, and stronger gender-based differ­ entiation frequently reappeared within formal institutions such as gov­ ernments and schools. The return to a herding existence also meant a return to conventional gender patterns. In herding the women were more or less occupied yearround, while the men had unused work capacities—ones that tradition­ ally could be diverted into caravan driving, soldiering, monkhood, and so on—which can be used to pursue what may be termed institutional­ ized alternatives (Salzman 1980: 5). These capacities have mostly been unused since privatization. Men hang out a lot—visiting, smoking, drinking, checking on the horses, and so forth—while frequently consid­ ering opportunities for business and travel. They commonly agree about their easy lifestyle as herders, though they complain of poverty being rampant. The women put up with a workday that far exceeds that of the men, getting up earlier in the morning and having much less free time (Bruun 1999). Variations from this conventional pattern are rare. Al­ though one woman I met had a serious handicap that left her unable to walk without a stick, her husband did not assist her with the cooking and processing. In those families (mainly in towns and cities) receiving pen­ sions large enough to support them, men are entirely inactive at home. From my experience all over Mongolia, it seems doubtful that if the women were exposed to other lifestyles and values that they would con­ tinue in their current roles. To wit: females leaving school rarely aspire to a herding lifestyle. In the home men expect their women to cook and work for them, to be at their disposal, and to express gratitude when praised or cuddled. This is a matter of convention, which still allows husband and wife to build up an affectionate relationship. Given that women can leave their husbands quite undramatically, inequality in gender relations may not continue indefinitely and one should not generally mistake convention for repression. A common perception during my fieldwork, frequently confirmed by herders themselves, was that "managing" the household was as impor­

Social Organization and Family Life

109

tant as managing the herd. It requires maintaining warm and friendly re­ lations among all family members and seeing to individual needs. Con­ versely, a bad atmosphere in the ger is detrimental to economic success; it can even threaten the family's survival. Heavy drinking, for example, not only depletes family funds but poisons the atmosphere in the ger. Many families in Khotont were extremely harmonious and wonderful to visit, their hospitality unsurpassed by people in any society. Undendorj, his wife, and adult sons were a great example, although they had to travel back and forth between two gers. In public, men never show affection for their wives by touching or kiss­ ing them, and in most daily activities, including socializing, men and women move about separately. For this reason, the introduction of mod­ em media, which openly show intimate relations between the sexes, have embarrassed many herders. For instance, during the showing of a foreign movie in the cultural center, the men left the room when a man and woman were kissing. Like their counterparts elsewhere in modem Mongolia, the women in Khotont complain of tlie men's behavior. Aside from showing no affection for their own women, men are frequently rude to other women, regard­ less of their social standing.^® They have a patronizing manner, expecting women to give way for them in public, and they commonly address fe­ male employees in shops and offices rudely without voicing greetings or showing any courtesy. For instance, they may enter a shop and command, "Fetch me that bottle of vodka." In queues, men tend to jump in front of women, who are mostly defenseless. Men also often enter women's pri­ vate rooms without voicing greetings, only stating their purpose: they feel they have the right to do so when a woman is alone and unprotected. Al­ though the comparison may be vulgar, unprotected women are ap­ proached as if they are virgin pasture. Unmarried women and married women away from home are both in constant danger of being assaulted and raped; the police can do very little about it. The men's rude behavior is a strong disincentive for young girls to get married at an early age. They are afraid of the young men when the young men drink, lure them into private places, act rough, use excuses to see them late at night, seize them when defenseless, or pull them away into the darkness. Men's jokes convey clear sexual messages. It is common for men to comment on a woman's attributes in public, using foul language, giving her nicknames, or discussing her qualities in her presence as if she were a mare. Obviously, this would constitute sexual harassment in a Western context. But not in Mongolia, where gender relations are rough in gen­ eral and the women's responses may sometimes compare with the men's remarks.

no

Chapter 4

I got a lucid picture of male behavior from the treatment my research assistant received, particularly from men in high positions. Tsendsesmee, who was my assistant througjiout most of my fieldwork, warded off sev­ eral men's interest in her by pretending to be intimate with me and shar­ ing rooms and gers with me as we traveled. Yet several sum officials kept asking her to receive them privately in the capital during future visits. My second assistant, a gorgeous young woman of mixed Mongolian-German blood, created a storm wherever we went. People who did not know me would eagerly ask if we were married before sexually propositioning her. In the local administration, officials would poorly camouflage their cu­ riosity in our doings before turning to the matter of my assistant directly. For instance, at a visit to his home, the head of the local MPRP (Mongo­ lian People's Revolutionary Party), who was running for mayor after the old party's landslide victory in 2000, did not take more than ten minutes before proposing that she become his mistress in the city. This while his wife was making tea for us in the kitchen! Such behavior is one of several reasons women leave the country. Machismo and sexist tendencies are greatly amplified by heavy drinking, especially in the summer, when women in vulnerable posi­ tions may live in constant fear of drunken men. One night we had in­ stalled ourselves in one of the small cabins in the hot springs resort for a few days of bathing, washing, and unwinding. I was writing my notes for the day as Tsatsral, a charming yoimg woman whom we knew from previous visits, entered the cabin. She had sought work at the hot springs to escape her husband, who had beaten her up. She and Tsend­ sesmee started to talk and giggle while I was writing, and gradually their talk turned toward marriage. Tsendsesmee was still not married but had been approached by a young man from her institute. The at­ mosphere in the little cabin was wonderfully relaxed as Tsatsral ex­ plained without rancor, Mongolian men are like bulls, they have no feeling for a woman's needs. They are very rough with women, especially when they drink. For instance, a few days ago a man wanted to sleep with me, but I did not agree. He started getting violent and I had to fight him hard before he let go of me.... And you know, Mongolian men do not know how to use a condom, they hardly know what it is!

While the two women talked, loud quarreling could be heard next door. Tsatsral explained, "The man next door slept with another woman, so his wife is furious." The shouting would take no end. On various occasions I sensed a violent disposition in Mongolian cul­ ture, though it was not evident until quite some time into my fieldwork. It was this night at the hot springs—when the fireworks also included a

Social Organization and Family Life

111

drunken Mongolian eager to fight me merely at the sight of my that got me to thinking, including about the meaning of violence. Then, the following morning, we went to see a family in Undersant whom we had promised some photos from the previous summer. Since the woman was alone in the house, we asked about her husband, without getting an answer at first. Eventually she told us with grief that he had been hospi­ talized in the aimag center four months earlier after a fight with some young men from the bag center. They had all been drinking heavily, and as the night wore on they got into an argument over a trifling matter. It erupted into violence that included a senseless beating; the young men kicked her husband in the back. A few weeks later he became seriously iU and was taken to hospital, where an examination revealed that one kidney had to be removed immediately and the other had been perma­ nently damaged. . Such eruptions of violence are not commonly discussed m the pres­ ence of outsiders like me. Along with rustling (talk of which is also gen­ erally suppressed), they chaUenge the Mongolian self-identity as a na­ tion of honest and good-hearted people who will always find peaceful solutions. This was one moment when my fieldwork experiences from China came to mind: Mongolians seem to share whh the Chinese a no­ tion that individuals have a common ethnic (or racial) identity and thus have a responsibility to present only the best of the culture. It was only by asking specific questions about these matters in our routine visits to herding households that their true scale was revealed. In many cases, we had to turn to the women to obtain forthright depictions of violent clashes either within the camp or with people from neighbormg camps. Outbreaks of violence are commonly taken as signs of poor leadership and lack of respected people who will interfere. Rustling, violence, and rape are unintended consequences of democratization, when the con­ trolling socialist institutions were replaced with inefficient and poorly equipped police. Violence against women is part of a general normative framework m which brutality is a common response to verbal assaults and group confUct In Mongolia there is a constant undercurrent of aggression that is fre­ quently an outlet for despair but which targets casual victims. People rav­ aged by drinking throughout the summer or, indeed, the entire year are a significant cause of the problem. The police readily confirmed the gravity : of violence in the swm, although merely a fraction of the instances were be! lieved to be reported. I mentioned the matter to Vandahuu, the everjoking sum director, when we met him one day out on the track toward the [ southern bags. As we stood there amidst the rolling hills of the vast steppe I land, he described his people as very similar to the American Indi^: to I his way of thinking, they were always idle, drunk, and violent. His own

112

Chapter 4

life illustrated the complicated task of building authority within a col­ lapsing societal structure: besides being an educated and talented speaker, his show of his wrestling abilities in the yearly Naadam compe­ titions undoubtedly boosted his authority among the herders and warded off physical assaults. This was perhaps his greatest advantage over the sum governor, who was both a stranger to the local area and a small man who did not radiate power. In the unavoidable drinking sessions accom­ panying all public events, the governor needed to be careful. If govern­ ment policy was brought up at these sessions, he was a target for criti­ cism, which occasionally developed into threats of violence. It needs to be emphasized that physical and verbal assaults are com­ mitted by not only men but also women in Mongolia. Some women do not hesitate to give their drunken men a good spanking, which we wit­ nessed several times, or to take preventive action such as seizing a vodka bottle and then emptying it over their husband's head. Women, too, en­ gage in corporeal punishment of children and may use explicit body lan­ guage threatening it. Dashdulam, a fascinating young women who was staying in her sister's camp for several weeks, threatened to mug me when I teasingly asked her if she was really there to look for a boyfriend. Both excessive drinking and getting into fights had to be consciously avoided during my fieldwork. I was threatened on several occasions in Khotont, but avoided fighting. I was also spared being mugged (a com­ mon fate of foreigners) in the neighborhood where I occasionally stayed in Ulaanbaatar. But a couple of young guys threw stones at me one night, and even followed me over a distance of several kilometers. Crossing the street did not help, and in the end I had to defend myself by throwing stones back at them. Even my sweet little assistant constantly reminded me of a pattern of behavior frequently backed by violence. During the long hours of riding the Jeep around the countryside, we would joke, and whenever I mocked her she would not refrain froih hitting me, sometimes with all her might. My defense strategy of warning her that I would draw a dollar from her salary every time she hit me did not work—even though I paid her hand­ somely, she would end up owing me money before the day was done! Let us consider a final aspect of gender relations. Experience from around the world confirms that self-employment, in which the family forms an economic unit, grants considerably more authority to the male head of the household than when both sexes engage in common wage la­ bor. In China, as in other Asian countries, this has most certainly been the case since the breakup of socialist institutions and the revival of family businesses (Bruun 1993). During my fieldwork, it recurrently crossed my mind that the men's leisurely pace of work outside the busy spring and autumn seasons could be a significant motivation for continuing the herd­

Social Organization and Family Life

113

ing lifestyle. This was particularly so for the large group of common pas­ toral herders, whose general orientation toward the labor-consumer bal­ ance supported greater gender inequality in work. As life wears on, how­ ever, and under the influence of alcohol, many of these men presumably lose the ability to perform wage labor and thus entirely depend on the herding sector. Despite the negdel's economic success, there is no doubt that it stirred up mixed feelings among the men on account of the discipline it imposed. It introduced an essentially European work ethic, which demanded that men contribute more work units than women, taking into account that the latter had domestic responsibilities, and imposed a series of punishments on the men.

SEXUALITY AND PURITY Whether consciously or as a matter of convention, the upbringing of chil­ dren in Mongolia aims to turn out tough and self-reliant individuals (male or female). Undoubtedly, this has significant bearing on women's personal independence throughout life as well as on the construction of sexuality. Mongolian women's strong appearance was noted by many foreign travelers and observers from the 1870s onward. So were their social po­ sition and sexual habits. Colonel Prejevalsky noted that the women were good mothers and housewives, but unfaithful wives. Immorality was common, he inferred, not only among the married women but also among the girls. Adultery was not even concealed, and it was not re­ garded as a vice. Other foreign observers also noted that sexual liberal­ ism prevailed in Mongolia. Herman Consten wrote of the escort service (Haterismus) Mongolian women commonly offered to Russian and Chinese men without anyone caring whether they did it for love or money (Consten 1919: 166-167). Pozdneyev described the affluent Mongolian concubines of Chinese merchants (Pozdneyev 1892: 3) as well as common prostitution in Urga. Independent women, not re­ strained in ordinary brothels but freely offering their service in streets and marketplaces, made use of special inns where a man and a woman could stay together privately for a charge (Pozdneyev 1892: 75), a prac­ tice that continues today. Jaghid and Hyer also discuss immorality in Mongolia, though they take a sympathetic stance, postulating a decline of sexual morality in Mongolia over the centuries. In particular, they blame the growth of Lamaist Buddhism for disrupting the normal mating patterns (Jagchid and Hyer 1979: 95-96). Yet, unlike the early travelers in Mongolia, they see no cultural or institutionalized form of "promiscuous

114

Chapter 4

hospitality." It remains a well-documented fact, however, that venereal diseases swept Mongolia at the end of the nineteenth century and into the revolutionary period (Bawden 1968:146, 380). Illegitimate children, deriving from slavery, polyandry, rape, or tra­ ditional hospitality, have presumably been a common phenomenon at all times. Although it is debatable whether it was codified,the law of Djenghis Khan, known as The Great Yasa {Ikh Zasag), demanded the protection of women as mothers, but also stated that married women without children should not deny a traveler access to their beds. In ad­ dition, it gave illegitimate and legitimate children equal status in the family, including in matters of heritage. Prerevolutionary travelers maintained the Yasa to be the unbreakable code of the steppe (HaslundChristensen 1935:195-196), and visitors sharing the host's wife were re­ ported until quite late. Some visitors may see the number of orphans that were increased by Lamaist Buddhism, which induced a greater op­ pression of lower segments of the population as well as laws protecting clergy and nobility. The casual sleeping arrangements in the ger may have added lenience to sexual practices, including among minors, as there is an undercurrent of sexual harassment of girls. Several young women who had moved to the capital reported that they had been pawed by visitors sleeping next to them in the ger when they were girls; some girls allegedly developed a re­ vulsion for male sexuality during their childhood. But the Mongolian attitude toward women is ambiguous. Women are praised in song and poetry as mothers, often sentimentally, and as lovers and wives, indicating romantic love. Yet, as we have seen, men's treat­ ment of women tends to be rough. The herding lifestyle may foster a vul­ gar attitude about human reproduction, as the intimate care of the ani­ mals, including control of their mating and breeding cycles, provides individuals of both sexes with intimate knowledge of animal reproduc­ tive practices from an early age. That may be one reason why, before the revolution, young people were seen to have reached marriage age soon after puberty. Female sexuality appears unconstrained in Mongolia and contributes to a general sense of hedonism there. Compared to Chinese society, Mongolian women's sexual desires are outspoken and considered legit­ imate; they may compare to those in any liberal society. Infidelity is a constant source of quarreling in the gers. Most often it is the men who are accused of sleeping with other women (such as with the hookers in the sum center or single women elsewhere), but the geographical mobil­ ity enjoyed by everyone also provides women the opportunity to meet other men. Today, as in the past, Mongolian women are frequently ac­ cused of promiscuity (Bulag 1998:151), and any foreign visitor to Ulaan­

Social Organization and Family Life

115

baatar can testify to the relative ease with which Mongolian women en­ gage in relationships with foreign men. Sexually, Mongolia is strikingly unaffected by the moralizing influence of world religions, including Christianity, which, according to Michel Foucault (1979), has particu­ larly framed sex as a domain of hidden desires and sinful acts that re­ quire vigilant monitoring. Something of a paradox is evident: Mongolian women obviously bear the burden of a highly unequal distribution of work and thus appear sub­ ject to oppressive cultural norms. At the same time, they seem to enjoy substantial personal freedom in sexuality, the right to divorce, and a free choice of lifestyle. MARRIAGE Mongolian wedding practices clearly show ancient Mongolian, Tibetan Buddhist, and modem European influences. Over the last century, con­ siderable change has occurred in them, however, resulting in a reshuffling of relative influences. And owing to ongoing societal developments—for instance, a steady Buddhist revival—such changes continue. The wedding itself is called new-ger-building (shine geriin nair). Ideally, the groom's family provides the young couple with a new ger and furni­ ture, while the bride's family supplies bedding, boxes for clothes, a mir­ ror, a kitchen rack, and equipment for cooking and processing. For both families, these ancient practices demand considerable preparation and saving of either cash or animals to purchase the necessary utensils. Many items may be manufactured at home—for example, felt covers, furniture, bedding, and deels—but the relative wealth of the socialist period made the purchase of fully equipped "turnkey" gers the ideal. As noted earlier, children are urged to participate in herding at an early age, and that leads them to also assume other adult roles at a younger age than in many other societies. In Mongolia there tends to be no clear de­ marcation between childhood and adulthood (Jaghid and Hyer 1979: 81). In the pre-negdel society, people got married at a very young age, the girls frequently at 13 or 14 years and the boys when they were a few years older. During a visit to a bag center, a thirty-five-year-old man introduced me to his great-grandfather. The old man and his line of descendants were 84, 68, 52, and 35 years of age. The 35-year-old had children of his own. Thus five generations of the family were alive. In a culture so intensely devoted to breeding animals, it is particularly understandable that any risk of incestuous inbreeding among humans is avoided. Convention prescribes seven generations of forefathers be com­ memorated, and when preparing for marriage none of these forefathers

116

' i

Chapter 4

can be identical between the bride and groom. Biology is mediated by cultural patterns, however: only paternal ancestors are counted. On the maternal side, only two generations are considered, generally avoiding marriage between cousins. Herders express their contempt for marriage between cousins, as practiced in China and many other agricultural soci­ eties, arguing that it will cause genetic degeneration. The patemal-side family tree is memorized by the eldest male, though in practice less than seven generations tend to be known. Today, the young marry considerably older than previously, typically in their early twenties. Few individuals have not married by age thirty. After a period of courtship lasting from a year to several years, the first formal step is taken: his parents ask for the acceptance of her parents. The young couple may go to the lama to inquire about a lucky day. to request such permission. If the parents accept, the day of the wedding is usually also determined by consulting the lama; typically a lucky day in September is chosen. Weddings always take place in autumn, when food is plentiful and animals may be slaughtered. The customary prac­ tice is to invite all relatives and neighbors. Hence, huge amounts of food and drink are consumed: "A good wedding takes 500 liters of airag, 200 liters of arkhi, and 200 bottles of vodka," Undendorj general­ ized with a smile. Wedding costs may exceed one million tugrik; the groom's family bears the greater part. A rich symbolism and a scheme of rites have traditionally guided the wedding ceremony, which lasts for three days. For instance, a sheep is prepared, with every single part of the sheep specified for the girl's relatives, while the head is offered to the gods. Changes in the wedding ceremony were made during the Communist era, but since mainly Buddhism and lamas were under attack at the time, many elements of pre-Buddhist folk customs survived, in­ cluding many local characteristics. One surviving practice is "bride­ snatching," the seizure and seduction of a young woman who is brought to a young man's camp. Such ritualized displays of hostility at marriage appear to be common among nomadic groups (Barth 1961: 142). Ihe young man, assisted by some relatives, will ambush the girl near her camp or sneak into her ger at night and carry her away. After a few days the girl's parents will claim her back, cursing the young man and telling him all sorts of bad things. They will claim that they never gave their consent to the wedding and then bring their daughter home. The game then continues, with the girl's family trying to protect - her by hiding her in the ger, while the young man and his relatives will seek opportunities to steal her again. Every time they succeed, the girl's parents and relatives will claim her back, swearing again at the young man and mocking his family, who, as a defense strategy, may try

Social Organization and Family Life

117

to get the girl's parents so drunk that they cannot take their daughter home. This merry ritual may be repeated up to five or more times, fre­ quently after the advice of a lama. Since it brings the two families into intense contact, it is a commemorated period with much joking. A bride-price is sometimes paid in the form of animals for food (for in­ stance, a cow and several sheep). Since ancient times it has been the practice to provide the new family with enough animals (ideally, the customary minimum of fifty) to build a herd, with equal shares provided by both families. Guests, especially those within the kinship circle, bring animals as presents—for instance, a sheep, a goat, or a young horse—and the burden of providing animals for the new household may be shared by all kin. Once the young couple moves into the ger, however, they must prove their worth as herders be­ cause they are not given a second chance. Particularly after the statepromoted baby boom of the 1960s and 1970s, marrying off many sons and daughters within short intervals is a heavy task for parents, and supply­ ing married children extra animals in case of losses is out of the question. Many instances were recorded of sons, in particular, having to wait sev­ eral years to get married because their family needed to save up or wait for successive years of good weather conditions to optimize animal breed­ ing and their chance of survival. But one should make no mistake that it is a matter of ideology as much as economics that a young herder must not fail in his chance to build a herd. The common perception is that if he fails once he may fail twice, and thus he will be deemed incompetent and unworthy of further assistance. The weather conditions during the first couple of years after the wedding are a chance element, but no compen­ sation is made for them (examples of brothers and sisters with dispropor­ tionate herds living in the same encampment were given in the kinship diagrams in the previous chapter). The renewed significance of Buddhism is clearly evident in wedding ceremonies, and lamas are now commonly involved. The role of the lama is astrological in large part: to find an auspicious day for the wedding and to determine the animal sign of the bride and groom according to Chinese astrology in order to evaluate their combination. (Chinese as­ trology has clear prospects for all astrological combinations.) Man and woman have different fortunes (menges), which need to be compared to see if they fit. If not, they need to be repaired (mengenii zasal) by means of a lama reading for them from a special book; every situation has its own book. Both before and after the wedding, the lama may read for their prosperous life {id aguurs delgerekh)~ior instance, from the Book of Good Things {Sain uiliin nom). Poverty breaks down conventional family patterns and inhibits cul­ tural life. Because weddings are celebrated events involving great feasts

118

Chapter 4

and lavish spending on new.equipment, some couples in particularly poorer bags may quietly take up married life without any formalities. For example, in a poor khot ail in Orkhon bag we spent a couple of nights in a ger that had some extra space. The inhabitants were a young couple who already had a three-year-old son without being married, and the young woman was away in the sum center to bear her second child. Their parents had no means to hold a proper wedding, so the young couple just moved together into a ger left over from a deceased grand­ parent. With increasing poverty after several severe winters, conven­ tional weddings are threatened, as are the prospects of setting up new households for the young. NOTES 1. This approach draws on the concept of "traditions of knowledge" as devel­ oped by Fredrik Barth, most prominently in his Balinese Worlds (1993). For Barth, these represent separate currents of knowledge and patterns of behavior that the individual may consciously use and shift between in common interaction and re­ flection. 2. For this reason the concepts of family and household are used interchange­ ably except when there are specific grounds for making distinctions. For an an­ thropological account of the economic significance of family and household, see Creed 2000. 3. Another supposed variation, described further below, is households with il­ legitimate children. 4. One prominent example was the Private Herders Association, mainly fi­ nanced and run by the German Konrad Adenauer Stifftung. 5. In response, JICA, the Japanese aid organization, performed a thorough ex­ amination of existing cooperatives, published in 1997. 6. Jagchid and Hyer mention more than ten categories of names traditionally used among Mongols (1979: 76-78). 7. According to Jagchin and Hyer, Mongols from ancient times have paid much attention to their children's faces and particularly the eyes as expressions of their personality (1979: 81). 8. For a comparison of the health standards and growth of rural and urban children, see Erdene 1999. 9. Young women were in danger of being hunted down and raped if alone and away from their camps. 10. An amusing incident was told to me by the Danish royal marshal: during a Mongolian agricultural delegation's visit to Denmark some delegation members were received in the royal palace by Queen Margrete 11 of Denmark. When speak­ ing to her highness, who is quite tall, a short Mongolian man who had previously been treated to plenty of wine at a dinner uttered, "You are so tall, can't you sit down when I talk to you?"

Social Organization and Family Life

119

11. Chinggis is credited with the creation of the Ih Zasag (Great Law, usually rendered into English as "The Great Yasa"). Although portrayed as a codified set of laws, this is debatable. The Secret History mentions only that legal decisions were to be written down (sec. 203). Some scholars have suggested that the Ih Za­ sag was, in fact, a codification of existing steppe customs. David Morgan suggests that although the Ih Zasag existed, it was not a codification of law. Rather, he sug­ gests, this belief was the result of a confusion between Chinggis's bilig (sayings or decrees), the legal decisions mentioned in the Secret History, and Mongol cus­ tomary law. Igor de Rachewiltz, however, has recently argued for the existence of a more codified Ih Zasag. Whatever the case, the Ih Zasag is accepted by presentday Mongols as having existed, and selections from it, or Chinggis's bilig, are quoted for any number of reasons, and have been published in various collections. (Christopher Kaplonski, homepage)

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

oth before and after the revolution in 1921, the Mongolian Buddhist church was immensely popular among ordinary Mongolians, who were frequently depicted as slaves of their own piety and superstition. There was also much criticism of the church among its own ranks. The critics called for a return to a purer way of life, particularly iii light of the piecemeal transformation of the church into a commercial enterprise. In the words of C. R. Bawden, "The Church lost sight of its mission, limited as it was, with little conception of pastoral care for the faithful, long be­ fore the Mongols lost faith in the Church" (Bawden 1989:161). These words illustrate well the situation in Khotont. Just before the de­ cisive religious purges in the late 1930s, the Beisiin Khuree monastery ac­ commodated 60 to 70 lamas, a small number compared to the 300 to 350 active lamas in 1921, when the monastery still housed the specialized di­ visions as described in chapter one. Considering the size of the local pop­ ulation at that time, the estimate that one-tenth of the population of Mon­ golia as a whole functioned as lamas seems to match. The monastery fonned the all-embracing community center and played pivotal commer­ cial, social, and spiritual roles. It organized markets, housed trade repre­ sentations, received trade caravans, engaged in money-lending, and of­ fered a range of spiritual services, including purification ceremonies and fsam-dancing. At independence in 1990, Mongolian government policy turned favor­ ably to Buddhism. After a brief cautious period. Lamaist Buddhism was promoted from above as a national emblem, and religious groups around some former temples and monasteries were activated. Yet, with the ex-

B

121

122

Chapter 5

ception of a few key national monasteries, there were no signs of sponta­ neous Buddhist revival in the rural communities? This picture would per­ haps have held true had not independence and modernization baffled Mongolia. The three pillars of socialist modernization—education, medi­ cine, and material security—began to deteriorate in the Mongolian coun­ tryside after 1990. At least from a conventional perspective on religion,^ the preconditions for increasing religious activity were at hand. From a very different perspective, one would also expect the interna­ tional success of Tibetan Buddhism to affect Mongolia, which for centuries prior to the Communist revolution had recognized Lhasa's spiritual su­ premacy. With the Dalai Lama's plea for world peace and compassion, the world community's concern for Tibet's indigenous population, and a gen­ uine interest in Buddhist philosophy around the world, Tibetan Buddhism has achieved unprecedented popularity outside its home territories in Cen­ tral Asia. Tibetan lamas now travel unrelentingly across several continents, and countless Buddhist study centers have opened in the West, while West­ erners flock to Tibetan areas to experience the authentic religion. A web of sponsorships and international support has enabled the Tibetan clergy out­ side China to lead a lifestyle far above that of local populations. Yet the international success of Tibetan Buddhism must also be seen in a reflexive perspective, since neither the religion nor its advocates have been unaffected by their success in the global marketplace of ideas. The soft-speaking, peripatetic lamas have created a powerful model back in the Diaspora communities as well as at home in their native regions, and the new wealth that flows to monasteries and temples may have a sec­ ondary effect in the retraditionalizing of local communities. Even though the patron-client relationship in contemporary Buddhist communities has native historical precedents, it has become an instrument of change by ac­ commodating Western agency; the result is powerful centraUzation and new forms of nation-building (Klieger 1989). This chapter discusses the interaction between internationalized, or "re­ formed, Tibetan Buddhism and its local agents, who remain sensitive to native beliefs and historical experiences. It investigates the role of the lama as an intermediary, or broker, between herders and religion. In prin­ ciple, religion is for all to master, but foreign strands such as the Tibetan canonical literature still sustain the lamas' monopoly on textual interpre­ tation and religious performance.^

REVIVAL OF LAMAIST BUDDHISM? In the West, Lamaist Buddhism has been portrayed as anything from the most authentic to the most degenerate form of Buddhism. The terms

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

123

"lama" and "Lamaism" remain ambiguous and have primarily descrip­ tive value (Lopez 1998:10,19). In Tibet, the previously very strict distinc­ tion between common monks and ordained lamas has loosened, while in rural Mongolia "lama" {lam} has long been a pragmatic term for any level of monkhood.** In the vernacular, it tends to designate all religious practi­ tioners associated with Buddhism, including what we would call lay practitioners. This points to a vague distinction between clergy and laity. Though we may now speak of a Lamaist Buddhist revival in Mongolia in the sense that a growing number of practising "lamas" are emerging in both rural and urban society, we should not expect anything like the pre­ revolutionary situation.^ Buddhism made a slow comeback in Khotont after Mongolian inde­ pendence, but it was only through individual action that it really took off after 1995. An industrious lay lama, who received his education and in­ spiration from the new Tibetan community in Dharamsala and at least moral encouragement from the higher lamas in Mongolia, gave it the de­ cisive boost. The resurgence happened very suddenly and unexpectedly. Gansukh was mostly known in the local herding community as unruly and ill disposed. He was bom and raised in a common herding family and went to school in the sum center. Despite his obvious intelligence, he gained a reputation for being rough, uncontrollable, and cruel to animals; he took pleasure in seeing small puppies suffer. In fact, he was considered the worst kid in the school. After graduation he tried his luck at various occupations, first as a herder, then as a carpenter, and later as a dancer in a theatre in the aimag center, without really settling down. Worst of alLwas his bad temper, which haimted him in all his endeavors. The event that most seriously stigmatized him took place some years prior to his con­ version: in a rage against his wife, a schoolteacher, he turned up in her classroom and started scolding and beating her up in front of her class. At the age of thirty-five, he took up the Buddhist path. According to him, he realized that he had taken the wrong course in life and needed to straighten up and follow the path set for him by birth, which was to be­ come a lama. There had been lamas in his family: on his mother's side, there were several important lamas, who were either killed or severely punished in the late 1930s. Gansukh went to Ulaanbaatar to study with the monks at the Gandan Monastery, who soon advised him to travel to Dharamsala in northern India to study. The Gandan suffered from inade­ quate teachers after so many years of Communist repression. Upon his return to his native area two years later, he changed his name to Dorjtseveen Lama and harbored big plans for a Buddhist revival. The sum center was previously the site of an old lamasery complex, which was crushed in 1940 toward the end of the antireligious campaign; a few re­ maining buildings were demolished in the 1960s. Dorjtseveen soon

124

Chapter 5

started to collect money for the construction of a Buddhist temple at this site. In 1995 he received permission from the local government to build a 100-square-meter temple at the ruins of the old monastery's main hall, which was beautifully flanked by rolling hills and strategically placed just outside the sum center. According to him, donations were meagre and the temple was primarily built from his own means. The temple is a fine construction, richly adorned with artifacts from the old lamasery that were preserved by his mother's family and new re­ placements. It offers ceremonies and blessings for the local community, receives tourists and prominent visitors, aiid forms the setting for the lama's tutoring of his young students. The work of Dorjtseveen Lama quickly became such a powerful example that a group of fifteen young men now study with him to become lamas and even pay their own tu­ ition. Most of the young men's families included lamas before the purges and therefore they welcome this activity. Yet, in a sea of unemployment the economic benefits from working as a lama should not be overlooked. Dorjtseveen's success came swiftly and defied his critics at home. After just five years of a transformed life devoted to Buddhism and to "serving the people," as he says, his reputation gradually extended from his own sum to neighbouring sums, then to the entire aimag, and finally to the city. Many people even see him as the reincarnation of a local sage.® A charis­ matic person who has studied with Tibetan lamas, he has established him­ self as the local master. Today he receives visitors far more prominent than those of the local sum government. Dorjtseveen firmly placed Khotont in the Buddhist gazetteers when the Ninth Bogd Khan, the last reincarnation of Mongolian kings who lives in Dharamsala, visited the temple in August 1999 during his swift and unexpected visit to Mongolia. His visit was not coincidental, though, since the two men were acquainted from Dharamsala and any proliferation of modem Buddhism would have been in the keen in­ terest of the Bogd. Today Dorjtseveen is a highly respected lama and his past reputation is mostly unknown to outsiders, while common opinion in his own sum finds it counterbalanced by his good deeds as a lama. A great respect and awe for the Buddhist clergy are reminiscent of pre­ Communist society, and several terms for respectfully addressing lamas—as opposed to administrative leaders who are addressed in a very straightforward manner—are preserved in the Mongolian language. Lamas are the embodiment of everything sacred and believed to com­ mand great powers—people would never argue with them or stand in their way. Their powers are even believed to reside in their belongings, which remeun sacred (shuteen) aiid able to punish those who disrespect them long after their death. When temples and monasteries were de­ stroyed during the great purges, all religious paraphernalia including the lamas' possessions were destroyed exactly for these reasons, since the in­

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

125

truders wished to destroy both the lamas and ail manifestations of their powers. Today, the descendants of higher lamas will generally refrain from selling their possessions for fear of retribution. The revival of Buddhism on a material plane—in the reconstruction of temples and the return of objects, dresses, and symbols—underpinned the revival of religious beliefs as well as clerical social forms. Modern lamas are seen to make use of die privileges that spontaneously arose from the Buddhist revival; for instance, by exemption from law.^ When everybody else is consistently annoyed by the Mongolian road police, whose officers use every opportunity to fine people, Dorjtseveen Lama never even obtained a driver's license, but drives uninhibited to and from the capital in his private jeep. Doijtseveen's timing was excellent. In the early 1990s a new market for religious services emerged and several lay practitioners began to offer their services in their spare time or upon retirement. Lamas have regained their importance in daily-life activities, in particular. It has again become customary for herders to consult lamas when determining the correct days to start milking, move the camp, travel, trade, and marry. At the same time, the breakup of the old socialist service institutions provided fertile ground for the growing prominence of the lama. Health workers are no longer readily available at bag level (doctors far less so), and many herders can no longer afford the sum center clinic. In particular, they fear hospitalization, the cost of which will exceed their meager budgets. Thus, for both economic and spiritual reasons, many people tend to look up lo­ cal lamas first. For instance, when Banzragch's wife hit her head as she fell from a horse and continued to suffer from headaches, her family at­ tempted only herbal cures devised by a lama. It was only when she de­ veloped large red blemishes all over her body that she was taken to the clinic fifty kilometers away. She died four days later. Several lay and dilettante lamas have appeared, mostly elderly men who received some training in the monastery before the purges, sons and grandsons of deceased lamas, and others who claim to be self-taught from religious books in their families' possession. The old lama Soninbayar is regarded as the most authentic among the elder generation. Bom in 1910, he studied at the monastery for a few years before switching to common work. He came from a wealthy family of nobles, and since he was among the first locals to receive schooling in modem Mongolian he was always much respected; throughout his life his advice was sought by other herders. His several years of training as a lama added to his prestige, since people in his bag would sometimes look him up for spiritual advice, too. It was not until he reached old age, however, when the socialist path was abandoned, that people more frequently sought him as a lama and he fully returned to the occupation of his childhood; he was more or less

126

Chapter 5

reestablished as a lama by public demand, presumably quite similar to the way folk specialists are reestablished in China (Anagnost 1987). For many years Soninbayar was the only lama in the sum center, and he was probably the most distinguished heir of the monastery until Dorjtseveen came on stage in the mid-1990s; at this time Soninbayar was slowing down his activities due to his advanced age. Thus, all of a sudden lamas became readily available, catering to the spiritual, educational, medical, and magical needs of the local population. As a consequence, however, lamas and clients have tended to become stratified according to their cler­ ical status and economic capacity, respectively. During my fieldwork it appeared that local religious life and Buddhism were not entirely compatible. Before Dorjtseveen Lama there were herders with rather robust religious beliefs (more so than I had antici­ pated), religiously informed practices still thrived, and a host of Tibetan scripts and other religious artefacts were kept in private gers. Still, no reli­ gious conventions or overarching structure existed, as if a piece was miss­ ing. Apparently it took the restoration of spiritual authority drawing on external sources—and perhaps a religious entrepreneur—to really bring the Buddhist tradition back into play.

BUDDHIST INFLUENCE IN MONGOLIA

The common argument that without monks there cannot be Buddhism is a truism in the sense that without lamas there cannot be Yet Buddhist texts also acknowledge the crucial role and agency of monks. The history of Buddhist nations revolved around the founding of monasteries (Lopez 1998:173), which frequently involved calling in famous lamas and abbots to subdue or appease local gods and demons enraged with the in­ trusion of Buddhism. In Mongolia the second wave of Buddhist influence was supported by individual princes but was fuelled particularly by the building and consecration of the Erdene Zuu monastery in 1535-1537. Buddhism steadily encroached upon shamanistic practices from that time. Also, from an early stage Buddhism was adopted by power holders and served to support the creation of centralized states (Weber 1951). When the second wave of Buddhism came to Mongolia from Tibet it brought with it a huge collection of canonical texts and noncanonical lit­ erature, a complex of sacred rites and ceremonies, and numerous iconographic objects, cult images, masks, and musical instruments, as well as a host of other pieces of furbishing for monasteries—all representative of its 1,500-year-old prehistory and all tied together into a massive body (Bold 2001: 136). From the beginning it was an exclusive institution, trans­ planted into a steppe community without even permanent buildings.’ In

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

127

particular, the founding of monasteries had a dramatic impact on the pas­ toral economy, and it introduced a new hierarchization of the people. Geoffrey Samuel has advanced the basically Weberian view that much of the complexity of religion in Buddhist societies derives from how peo­ ple come to terms with conflicts, real or perceived, between the salvation orientation and the ordinary social life (Samuel 1993: 5-6). Despite Bud­ dhist attempts to shape a constant background of outlook and justifica­ tion, a "shamanic world view," characterized by a relationship with an al­ ternative mode of reality, continuously reconstituted itself. That is very crucial to what Samuel terms "Shamanic Buddhism," suggesting accom­ modation, as opposed to "Clerical Buddhism." In a Mongolian context, particularly the absence of strong state power eased the pressure on folk religion, which thus remained strong even after the disappearance of its ancient proponent, the shaman. An important question today is how and to what extent native religious creeds interact with third-wave Buddhism.

RELIGIOUS PERCEPTIONS AND PRACTICES AMONG HERDERS The building of the new temple in Khotont has not only played a crucial role in reviving Lamaist Buddhism but also seemingly stimulated the re­ vival of other religious practices. It's as if religious thought and worship as such were condoned by the establishment of a religious institution in the sum center—as if a symbolic act made people feel comfortable turning to religion after it had been impeded for an entire lifetime. People may now feel secure in their everyday beliefs while leaving the niceties of Bud­ dhist doctrine to specialists who know the language of the texts (Lichter and Epstein 1983: 223). Today few people have much knowledge of life at the monastery before 1940. But most families previously included lamas and feel that the Lamaist tradition was something dear that was taken away by a foreign power. For these reasons, few individuals are so keenly aware of the diverse roots of their religious tradition that they can always distinguish Buddhist from non-Buddhist substance. Mongolian Bud­ dhism has a reputation for pragmatism, most obviously concerning issues of celibacy, consumption of meat and alcohol, and formalized trairung of lamas. Dorjtseveen himself is an embodiment of local values; he has a family and lives a common herder life when at home, moving his ger and his animals out on the lush pasture near the river in summer and back to the sum center in winter. People were made acutely aware of the discrepancy between word and deed in Mongolian Buddhism at the Ninth Bogd Khan's visit to Khotont in 1999 during his unannounced trip to Mongolia. At the nicely arranged cer­ emony in the new temple, led by the Bogd together with Dorjtseveen and

128

Chapters

attended by hundreds of colorfully dressed people, the Bogd made a speech to the community. After blessing the locd area in eloquent wording and expressing wishes for its economic development, he turned to the questions of morality and lifestyle. "It is wrong to kill animals," he told the herders. "You should eat less meat." Some people raised their eyebrows. When he turned to alcohol and stated that "Mongolian men should drink less and work harder for their country," a surly murmur spread among the men; the women giggled. To listeners, Buddhist dignitaries appeared to be trotting out the slogans of the late negdel leadership—that is, moralizing from above. One person commented, "He talks like someone appointed by the MPRP." Yet everyone present agreed that his appearance, which was reported across the sum, was beneficial to their area. A brief review of currently upheld religious beliefs and practices in the broadest sense may elucidate the complex interaction between new Bud­ dhism and folk religion. First of aU, one commonly (though not universally) finds beliefs in reincarnation. Although notions of reincarnation are ancient, Buddhist influence is evident, primarily in the belief in the crucial impor­ tance of personal merits at death. At funerals, Buddhist texts are read (or re­ cited from memory) and the "Golden Chest" (altan khairtsag neekh) is opened for settling die grand accounts of a lifetime. Lamas are die exclusive interpreters of good and evil during this ceremony and their powers are rarely questioned. One story, which was presented to us as testimony to the lamas" secret powers, tells of a man who lay dead in his gar in Burgaltai bag when a lama was called in to open the Golden Chest. The lama immediately professed that the man's soul would not leave the body and began to chant for him. He continued for over an hour without anything happening. Then the lama said that the soul was soon going to depart. He went out to pull the top ger cover open and came back to continue chanting. Then, all of a sudden, the astonished onlookers saw blood pouring from die comer of the dead man's mouth and the lama said that the soul was now finally depart­ ing. Despite the powerful influence of Buddhism and the common belief in reincarnation, saving up personal merit for the single purpose of salvation is not a strong philosophy of life among herders. The classical Buddhist notion that it is sinful for anyone who has not taken the appropriate vow to read holy books is also commonly upheld, and it presumably induced many to include a lama in their family in pre­ revolutionary times (Pozdneyev 1978: 171). Today nobody can actually read the Ubetan scripts stored in private gers, except for Dorjtseveen, which adds to his prestige. Related to reincarnation are a number of life-cycle rituals, in which the Buddhist contents have become much more evident in recent years. Childbirth now commonly involves consulting a lama, who will choose a lucky name for the child. For this reason Buddhist and Tibetan names

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

129

have made a strong comeback at the expense of old Mongolian and revo­ lutionary names. Some families have resumed the practice of giving names of deceased family members to newborns, though with altered spelling or phrasing. Also, renaming has become more common—for in­ stance, when children are frequently sick and fail to grow strong. At wed­ dings a lama will participate in the preparations and perform services, most commonly by reading selected Buddhist texts. It is at death, however, that Buddhism has most forcefully reappeared as a framework for mourning and interment rituals. Immediately upon death, a lama is called in to read a chosen Buddhist text, see to the proper arrange­ ments in the ger, and determine the correct time of interment. Previously, dead bodies were either cremated or buried in the public graveyard behind the sum center, but now the traditional open-air disposal of the body in the mountains is practiced again, particularly in the elevated and mountainous southern parts of the sum. Old people tend to prefer this method, since it is considered correct and is less costly than public burial in a wooden coffin. Lamas assist in finding the right spot for the body, but there is some dis­ agreement here, since lamas only recommend open-air burials in certain cases of morally superior people or if endorsed by astrology (for instance, if the person has fire or water as the element, the traditional burial may be discouraged). If the corpse is not immediately devoured by scavengers it is a sign that the person has done bad things in life and the lama is called back to read for the soul (such as from the book Calling the Vulture [tasiin duudand possibly shift the corpse to a new location. After a death one or several small butter lamps are kept burning continuously for the departed soul in front of the picture of the dead on the family alter. Family altars were first discouraged and later forbidden by the Com­ munist local administration and did not immediately reappear after 1990. It is as if the emergence of a great lama in Khotont is also reflected in the unrestricted return of family alters and religious objects in private gers. Old Tibetan scripts, tangas, prayer wheels, bells, incense boxes, and silver vessels, many of which belonged to departed lamas in the family, have re­ turned to their original position on the left-hand box in the back of the ger. Since the supernatural powers attributed to high lamas are commonly be­ lieved to reside in their belongings after death, their most cherished reli­ gious objects should be handled carefully in the family and may cause misfortune if transferred to new owners. Our good friends and inform­ ants Gonchig and his mother in Burgaltai bag once showed us their col­ lection of religious objects, which had belonged to the mother's brother, a famous lama who survived several long terms of imprisonment. The ob­ jects were mostly very old, some which had been found on the steppe even dating back to the Uigur period, and were regarded as sacred. Once a man from the capital bought a little figurine from the collection, but

130

Chapter 5

when his two children soon fell ill and could not be cured he brought the figurine back to Gonchig and his mother. Ovoo shrines, originating in the shamanistic veneration of heaven and earth and a range of local deities residing in elevated ground (Jagchid and Hyer 1979: chapter 4), are still much respected and new ones are regularly established at high points. People will get out of vehicles or dismount horses in order to walk three times around the ovoo, while adding stones to the pile and sometimes placing a small amount of cash under a stone. Yearly ovoo festivals were presumably held all along as social and sport­ ing events in the form of "little Naadams" in the countryside, but recently they have regained much of their religious subject matter. They are now celebrated at sacred rocks amidst beautiful scenery, and offerings are made of a mare's first spring milk (an ancient ritual). Though the ovoo fes­ tivals are a pre-Buddhist phenomenon, the deities and forces worshipped at them were long ago subdued by Buddhism, and today the festival is naturally conducted by the lamas, who gather from both inside and out­ side the sum to perform several hour-long ceremonies for the local com­ munity under the leadership of Dorjtseveen Lama. From early morning until about noon, when the horseracing and wrestling begin, the lamas take center stage with a large display of tables filled with pastry, cheese and sweets, stools and pillows for the lamas, and a range of religious scripts and musical instruments. As they chant Tibetan texts for the bless­ ing of people and herds in Khotont and lead the offerings of first milk sprinkled on the sacred rocks, they consciously contribute to the reconse­ cration of the local community. Ovoo festivals are rotated among the six bags of the sum and thus pro­ vide lamas and people with an opportunity to meet on common ground; after the ceremonies the lamas are approadied by herders asking for ad­ vice or inviting them to their gers to perform ceremonies, see sick people, or give personal counselling. At the root of Mongolian folk religious worship a great number of in­ junctions and taboos are found—religious and practical ones mixed to­ gether and usually supported by old proverbs and local idioms. Taboos do not form an independent semantic category in Mongolian, but rather take the form of restrictions or observances (Jagchin and Hyer 1979:145), often related to matters of sacredness (shuteen). Yet they frame and give meaning to everyday life, which appears highly ritualized, as a kind of cultivation of the empty steppe space. Many observances take the form of protoreligious creeds referring mostly to the domestic sphere and the herding lifestyle. For that reason they have been very durable, surviving Buddhism, Commimism, and modernization. Some even survived ur­ banization. According to the ancient veneration of heaven, earth, moun­ tains, rocks, rivers, and streams, they prevent nomadic herders from dig­

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

131

ging the earth (except for sanitary and camp-cleaning purposes), discour­ age people from changing the landscape other than by grazing their ani­ mals, and urge people to protect waterways. Many observances refer to the ger. For example, by forbidding people to touch the stove with their boots since fire is sacred and feet and footwear are unclean; determining how to arrange all furniture, beds, and equipment inside and how to seat people; indicating which way to pass food around; requiring the pack train to move in a clockwise direction around the old camp when setting out for the next campsite; and so forth. All things sacred in the pastoral lifestyle are surrounded by observances; milk must not be poured into a river; food must not be thrown on the ground or otherwise wasted; ani­ mal blood must not be spilled on the ground; dirty clothes should not be washed in the river; people should not urinate in ashes, fire, or water; and so forth. A number of taboos relate to matters of gender, sex, and men­ struation, commonly imposing a number of restrictions on women. The avoidance of killing and eating certain animals, including fish and fowl, may be interpreted as originating in ancient totemism, but may as well just emphasize the pastoral nomadic identity. Other observances indicate when to travel or forbid people to set out on a Tuesday. In addition, many observances of Buddhist origin are found—for instance, those pertaining to people's astrological correlations at marriage or within the family. In most cases these observances are rigidly followed and people are horrified at the consequences of imprudence. For instance, we were told that some years ago a man had taken one of the wooden pillars from the old temple ruins at the bank of the White Temple River and cut it up for firewood. The teller, a neighboring herder, reported with horror that both the man and his family fell sick and died as retribution for this act. My as­ sistant, Tsendsesmee, an educated woman from the city, reminded me: "There you see. Don't go and poke in the earth or take anything; it is very dangerous." Historic places, ruins, graves, and engraved or carved stones are all sacred (shuteen) and protected by invisible forces. Even the public graveyard in the hills behind the sum center is commonly avoided as an evil place, unless for proper business. Many rituals surround herding, breeding, and caring for domestic ani­ mals. When male animals are castrated, for example, knives are purified in the fire, fermented mare's milk is poured on the wound, and in the case of stallions one testicle is tied to the tail while the other is roasted in the hearth and consumed with ashes by the head of household to absorb the stallion's vitality. A number of ancient deities, demons, and mystical beings in an ani­ mated landscape that were subdued or converted to Buddhism in the course of time may still be remembered and sometimes venerated locally, most notably the White Old Man (tsagan obogeii) (Pozdneyev 1978:135). In

132

Chapter 5

addition, numerous mountains are still venerated, while many place names support religious memory. The oldest members of the herding community remember the spectacular purification ceremonies held at the old monastery, such as the Maidari festival observed by Haslund-Christensen in the 1920s. In parades and tsam dancing, the entire pantheon of gods, ghosts, demons, and fable animals of Mongolian cosmology were dis­ played; masters of heaven and hell appeared in disguise; and acts of hu­ man sacrifice were dramatized followed by demonstrations of how Bud­ dhism conquered shamanism. Other plays elaborated on human suffering and dreaded moments of herding life while moralizing about faith in Buddhism as the only durable good. Lamas dressed as ogres would attack the audience with hysterical ecstasy, and herders participated in rituals to destroy evil and pass between fires for purification. After donating to the monastery, herders could return to their camps, cleansed and relieved of their sins (Haslund-Christensen 1935; 35-54). INTERACTION BETWEEN LAMAS AND HERDERS

Although religion, broadly defined, is integrated into the herding lifestyle in Khotont, and Buddhism previously was Mongolians' most cherished national emblem, we may ask if a popular movement could have revived religious institutions. Several factors suggest the answer is no. First, Mongolian herders have not been inclined to gather around any movement, be it of a spiritual or secular orientation. The Mongolian outlook as expressed in "shamanic Buddhism," which itself allows for great diversity, includes a perception of reality unfavorable to social movements or other joint action. It recog­ nizes individual merit, but at the same time it focuses on enjoying the most immediate pleasures of life such as good company, abundant food and drink, closeness to the earth, the landscape, living with the animals, and movement in a vast space, where time tends to disintegrate. For Mon­ golian herders time and history have no immediate significance, and they are even persistently eliminated: eating, drinking, socializing, moving the camp, traveling, and so forth can be done at any time it is desired, and there is little consciousness of age or age-dependent behavior. Second, as has been suggested, it takes external authority and proper ordination to install the Buddhist tradition in all its complexity, including the recognition of centralized and stratified agencies; a popular move­ ment is not sufficient, since Buddhist institutions involve hegemony. Previously, a few lay lamas practised in the countryside, very often in connection with deaths. Today, with the rise of Dorjtseveen Lama, the proper locus for a lama's activity has shifted to temple spaces. Dorjtseveen

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

133

operates the new stone construction behind the sum center and in his own itself a beautifully adorned mobile temple. In fact, most of his services for private individuals take place within the confines of his own ger. Doijtseveen offers healing, divination of dates, performance of all life­ cycle rituals, spiritual guidance, fortune-telling, advice on theft, insight into the well-being of distant or departed family members, determination of proper timing for all herding activities, and remedies for a host of daily-life grievances. The cases my assistant and I recorded one afternoon during one of many visits to the lama's illustrate his enormous reper­ toire.^® A wealthy old couple from the provincial capital of Tsetserleg spent several hours in his ger, first socializing and drinking airag, while their driver waited outside. The man wanted to inquire about a niece who was not doing so well in school; his wife, who was heavily overweight, complained about an abdominal pain. The lama rolled his dice, chanted while handling his rosary, and checked his almanac to give advice. He also placed his hand on the woman's stomach, chest, and back, and felt her pulse to judge her condition. Soon an elderly herder came in, was served airag, and disclosed his concern: twenty horses had disappeared from his herd and he feared that they were stolen, which is now quite common. He asked the lama where and when to go look for them. Again, the lama gently blew on his dice and threw them into the wooden box be­ fore offering advice. A woman came in with a small baby who suffered from respiratory problems. Over several weeks the lama had seen the baby every day, chanting for her and massaging her head and neck. Now the lama and her mother discussed the possibility of renaming the child. Another herder arrived, complaining that several of his sheep were sick and wanting to know if some kind of natural disaster or plague was af­ fecting them. The lama checked the almanac and the herder's horoscope, then advised him to move his camp the following week. A shy young woman came in and told the lama that she was in her late twenties and still unmarried; she was under pressure from her mother, in particular, to choose a man out of several who had shown an interest in her. Again the lama said a number of prayers while closing his eyes and handling his rosary, dropped his dice in the wooden box, and said she should feel com­ fortable—this year or the next would be favorable for her to choose a man. Further, the lama recommended that she read a couple of religious books on courtship and marriage, which could be bought in the city.

ger,

DONATIONS: THE CRITICAL ISSUE According to Dorjtseveen (and this was confirmed by my fieldwork), as many as thirty clients easily see him in a single day when he is at home

134

Chapter 5

and available in his ger. Yet he does not get paid directly for these services, since he only "serves the local community." One would have to be naive to believe that he has no intention of exchanging his spiritual authority for material benefits, however. Instead of regular fees, the lama receives do­ nations, which tend to be very generous by local standards. The old cou­ ple paid 5,000 tugrik;” others pay maybe 1,000 tugrik and rarely less thar\ 500 tugrik. The herder who lost his horses promised the lama a fat sheep in the summer. Seeing a lama without making an appropriate "donation" is believed to bring misfortun^. The external observer may reasonably ask if this method of payment is not to the lamas' advantage. Commonly in a Buddhist context, the dis­ tinction between monks and laypeople is sharply drawn, with monks ac­ corded higher prestige than laypeople (Lopez 1998: 173) since they have elevated themselves to a higher moral-spiritual plane (Goldstein* and Kapstein 1998: 22). The monk is supposed to maintain purity and keep a complex set of vows, which demarcate his lifestyle from the lifestyles of others. This enables him to perform his special duties of reciting texts, performing rituals, offering guidance, meditating, and so forth. In ex­ change for his monkhood, he receives the fruits of the laity's labor. Re­ sponsibility is individualized and people reap merit or demerit depend­ ing on the morality of their behavior. Still, because of the monks' higher standing, it is more meritorious for laypeople to give donations to them than to their own kind (Bechert and Gombridge 1984:126). Monks do not need to be grateful, since laypeople get the opportunity to gain personal merit from donations. In a Tibetan context, Donald S. Lopez has sug­ gested that monks create a "field of merit," whereby laypeople caii accu­ mulate favourable karma for a happy rebirth—that is, "karmic capital"— by making donations (Lopez 1998:174). Although the common anthropological concept of gift-giving does not apply to the relationship between herder and lama, it reveals an interesting feature of Lamaist Buddhism. As Malinowski and especially Mauss have observed, gifts are viewed as part of exchanges that sustain or even consti­ tute social relationships, where the giver earns credit and the receiver is left with a moral obligation to reciprocate (Mauss 1969). In the Mongolian herd­ ing community a certain reciprocity of gift-giving is evident, even though the actual returns may be secondary to social obligations within networks specified by kinship and friendship (Sneath 1993). Certain customary ob­ servances relate to gifts: for instance, it is considered very bad to return an empty container to someone who brought a gift of food or drink. The Buddhist discourse on personal merit can be said to dismantle the common relationship between the act of giving and the act of receiving, or between a meritorious act and its immediate mundane effect. It cleaves the merit accumulation that may be involved in the social interaction be­

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

135

tween two people and thus individualizes karma. From a strictly non­ Buddhist perspective, one cannot help but wonder if, in principle, one can achieve merit from acts that may harm other people—for instance, when a poor herder donates excessively to the lama while his kids are mal­ nourished, or when the clergy choose to build temples while schools and infrastructure deteriorate. Thus, donations are not gifts based on reciprocal exchange. The client purchases personal merit and the lama receives his donation—essentially an exchange of sanctity for money. In this exchange, the lama may delib­ erately play on people's uncertainty and manipulate moral codes to his advantage. He is commonly believed to have supernatural powers and the exclusive power to reject people. Though he refuses to discuss mone­ tary affairs, the lama inevitably extracts higher-than-necessary donations from his clients, who, of course, want to be on the safe side. Mongolians are known for generosity, particularly with food and drink. They give in good faith" (or with a "pure heart") and expect to be paid back "in good faith." That is part of the moral codes of the steppe. Lamas maneuver within these codes. Over the years a lama will build a circle of clients commensurate with his clerical standing. For instance, while Doijtseveen may feel an obliga­ tion to serve a poor herder from his own valley for a moderate fee, he feels no qualms about referring poor herders from other locations to lesser lamas, sometimes rather arrogantly, or to turn his back on people who ap­ proach him in a disrespectful manner (for example, at moo festivals). Through such contacts, his fame grows while he gradually demands more respect from people in his local community. When people approach him, the nature of the lama-client relationship is immediately accepted and mutual responsibilities are anticipated. By means of donations from his countless clients, Dorjtseveen and his household now belong to the wealthiest in the entire sum. But his wealth, which enabled him to buy a private car soon after his return from Dharamsala, is not controversial. A conventional viewpoint—supported by Buddhist clergy—holds that wealthy lamas, who contribute to the con­ struction of temples, monasteries, and stupas, provide a greater blessing for their region than, for example, people who donate money to the poor, since poverty only exists on the material plane. Wherever Buddhist authority has been dominant, the built-in qualities of Buddhist cosmology—huge and diverse as it is—have allowed monks and lamas to recast its central tenets so as to position themselves squarely between the mundane and the sacred, establishing for themselves a mo­ nopoly on sanctification. As a result of its ability to build uncontested au­ thority as well as temples and complex monasteries, the church appropri­ ates a progressively larger share of the community's wealth.

136

Chapter 5

In light of Mongolian history it may seem odd that people so readily ac­ cept the rise to fame and riches of a lama who is obviously more dilet­ tantish than educated, and who prior to his conversion had a sullied rep­ utation. How do Mongolians remember the patterns and principles that previously governed the relationship between lamas and commoners af­ ter fifty years of repression? Presumably repression itself is part of the an­ swer. As noted by Melvyn Goldstein and Mathew Kapstein about monas­ tic revival in Tibet, monasteries and monks were so integral to Tibetans' perceptions of the glory and sophistication of their civilization that, par­ ticularly in times of repression, they become symbols of cultural identity and ethnic pride vis-i-vis the politically dominant Chinese (Goldstein and Kapstein 1998:19, 46). For several centuries Mongolian identity was shaped through interaction with politically dominant cultures with pow­ erful secular administrations that either manipulated or attempted to crush Mongolian religion—first China up until 1920 and later the Soviet Union. The continued awareness of these foreign nations is indeed strik­ ing and indicative of their role in sustaining the Mongolian self-identity. People who have never met a Chinese will passionately narrate stories of frightful Chinese repression, stressing how herders were cheated and in­ debted by ruthless Chinese merchants; native monastic exploitation and money-lending, on the other hand, are toned down in these stories. Rus­ sians are remembered for religious persecution, political killings, and get­ ting Mongolians to drink alcohol—although very few Russian specialists were sent to the area and all were on short-term assignments. Since Mongolian Buddhism was a major point of contention with the foreign rulers, it formed the latent symbol of Mongol identity throughout all these years. It was nurtured as an integral part of both family and lo­ cal history as well as an emblem of self-determination. It became the for­ bidden fruit, one that could only be enjoyed in secluded spaces and be­ hind closed doors. In privacy, a few precious religious artifacts were taken out of store boxes and placed in their traditional place in the ger, and a for­ mer lama secretly memorized sacred texts. The return of the lama is commonly seen as an indisputable gain for “the local area. Even more striking, the lama has unwittingly become the cus­ todian of what is perceived as tiie true and authentic Mongol identity, which preceded imperialist repression. People are aware that although Buddhism was once a foreign import, it came from a brother nation in Central Asia and for several centuries it served the purpose of providing Mongols with a common identity. When reviewing these processes we should not ignore the role played by local government. Weak government in the post-Soviet era has made it eas­ ier for entrepreneurs in all fields to exploit shortages and defects in the soci­ ety. Had local government more actively counteracted economic and social

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

137

collapses, lack of regulation, and moral degeneration in the "transition" pe­ riod, or had governments at all levels made a real effort to include rural ar­ eas in modernization programs (for instance, by providing at least basic in­ frastructure and communication) and thus integrated rural areas more firmly in the modernization process, there would perhaps have been a greater choice of national symbolism in the herding communities. In prac­ tice, the new elite's vision never extended beyond the city, and the Mongo­ lian renaissance, represented in the new national flag that flies on top of gov­ ernment buildings, never reached beyond the sum government compound.’^ Thus, one possible consequence of this craving for new expressions of national identity is that it muted legitimate scepticism about a Buddhist revival. The return of the lama became a welcome manifestation of Mon­ golian independence. THE LAMA AS CULTURAL MEDIATOR

Today the lama and the temple have returned as institutions in the herd­ ing community, as has clerical hierarchization. At the lowest level, some of the senior students in the new temple have begun to practice among common herders. At a slightly higher level, a couple of old herders, who left the lamasery when quite young, practice as lamas among their own relatives and in the nearest encampments. Above them all stands the founder and proprietor of the new temple, Dorjtseveen Lama. He is the only man who is considered a "real" lama. He has become the entire in­ stitution of the old monastery brought to the service of the herding com­ munity. An all-purpose religious specialist, he mediates between the spir­ itual and the mundane. He is the exclusive reader and interpreter of the books, performer of life-cycle rituals, soothsayer, astrologer, and magi­ cian, all in one person. When the lama champions the revival of tradition, he does so selec­ tively. Obviously he has a keen interest in reviving the elevated, sanctified position of the lama in the local society. But he takes less interest in reviv­ ing the specialized functions of lamas and the competition among them before the purges. To be on his own, with a few lesser lamas and a group of students, is ideal for expressing his splendor. Clients may feel comfort­ able when consulting him because he too is a local, but the divine powers he is thought to possess derive from his extralocal religious knowledge. He draws heavily on a spiritual habitus derived from Tibet, the divine and authentic Lamaist Buddhist country, where the language of the holy books is spoken. He has become a mediator between the local area and the Buddhist international movements, a broker between traditionalism and modernity.

138

Chapter 5

In the production of a new national culture, a segmentation of global in­ fluences across earlier frontiers takes place (Foster 1991: 236). The lama adjoins the local area with the Buddhist revival in Mongolia, and he al­ lows herders to participate in a revival of religious identity that secures Mongolia a new place in a rapidly changing global ecumene. All religious books continue to be in Tibetan script, however, and the new generation of Mongolian lamas like Dorjtseveen take no interest in changing that—although before the revolution literacy was knowledge of Tibetan script, whereas today Mongolian Cyrillic writing is universal. The most important Buddhist canon has been available in Mongolian for sev­ eral centuries (Bold 2001:135) and most books are now available in Cyril­ lic. The majority of lamas still train young students to read Tibetan scripts, consciously or unconsciously enforcing that textual knowledge remains under their control, since the young lamas will remain inferior to their teachers after their graduation. As the leading lama, Dorjtseveen must be sure to supervise both spiri­ tual and mundane matters in order to stay in charge. In the world of mun­ dane affairs, he must control temples and buildings to prevent others from installing themselves as masters. Dominating religious structures and managing property is of key importance, comparable to mastery of the books, for retaining his spiritual authority. The lama is honored as a benefactor of the local area by establishing a new temple, while the con­ spicuousness of the temple is associated with his personal powers. Reli­ gious objects from the old monastery are gradually and very cautiously installed in Dorjtseveen's new temple, which provides him with another form of capital that makes him the natural successor of the old monastery abbots. The entire construction is rather shrewd. The new temple under­ pins his status and secures his power as the leading religious authority, while his private ^er-temple is where he sees his clients and receives a for­ midable flow of donations (if donations are received at the main temple, they should, according to tradition, be entered in the books). Many people want to see in Dorjtseveen a real tulku. Indeed, his repu­ tation as a reincarnation of a prerevolutionary local sage and abbot at the monastery is steadily growing. Dorjtseveen himself politely denies this, but he rarely fails to convey such ideas to newcomers in his ger or to peo­ ple he meets when traveling. Experience from Tibetan areas indicates that very worthy lamas and reincarnations may reach a state where they no longer generate karma by their deeds since nothing can stop them from being lamas (Lichter and Epstein 1983: 252-253). Today the institution of reincarnation is as politicized as ever (Jagchid and Hyer 1979: 181). The further one moves away from the local community, the more credit is given to Doijtseveen^s image as a tulku. For many people who know him only by his reputation, it is already a fact. His manipulativeness aside, the

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

139

lama serves a purpose in the local community perhaps more fundamen­ tal than it might seem at first glance. The lama has indeed filled a hole af­ ter seven decades of hard-headed materialism. Anthropology is paying increasing attention to "cognitive pluralism" as an aspect of complex culture in any given society, contemporary or his­ torical. Faith in simple, uncontested rationality has declined (Olson and Torrance 1996: 2) with greater awareness of the limits of a mathematical type of rationality (Toulmin 2001) and increased focus on the spectrum of mental models humans may use (Shore 1996:10). Particularly in an Asian context, where monotheism never gained much ground, we should pay attention to the coexisting traditions or "modes of thought" that local ac­ tors may embrace as constituent elements in their culture (Barth 1993). Most often, Asian world religions interact with native religions, accom­ modating beliefs in a living universe with an abundance of nonmaterial causes and effects. A highly flexible Buddhist learning allows integrating native beliefs into an overarching cosmological structure, while retaining an inherent paradox between a spiritual, essentially magical approach to the world and materialistic pursuits. In contemporary Mongolia, Buddhism func­ tions as an alternative interpretation of reality that may compete with and sometimes even challenge the modem outlook that Communism in­ stilled. For instance, lamas all over Mongolia have tended to view the zuds as heavenly retribution for poor and corrupt government—an explana­ tion that was widely welcomed and contained a grain of truth, since the dire consequences of the zud owed a lot to political neglect and local mis­ management. Another common form of "counter-rationality" is the pre­ dictions and correlations of the traditional lunar calendar, which has suf­ ficient span for the lama to apply it to any situation, past or present. Essentially, the outcomes of anything from elections to government pro­ grams may be attributed to matters of timing. The desire to weigh and contemplate events in materialist and non­ materialist terms, or through causal and acausal systems of thought, is at the root of human existence. As elsewhere, in Mongolia the implications of nonmaterialist approaches are apparent: when confronted with distress or disease, the lama has at his disposal a vast repertoire of explanations. THIRD-WAVE BUDDHISM IN MONGOLIA: THE POLITICS OF REVIVAL

At the time of Mongolian independence, Buddhist learning was weak, with just a few custodians of the Gandan temple. Since then, Mongolian lamas have studied abroad, many in Dharamsala, and the Dalai Lama has

140

Chapters

paid numerous visits to Mongolia—for instance, in 1995 when he per­ formed the sacred Kalachakra initiation ceremony for a huge audience in Ulaanbaatar, and again in late 2002. The former Indian ambassador to Mongolia, Bakula Rinpoche, a prominent lama from Ladakh, has also played a prominent role in the Buddhist revival through teaching and founding a center for Buddhist studies in Ulaanbaatar. A great number of Tibetan, Indian, Nepalese, and other lamas have taught in Mongolia too. By linking up with the Dalai Lama's teachings in particular, Mongolian lamas have inevitably been influenced by a diaspora culture attuned to action on the international scene. Also, the Tibetan opposition to Chinese imperialism finds resonance among Mongolian Buddhists, who are well aware of China's historical role in their own country. Third-wave Mongolian Buddhism is more modest and cautious than prerevolutionary forms, but not necessarily less calculating. Linked to re­ formed Tibetan Buddhism, in which the Dalai Lama, the Tibetan struggle for autonomy, and a host of European, American, Taiwanese, and Japan­ ese patrons play dominant roles, it is part of a new spiritual Great Game of Central Asia. Reformed Buddhism is partially secularized: it assumes the division between church and state while asking for respect for religion;“ generally accepts secular education of both monks and common­ ers; and recognizes modem medicine and science. As Tibetan Buddhism spreads globally and its spiritual center is increasingly influenced by the English language, lamas almost universally desire to learn English, and migration to richer coimtries is common among them. Obviously the lama is retraditionalizing the herding community by reviving selected institutions and practices, while clearly avoiding oth­ ers. He is leading a new religious movement and is a skillful religious entrepreneur: he draws on connections, techniques^ and moralities from the outside world to make changes in the local society, where he manip­ ulates old codes. He is both a local and an extralocal figure, a mediator between the narrow herding community and the spiritual authorities of both heaven and earth. In view of Dorjtseveen's simple background, limited education, and checkered career path, it is ironic that he, perhaps to a greater extent than local government, has connected local people to nation-building processes and global cultural trends. Today the white temple is the only major building in Khotont kept in excellent repair, standing in sharp contrast to the ruins of the negdel scat­ tered across the sum center and the neglected government buildings with peeled-off facades and rotten floors. By turning his temple into a famous spot for clients, visitors, and tourists, Dorjtseveen has, in fact, been able to put little Khotont on the modern map of Mongolia and attract visitors of much higher standing than those of the local government. Among his endless stream of visitors was a leading MPRP politician who, in the sum­

The Politics of Buddhist Revival

141

mer of 2000, came to ask Dorjtseveen Lama's advice just after the land­ slide election that brought the old party back to power. The local government claims to appreciate the construction of the new temple and says there is no conflict between the lama and government. But there is perhaps growing jealousy and potential conflict with some parts of public administration; for example, when the lama treats patients who shun the public health clinic because of distrust in modem medicine or simply because they cannot afford hospitalization. Some friction also arises from the lama driving a car without a license and from police letting him through checkpoints out of awe of him, which would be out of the question for any ordinary citizen. The growing time he spends in the cap­ ital with leading lamas and foreign visitors perhaps foretell his further rise. Dorjtseveen remains a controversial person, and a number of local peo­ ple reject him—for instance, old classmates such as Batmonkh. Shaking his head, Batmonkh remarked with a grin, "If that man can become a lama, I can become the next Bogd." Others express appreciation of the re­ turn of Buddhist institutions but wish for a broader choice of lamas. Shrewd and theatrical, Dorjtseveen has established himself as a custodian of magical thought while securing tangible benefits: a far better diet than commoners with plenty of food items from the capital, study opportuni­ ties for his own children in the capital, a private jeep, numerous trips to the capital, an e-mail address there, and presumably a private apartment. Eager to connect with international Buddhism and make friends abroad, learn English, and travel, Dorjtseveen may some day take off to join the cosmopolitan lamas serving an alternative Western culture. Across the world of Lamaist Buddhism lamas tend to use their elevated position for material pursuits. After rising to fame in their local area they tend to reach for higher-order national or international audiences and eventually become beneficiaries of the insatiable Western demand for al­ ternative reflection. Eventually, however, the charisma of revivalists, gu­ rus, lamas, and other proponents of popular religion in the West tends to fade when their material pursuits are disclosed and their audiences move on to new saviors. The revival of Lamaist Buddhism in the area of my fieldwork gave rise to new models of religious thought and practice, but it also initiated a re­ configuration of power and wealth. As a consequence, it created a new at­ tractive career path—^becoming a lama—in a sea of unemployment. Obvi­ ously, Lamaist Buddhism caters to the spiritual and existential needs of the well-to-do as well as to the needs of the destitute, without nurturing vi­ sions of social and social equality. In fact, it tends to duplicate inequality in society in its own clerical organization: inferior lamas are available to infe­ rior classes of people, higher lamas to higher classes, and so forth, perhaps to the extent that Lamaist Buddhism helps cement social hierarchies. James

142

Chapter 5

Whitehill, among others, has suggested that if Buddhism is to flourish in a globalizing world it must begin to take a clearer moral form and pursue a more sophisticated ethical strategy (Whitehill 2000: 17). Although he pri­ marily speculates on Buddhism's role as an ethical alternative in the West, his view is no less relevant in Buddhism's old home ground, where the re­ lationship between self and others and between personal virtue aird social justice remain critical issues. NOTES 1. Since 19911 traveled extensively across the Mongolian countryside and for years it was my impression that apart from a number of fragmented religious practices and simple taboos, secularization had won over the Mongolian country­ side. 2. For instance, a functionalist or a Marxist perspective on religion. 3. A movement to introduce Mongolian translations and to use the Mongolian language in general for Buddhist studies has been launched in the capital and in some major monasteries (see Havnevik and Starzinsky 2004), but Khotont and presumably most rural areas are still unaffected by this. 4. This pragmatic inclination in Mongolian Buddhism was noted already by Pozdneyev in the late nineteenth century (Pozdneyev 1978), as much as it is re­ ported today (Bareja-Starzynska and Havnevik 2006). 5. For an overview of Buddhist revival in post-independence Mongolia, see Bareja-Starzynska and Havnevik 2006. 6. Although there was little distinction between monks and lamas, reincarna­ tions in prerevolutionary society were a small celebrated and privileged group. 1. For instance, by jumping lines in the airport or asking for special favors or services in public offices. Some examples are given in chapter 7. 8. See, for instance, Lopez, 'Prisoners of Shangri-La. 9. Henry Howorth, in his History of the Mongols, calls Buddhism a "double re­ ligion," with one version for the instructed and another for the uninstructed (Howorth 1888:122-123). 10. Dorjtseveen says he has taken courses in Tibetan medicine in Dharamsala, but obviously he is not qualified as a medical lama. In cases of severe illness he may refer people to the sum center clinic. 11. One thousand Tugrik is equivalent to one dollar. Local state salaries range from 25,000 to 50,000 Tugrik. 12. For the choice of national symbols, see Bulag 1998, chapter 7. 13. The Dalai Lama's speech in Mongolia, summer 1995.

6 +

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

his chapter will investigate some notions relating to time and tradition that emerged during my fieldwork. Despite my general ease at living with the Mongolians and my appreciation of many of their views, values, and aspects of their lifestyle—such as their fondness of the clean and un­ spoiled landscape, living with animals, moving across the vast steppe space, and socializing, eating, and drinking—there were certainly differ­ ences between us. Although the ability of Mongolians to "tune in" to the mood and mindset of outsiders fosters a feeling of being among your own kind, my orientations eventually began to clash with some of theirs. A dramatic discrepancy between our senses of time gradually built up. To a point, I could distance myself from the implications of their sense of time and simply study it, but at times it unnerved me and had me wring­ ing my hands in despair for the Mongolian nation. If it was raining or overly windy, people were unlikely to go to work in the sum center and the government compound would be almost deserted. Anunals were fre­ quently left without proper care in bad weather conditions, and herders would just skip the workday if they had been drinking too much the night before. It was as if time itself did not provide any motivation or sense of urgency. People would recognize the necessity of the moment—for in­ stance, if wolves or blizzards threatened the animals and thus their own existence—but they were not bound by time in general. It has been said that nomadic people do not really reckon with time. Time as such—as a separate dimension framing human activity and peo­ ple's life spans—is rarely noted. Rather, time appears to nomadic people as the material manifestations of change such as the weather, day and

T

143

144

Chapter 6

night, the seasons of the year, moving the camp, the breeding cycle of the animals, the epochs in the hiunan life span, and the coming of new gen­ erations. Rather than a separate dimension time may appear occasionally j and activity-bound, that is the timely performing of tasks in the cycle of pastoral production, broken up by periods of unimportance. A greater preoccupation with movement in space than movement in time is evident in everyday pastoral activities as well as in song, poetry, and lore. This orientation has many implications, some of which shall be discussed below, mainly those relating to work, leisure, subjugation to au­ thority, economic development, and perceptions of history and tradition. At an equally significant level, the continuous interaction with sedentary societies so fundamental to nomadic groups should alert us to possible re­ flective constructions of both time and space. After successive eras of foreign political domination, time reckoning has conceivably become a symbol—or even a manifest form—of resistance to the rulers of higherlevel institutions, with a direct impact on the herding economy. We may speculate of time perceptions relating to herding and political life, every­ day life and ritual, and even ethnic identities. As for space, movement in the landscape, between regions, and between central and peripheral ter­ ritories has strong political connotations, since in the vast Central Asian space there are diverse ethnic identities and ethnic defence strategies. Up until independence, foreign rulers mostly controlled the population cen­ ters and junctions of power and trade, where they imposed their own sense of time, but rarely attained full control throughout the physical space. The Mongols control space and all its marginal potentials, plausi­ bly dividing time between theirs and ours, political and ecological. NOMADS IN TIME AND SPACE?

Notions of time have received much attention in anthropology. Jack Goody has observed, "Although all societies have some system of time reckoning, some of idea of sequence and duration, the mode of reckoning clearly varies with the economy, ecology, and the technical equipment; with the rit­ ual system; and with the political organization" (Goody 1991: 31). To better appreciate alternative systems of time reckoning and possible changes in time perceptions among the Mongolian herders, we shall draw some inspi­ ration from a number of writers who have drawn attention to the coexis­ tence of separate time systems in preliterate societies. Unfortunately, the enormous and still multiplying number of anthropological studies on time (see Munn 1992) permits us only to select the most relevant. The idea that our basic categories of understanding are derived from social life can be traced back to Durkheim. In The Elementary Forms ofReli-

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

145

gious Life, he argued that time and space are essentially social constructs, with time differentiation into days, weeks, and so on corresponding to pe­ riodic recurrences in social life and ceremonies. A calendar thus expresses the rhythm of collective activities, while at the same time functioning to assure their regularity (Durkheim 1915:10). As collective representations, time, space, class, and so forth are derived from society and dictate to so­ ciety in an almost dialectical fashion. Durkheim rejected the naive "real­ ist" or empiricist assumption that time is just bom out of experience and grasped by means of time-reckoning concepts; instead, by linking his no­ tion of "social time" to Kantian rationalism, his fundamental thesis was that time exists for us because we are social beings (Cell 1992: 5). Durkheim basically removed time and space from the faculty of cognition deep in the human psyche to become distinctions traced to the social and organizational necessities of collective life. Apart from the philosophical implications of time as either a steady flow with a single direction or a concept with a potentially vast repertoire of meanings, Durkheim set new principles for inquiry into non-Westem time perceptions. An early Durkheimian study in the time perceptions of a nomadic people of east Africa was presented by E. Evans-Pritchard in The Nuer (1940). Evans-Pritchard shows how Nuer time reckoning de­ pends on the daily cycle of activities, the so-called cattle clock, and the an­ nual cycle of pastoral activities. He vividly demonstrates how the passage of time and the tending to a regular sequence of productive tasks and so­ cial activities are intimately linked. Alfred Cell sums up the description: "Time is concrete, immanent and process-linked, rather than being, ab­ stract, homogeneous and transcendent" (Cell 1992: 17). Evans-Pritchard makes a clear distinction between "ecological time" and "structural time," however. Only the former is linked to the microcosm of productive tasks and domestic activities. Both conceptions of time are socially construed, but while the former works as an adaptation to the environment, the lat­ ter is more obviously social. Structural time is derived from the Nuer so­ cial structure, defined by Evans-Pritchard in terms of the institutionalized relationship between political groups. This macrocosmic time recognizes durations longer than the ecological cycle and builds on social processes of a considerably more abstract nature. Like many other preliterate people, the Nuer link genealogy and territo­ rial units to temporality in a composite scheme. As all individuals are firmly placed in generational groups, the hierarchy of agnatic units, repre­ sented in the form of a genealogical charter, determines the structural dis­ tance between any two individuals. The temporal implications are that the number of ascending and descending nodes occur at generational intervals, thus placing individuals within genealogical time. The spatial implications arise from the fact that each agnatic unit at each level of segmentation is also

146

Chapter 6

associated with a territorial division. Evans-Pritchard argues that the move­ ment of structural time in a sense is an illusion, since the structure remains constant and die perception of time is no more than the movement of per­ sons through the structure. Only six generations are counted, thus provid­ ing the basic structure through which all persons pass in endless succes­ sion. It is therefore a fixed system, where the founder of a clan and the lineages have a constant relation to each other, as the depth and range of lineages do not increase (Evans-Pritchard 1940; 107-108). It may be debatable whether the idea of motionless structural time is es­ sentially the Nuers' or Evans-Pritchard's (Cell 1992: 22). Regardless, com­ parison with other ethnographic material strongly suggests that priority and order of events have far greater significance than measurement. (Fun­ damental cognitive schemes being static and rmreceptive to change are what Levi-Strauss [1969] ascribed to "cold" societies, as opposed to the "hot" societies that share our conception of historical time as an enormous file into which all events are entered.) One of the sharpest critics of the social interpretation of time has been Maurice Bloch. He argues that the Durkheimian correlation between soci­ ety and cognition is merely a partial explanation (Bloch 1977). At a fun­ damental level, he contends, actors have terms available to them for crit­ icising the social order, since not all terms are molded by it. The inherited notion of socially determined cognition thus fails. As people engage in the "long conversation" of everyday life (a term taken from Malinowski), only some aspects of culture ^d cognition are relative. As for time per­ ceptions, Bloch argues, an examination of their range reveals that they may be boiled down to two separate notions; on the one hand, we have concepts parallel to our own concept of linear durational time, and on the other hand we have a static notion of time, often referred to as cyclical (Bloch 1977; 282). While the former notion is applied in practical everyday life and productive activities and is reflected in the syntax of all lan­ guages, the latter notion is an aspect of "the presence of the past in the present." Thus we have two cognitive systems, which organize two kinds of communication occurring at different moments in the long conversa­ tion. This "other system of cognition is characteristic of ritual communi­ cation, representing another world which unlike that manifested in the cognitive system of everyday communication does not directly link up with empirical experiences" (Bloch 1977: 287). A considerable degree of instituted hierarchy lies in societies with much ritual communication and intense social structure, argues Bloch, as the amount of social structure, past in the present, and ritual communication is correlated with the amoimt of institutionalized hierarchy. Referring to Max Weber, he points out that inequality only becomes stable when its origin is hidden and it transforms itself into hierarchy (Bloch 1977: 289).

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

147

Here we are more concerned with distinctions between time systems than with their actual origin, however. Bloch's distinction between mun­ dane time and ritual time has, after all, some resemblance to EvansPritchard's distinction between ecological time and structural time. Both identify separate levels and interests in time reckoning, though for Bloch the distinction itself becomes a crucial matter of theory (Munn 1992:100). In the Mongolian case, they neatly apply to two significant layers of pas­ toral society: domestic/camp organization and higher-level institutions. For the sake of clarity, however, we should insist on a distinction between time and the processes that happen in time, thereby like Cell (1992: 315) opposing the trend of thought that distinguishes different species and va­ rieties of time on the basis of different types of processes happening in time. There is no contradiction between allowing that time may appear in many cultural and ethnographic contexts and may be understood with the aid of many different frameworks and simultaneously maintaining that time is always one and the same. MODERNIZING TIME

Following Evans-Pritchard, Bloch, and others, we may assume that the shifting political superstructures in Mongolia primarily strove to redefine "ritual" or "structural" time to their own advantage, ignoring the "cattle clock" of "ecological time." Accordingly, the socially fabricated aspects of time are where we see the competition between native and foreign time constructions—that is, between different forms of ritualization of time. The introduction of Buddhism in the seventeenth century, and particu­ larly the intense construction of monasteries in the following centuries, brought the Buddhist conception of time, which emphasized the great his­ torical cycles of creation and destruction, to Mongolia. A religion in which the sanctity of the institution of reincarnation stood above anything else obviously had its own notions of social processes recurring in time. How­ ever, outside the walls of the monastery the time conceptions of Buddhist cosmology undoubtedly carried mostly ritual meaning. Lamas continued to serve herders in domestic ceremonies according to the "cattle clock" as well as in general life-cycle rituals. It was shown in the preceding chapter how the resurgence of Buddhist practices—not least due to the work of the entrepreneurial religious specialist Doijtseveen—also involved re­ newed emphasis on the lunar calendar with its countless possibilities for interpretation of lucky and unlucky days. In reality, this calendar is a highly pragmatic construction with an intricate system of primary, sec­ ondary, and lower-level rationalizations, and its interpretations work well within the modem linear time frame.’

148

Chapter 6

Johannes Fabian has called attention to the authority we grant to knowledge of time, postulating an essentially Judeo-Christian medium of a sacred history that we have attempted to secularize (Fabian 1983: chap­ ter 1). As we shall see, however, the Communist regime of Mongolia ap­ plied the strictly linear "Judaic" time for writing its own evolutionary and revolutionary history. Communism dramatically interfered with time per­ ceptions. It can be argued that myth and history function in society in much the same way (Friedman 1992). The new regime introduced both time and history in a joint effort to eradicate the grip that Buddhist and pre-Buddhist cosmology had on the rural population. While the Communists thus.controlled the origin of modem history (as opposed to the feudal history of the past), a new context of domination took shape. As noted by Caroline Humphrey, both the Buddhist church and the Soviet-dominated regime developed their own "official" species of history, involving texts of easily recognizable types that followed sys­ tematic, almost formulaic norms for delimiting relevance and construct­ ing time (Humphrey 1994: 22). Attacks on the Buddhist church came early and attempts at collectiviza­ tion were made almost simultaneously. Yet Communist modernization ideology most forcefully entered the domestic sphere of the herding soci­ ety with forced collectivization in 1960. In chapter 1, it was shown how the negdel leadership strove to establish a sense of clock time in order to disci­ pline the herders in productive tasks, while gradually integrating a larger share of the rural population in actual wage labor in the sum center. Con­ trol over time became the most direct source of contention and the most obvious manifestation of the new power relations between leadership and herders, who, particularly the male household heads, had enjoyed .exten­ sive freedoms in the conventional routines of pastoral production. The negdel leadership realized that working hours could only be enforced by means of strict timetables. Punctuality was radically enforced, with imme­ diate deductions in cash payments for labor or quota deliveries that failed to meet schedules. Truck drivers were held accountable for their entire workday with time frames measured out for every single trip. Milk col­ lected from herders was to be stored in containers and placed at collection points at certain hours in order to release payment. The negdel developed into a huge time-governed machine, which took no notice of personal ex­ cuses and shortcomings. Herders were rewarded for contributing to its smooth operation and instantly punished for any obstruction. At the personal level, the new time order also meant the introduction of the concept of age. Previously, a person's age tended not to be counted be­ yond the first few years of life, when hair cutting and other ceremonies were performed. Children were quickly introduced to adult life without ritual passages, other than at marriage, which tended to occur soon after

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

149

they reached sexual maturity. Birth registration, the counting of age, and a new minimum age for marriage were some of the fundamental means of accommodating the herders into the new socialist enterprise. Childhood entailed the enforcement of schooling, which in many cases drew children away from home and into dormitories in the sum center. Working life was well defined in terms of age; later came standard retirement ages for men and women. With the modernizing influence of the Soviet Union came the celebration of birthdays throughout life, though that practice has not been fully adopted: today many of the oldest herders do not know their age with any precision, as they only started counting in their adult life. OPPOSITION TO THE RULE OF TIME The argument that nomadic societies should not be regarded as closed systems with great cultural independence (e.g., Khazanov 2001:1) may be relevant for understanding perceptions of time. The ecological nomadic and modern linear time perceptions today appear to coexist, while the growing influence of Buddhism on rituals of life and death mark the con­ tinued relevance of the Buddhist ritual time cycles, linking cosmology and the domestic sphere. Yet the shared cultural memories of the herding population conformed neither to the great cosmological time cycles of Buddhism nor to the strictly linear evolutionary timetable of Communism. Despite influence from both, and perhaps due to the challenge from both, herders main­ tained a time conception that on the one hand emphasized the ecological necessities of pastoral production and on the other hand insisted on time's subordination: the privilege of freedom from time-bound commit­ ment. Some common explanations are "A man has his wealth in his ani­ mals and he should enjoy the bounty of the sheep" or "Being alive one should drink from the golden goblet." Hence, we find the interchanging domains of timeliness and timelessness, which correspond to the refined interplay between livestock needs and the demand for carving out an in­ dependent social sphere. The Mongol time perception conceivably ex­ tracts from the ethnic identity the key values of affluence and leisure, strongly reflexive notions originally with direct reference to Chinese sedentary culture. In particular, the crucial social role of leisure, particu­ larly in the short summer months when people gather in open space to enjoy socializing and the wealth generated by their milk products, plays a cardinal role in ethnic resistance to what is perceived to be foreign schemes of assimilation. A common remark is: "After a long cold winter life unfolds in summer. Then we enjoy life by riding our horses and tast­ ing the airag of other families."

150

Chapter 6

Herders show a common resistance to clock time. They maintain that, if needed, they can always tell the correct time from the position of the sun. The south-facing ger, they say, is a fairly accurate sun clock: when sliding down the top cover or opening the door in the morning, one sees exactly where the sun beams fall. Otherwise, they insist, they do not think much about time, whether in relation to everyday activities or to the hu­ man life span. Some jokingly state that as long as the belly is full, time does not matter: "When the stomach is aching, the clock starts ringing." The human life span is viewed qualitatively, and it is not considered vital for people to reach age sixty or eighty. Previously, joint efforts by the health clinic and die negdel administration to increase the average life span—^pri­ marily through modem medicine and the introduction into the Mongolian diet of a variety of vegetables—were appreciated for bringing better health, but not really for extending life. Today, decreasing life expectancy after the negdel is seldom addressed (other than by health workers), and the known effect of vegetables on life expectancy is commonly disregarded. Instead, there is a strong urge to enjoy life: a key notion is expressed in die proverb "Being alive you may drink from the golden goblet." One way to grasp the herders" everyday perception of time is perhaps to visualize that they move in time as they move in space. That movement is mostly within particular patterns, but without any mechanical repetition or fixed order, and certainly always with plenty of scope for change (based on their interpretation of a multitude of factors and their emotional responses). Metaphorically, time is like a boundless expanse you move through, with almost unlimited choices of campsites in which to settle down—what you do not get done at this particul^ time-space you can do at another time­ space, be it tomorrow, next season, or next year. Thus, the day is like a land­ scape you move through, with ascending and descending territory, nice hilltops, places to settle, but without any compulsion to reach out in one di­ rection. Of course, you return to fixed points in time every morning, or every night when the sun sets. But—and here we will use the metaphor of "grazing"—very much like your seasonal pasture you return to this place at a given timp if the grazing is good. If the grazing is better elsewhere, you may go there. For example, if there are better things to do at night than go­ ing to sleep in order to be rested the next day, you do them. The spatial metaphor of time may be taken further. Lumps of signifi­ cant time, as reference points for navigation quite similar to monasteries, town centers, or ovoos in the physical landscape, mark the daily and yearly cycles of activity. Among herders, time (tsag) is mostly considered in relation to daily or seasonal activities. They refer, for instance, to "lunch time," "milking time," "milking-horses time," "finish-milk time," "hay­ cutting time," "slaughtermg time," "wool-shearing time," "cashmere time," and so forth. The changing seasons and the yearly festivals (mainly

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

151

the White Moon and the Naadam) are also important time denominators. Thus time is mostly activity-bound, with prominent cyclical traits, rather than having a linear course of its own. And time tends to pass in signifi­ cant lumps, broken up by long durations of nonsignificance. During most of the year, people tend to sleep a lot, presumably an aver­ age of nine to ten hours per day. In the morning, people rise when they are rested, although women habitually get up before the men, as they have more routine work with milking and cooking. But women do not have a fixed schedule. Most seasons allow for a nap in the afternoon when the an­ imals take care of themselves, provided there is no urgent work such as sheering, combing, moving camp, or aiding animal birtiis. The shifting sea­ sons and weather conditions have substantial influence on people's behav­ iour, as only milking the animals and getting a bite to eat may be pressing activities if the weather is really bad and the animals stay around the camp. In the real busy periods, people go without breakfast, and in all seasons meal hours are rarely fixed. It follows from the activity-bound perception of time that when there are no immediate work tasks, time loses significance: time and responsibility interact. Thus when convention ascribes no signifi­ cant role to the men in summer, their sense of responsibility wanes. These "nomadic" dispositions are transferred to wage labor without much modification. Those who have work in the sum center, men and women alike, usually turn up at their place of work when they are ready. This appears to be an almost universal practice, and even private em­ ployers and township government grant people considerable leeway in caring for their own affairs before coming to work. Perhaps the fact that nearly everyone has animals is one reason, but the animals also provide an excuse for not being punctual. Few people, if any, will start work at the same time every morning, and there would be little sense in coming to work in heavy rain if everybody else was still in bed. Our countless visits to the local government compound to see the governor, the sum director, the environmental officer, police staff, other staff, or just to see if anybody was in confirmed this propensity. People hate to get their deels wet when coming to work, and they would rather wait and see if the weather will improve during the morning, perhaps taking a nap in the meantime. While activity in the government compound usually starts around nine, rain may postpone all work until eleven or twelve. On Fridays the compound is generally quieter, and if the weather is bad few people, if any, will show up. Undendorj's wife, Puiisal, who worked as a cleaning woman in local government and has a reputation of being a very reliable person, usually went over a few times during the day to clean. In the morning she would leave between eight and nine and come back just after ten; then she would go in again in mid-aftemoon. Know­ ing people's habits, she could judge when there was a need for her and

152

Chapter 6

when there was no reason to go. As she said, "If the weather is bad and there are no important visitors coming in, I may as well stay home." Private employers tend to be stricter and to enforce more discipline. Their own presence is, of course, needed to ensure that their employees show up. The former negdel vice director, Dashrentseseg, who now runs a small store in addition to pursuing his farming and veterinary activities, is one employer who enforces a certain discipline. When he is in town and working in his office next to the store, the shop assistant will come in around nine to open the store. Most often, however, Dashrentseseg is away on business or out on his animal vaccination circuits, which imme­ diately results in later opening hours. One morning my assistant and I turned up at his store at nine, craving biscuits and sodas after a long trip to the most impoverished part of the sw/n, at a time in summer when food was scarce and hygiene was scant. On such occasions we were filthy, exhausted, and usually had diarrhea. We waited patiently for half an hour, sitting in the jeep right outside the store to make sure that the shop assistant would notice us. A herder on a Rus­ sian motorbike pulled up, wanting to buy cooking oil, and a couple of other people also arrived. After a while the herder became impatient, say­ ing, "I know where she lives, I will go and wake her up." Off he went to an encampment near the river. Twenty minutes later he came back with the shop assistant on the back seat. He had told her that "the foreigner" was waiting and that she needed to hurry up. The young woman was dressed in a half-open deel, with bare feet in slippers, lipstick all over her face, and looking desperately sleepy. She nevertheless opened the store and started to serve customers, though with an attitude like that evident at the Moscow Airport—that serving you is a "pain in the arse"—and it was not until well after ten o'clock that we could get what we needed for breakfast. The refusal to take note of time between significant events or between moments of intense work efforts tied to domestic livestock production may be seen as a distinguishing feature of the social sphere. It may not be entirely unwarranted to regard the construction of timelessness, with its perhaps faint shamanic roots, as the native "ritual" counterpart to ecolog­ ical time. Thus the cultural construction of time may serve to demarcate hiunan beings from the vast Central Asian steppe, which dramatically changes with the light, weather, and seasons. The "motionless present"— a sociological steady state with a nonprogressing "permutational" calendar—that Geertz (1973) observed in Bali probably overstates the case. Bloch criticizes Geertz for confusing ideology in the form of "ritual com­ munications" with common cognitive standards (Bloch 1989).2 Attempts by local groups to neutralize time either ritually or politically do not pre­ clude awareness of pragmatic linear or cyclical time linked to everyday ac­ tivities. In Mongolia, the propensity toward time denial may have been

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

153

dramatically reinforced at the local political level as a native defense against the strictly linear time perception of the modem Communist state, which was obsessed with evolutionary thought and futuristic ideology.

TIME POLITICIZED

If occurrences like the one in Dashrentseseg's shop were not common there would be no reason to grant them our attention. But they took place over and over again, showing a fairly consistent pattern of behavior. Peo­ ple would respond to necessity, but refuse to act merely according to ab­ stract notions of timeliness or duty. As for other aspects of Mongolian cul­ ture, a collective consciousness clearly exists, but any action tends to be taken on a strictly individual basis. It may be harmless when a few peo­ ple wait outside a store, but sometimes large numbers of people or indeed entire audiences had to wait for a few people to start acting. Here is what happened one time when a troupe of artists came to town to perform m the cultural center, a relic of the communist past established to bring propaganda and enlightenment to rural areas. The performance took place on a Thursday night in late May. It was scheduled to start at 9:00. A Mongolian friend and I arrived just after nine. I was particularly eager to see how the troupe performed for rural people and how they would react to an institution that until recently was embed­ ded in socialist propaganda. We paid 800 tugrik apiece for the tickets and walked into the assembly hall, which seats seventy people in front and ac­ commodates maybe two hundred total—only to find four people present. As we waited, a staff member told us that the show would not start until more people arrived. A number of people popped in but decided to go home and wait until the show started. Thus the show awaited the audi­ ence and much of the audience awaited the show, reluctant to buy tickets if the show was cancelled. Between 9:00 and 10:00 RM. a few people trick­ led in while others left, and a small group hung out in front of the entrance. Because the audience started showing signs of dissatisfaction, a staff mem­ ber walked around to check tickets, tearing their tops off so as to signal to people that something was going to happen. At this point there were twenty people in the theater. During the next half hour nothing happened and more expressions of impatience were heard, though there was still no collective action by the audience. Filially one ticket seller gave in and walked behind the stage to order the troupe to begin the show. At 10:40 RM. the show started and the eight members of the troupe from Hovsgol performed a long series of acts, including traditional singing and dancing, popular music, drama, and comedy. They were very professional and the entire show was really stunning considering their

154

Chapter 6

simple means and the countless parts and instruments everyone had to play. As the show went on for the next one and a half hours, more spec­ tators showed up, particularly during the last forty minutes, when en­ trance was free. In the end there were approximately seventy people in at­ tendance, including most of the notabilities in the sum center, and their roaring applause was a genuine tribute to the actors. A drunken desper­ ado, who had refused to pay and had forced his way in, sat down and fell asleep immediately. Many of the other men were in high spirits. Some were dead drunk, and there was a fair bit of arm wrestling going on among them, which developed into real wrestling outside after the show. It was past midnight when the show ended. Yoimg people then started gathering, since a disco was announced after the show. Tomorrow was an­ other working day, but few people seemed to be concerned. An act by a comedian made people laugh uproariously and elicited a tremendous applause at the end. The plot, which was meant to mock so­ cialist society and Communist party propaganda, is worth relating. The comedian, a stubby little man, entered the stage in a green deel and with a soft hat pulled down over his ears. He presented himself as a pig shep­ herd who wanted to tell the story of how he ended up one. He started out by referring to a Mongolian proverb that says, "Herding pigs, a person loses his steam/anger." Attending to pigs is a disgraceful activity for a Mongolian herder, and pigs have a reputation for being uncontrollable. The comedian said that during the negdel he had been a proud herdsman and the head of a large collective cattle farm. When a delegation of lead­ ing party cadre from the capital announced their visit to his bag he was put in charge of organizing a show for them. He was too busy to care, however, and he didn't remember his commitment until the last day be­ fore their arrival. He then gathered all the members of his work brigade to find out what they could do. When he asked them who would perform for their distinguished guests, no one responded. Finally, after repeated requests and some threats, an old woman offered to sing a song. Another elderly woman from her neighborhood became jealous and offered to sing a song, too. So far so good, he thought. But he needed more. He enlisted a few more women by pointing his finger at them and saying, "You sing and you dance." He also needed a host and started looking around for a man, but at this point all the men had scattered to drink (the audience laughed heartily). Only one man remained, and he was then appointed. But he turned out to have a stammer. The next day he saw four jeeps approaching and gathered his troupe. The party delegation was led to the cultural center and the show began. The first old lady started singing. It was a strange love song, which the party delegation had never heard before, and she sang in a peculiar voice. It was as if she were making the words up while singing: "I missed you

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

155

so much, so much that I could not sleep, I missed you so much that I spilled tea on my deel, so much that I pissed in my pants...Here the co­ median imitated her voice and people roared with laughter. She was fi­ nally urged to stop. The next old lady then came on stage. She started singing a popular song from the capitalist world. She sang in Japanese or Korean, which members of the party delegation did not understand. Then the third singer came on stage, a very self-conscious young woman wear­ ing heavy makeup and moving about like a "night girl. She started singing very slowly and could hardly finish the lines, as if she could not remember them. When somebody near the stage urged her to speed up, she stopped singing and started cursing the person in a foul language and eventually left. Then the host came on stage to introduce the dancer. De­ spite trying and trying, his stammer got the best of him and he could not finish his sentence. EventuaUy the party delegation rose from their chairs and left, but before they went the comedian said, "They punished me by transferring me to the pigsty." The audience was really excited and many comments applauded the faU of socialism. The comedian let each of his characters engage in antisocialist behavior such as singing songs from capitalist countries, wearing makeup, drinking, showing disrespect for the party, and so forth. The comedian s act celebrated freedom for rural people and was immensely popular. Let us now return to the perception of time and punctuality. The negdel leadership strove to instill a work ethic of an industrial society, which re­ quired the introduction of clocks. In the 1950s the sutn leaders had big Russian pocket watches that are particularly remembered for their magi­ cal fluorescent numbers aroimd the edges. With the establishment of the negdel the use of clocks was strictly enforced. Each family was encouraged to purchase a wall clock, and later wristwatches were introduced. Watches were given to people as special rewards and gifts of honor, they were much more valuable than medals. Some herders recaU that, "maybe once in a lifetime they would give a watch to a man." Gradually the negdel enforced a stricter work discipline with severe punishments for disregarding one's work duties or hours. These punish­ ments most often took the form of salary deductions. It was frequently said of the negdel that the workers did not care about the work, only their salary. For its part, the negdel did not care the least for excuses for not go­ ing to work. The workers were required to respect the working hours of each unit; some units started work as early as 7:00. Certain compromises had to be made. For instance, many units started work earlier in the summer than in the winter because the herders were used to following the light. Also, it was uncommon to start work, meetings, or events at any time other than the top of the hour, as herders had some difficulty un­ derstanding the concept of half hours and quarter hours. As one put it,

156

Chapter 6

"You can agree to meet at the top of a hill, not halfway up. If you count the minutes, people think you are crazy." The leadership was successful in enforcing stricter work discipline, but it was rough going and the effect was short-lived. At the breakup of the negdel, people quickly reverted to pre-negdel practices, and a strong opposition to time-bound obligations has prevailed since. The new government was left with the arduous task of retaining a cer­ tain discipline while distancing itself from the old Communist leadership. Mostly it has given in to conventional views of work, which start and end with the immediate needs of the individual. In an unemployment-ridden community like Khotont, there should be plenty of competition for jobs, but in reality everyone has kept his or her job from negdel times (provided that their unit has survived). Thus, the public units still in existence tend to be overstaffed, but a number of services have been discontinued. For example, the sum center school has an abundance of nonteaching staff who could have been put to better use elsewhere. In addition to its thirty regular teaching staff members, the school employs fifty workers, who do not even perform repair work at the school. The dilapidated building awaits a repair team from the aimag center in order to be restored. The experiences from Khotont tend to repeat themselves at the national level. In all public offices people come in late. In effect, nobody knows where their colleagues are, as they leave no messages and show little con­ cern. Offices frequently open much later than stated on signboards, and crowds of people waiting outside bother no one among the staff. The low standard of payment is frequently mentioned as an excuse. But, alas, clos­ ing hours are rigidly administered! At the lunch break at 1:00, everyone is out with striking punctuality (and many employees do not come back), which repeats itself at the end of the workday, when work slows down well before closing time.

GREETINGS

Greeting practices in Mongolia underscore the preoccupation with events-in-time rather than with the flow of time itself. In most agricultural and industrial societies, common greetings relate to the flow of time: "Good morning," "Good evening," "Have a nice weekend," "Merry Christmas," and so forth. In Mongolia there are greetings relating to time as well as some relating to seasons—"Are you having a nice summer?" for instance—but the most common everyday greetings in rural areas relate to specific events in the cycles of work, animal breeding, and movement. They include "How are your horses?" "Are your foals fine?" "May your herd be healthy," "Are your animals getting fat?" "How are your sheep

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

157

grazing?" "Happy sewing," and "Good shearing." Many greetings have a poetic tone: "May your scissors be sharp and your wool plentiful," "May your savaa (a stick for striking the wool when making felt) be strong and your wool be soft and silky," "May your sheep skin be whiter than snow, stronger than bone, and lighter than a feather," and "May your horses be faster than arrows." DIVERGING HERDING STRATEGIES

Different evaluations of time—that is, either acceptance or rejection of time-bound necessity—are indicative of diverging herding strategies, even diverging forms of production in more or less separate economies. The negdel involved a comprehensive scheme of collectivization to lift the Mongolian herder out of traditional livestock herding and his "ancient way of life." It attempted to do this primarily by organizing production according to a preconceived plan and by eliminating alternative produc­ tion methods and competing power constellations in the countryside, in­ cluding the church, bigmanship, and kinship organizations. Increasing specialization and complexity of production yielded a range of previously unknown services, which guaranteed the satisfaction of the herders' ma­ terial needs. Like elsewhere in the socialist world (Scott 1998), the herders did not participate voluntarily, however. The introduction of a "market economy" did not succeed in developing herding any better: instead, it re­ inforced premodern herding methods. It has already been argued that the conventional form of production in Mongolia is not essentially subsistence oriented, since the exchange com­ ponent has always remained essential. As plentiful historical evidence has shown. Central Asian pastoralism rose within a framework of trade and exchange. Being neither socialist nor capitalist in orientation, however, the conventional herding strategies make sense within a separate economy— a pastoral herder economy—with many characteristics in common with those of the peasant economy, as theorized by Chayanov. For Chayanov, the basic principles of the family farm are, in fact, present in "any family la­ bor economic unit, in which work is connected with expenditure of physical effort, and earnings are proportional to this expenditure" (Chayanov 1966: 90). In the pastoral herder economy one finds family herding units without hired labor, the five traditional kinds of animals for maximum security, native breeds of animals as opposed to cross­ breeds, mature animals for their sturdiness in winter, larger herds with lower off-take per animal, and few winter provisions under normal con­ ditions. What particularly resembles the peasant economy is the con­ scious balancing of family needs with the drudgery of labor in any given

158

Chapter 6

situation. Instead of generally seeking accumulation and "development," family economic units seek equilibrium, based on a desire to maintain a constant level of well-being (Ihomer 1966: xvii). Time enters the equilib­ rium in a nonmaximizing fashion: in the peasant and herder economies, demographic factors in the form of a changing labor-consumer balance during the family's life-cycle process (children being bom, growing up, and being married) to a large extent determines differentiation between families. Thus, rather than working and accumulating for abstract goals, the family farm designs strategies for genealogical continuity. It proceeds by subjective evaluation based on historical experience. This is the strength of the peasant economy and of the pastoral herder economy in Mongolia. In periods of distress herders can work more hours or work more intensively and thus increase their "self-exploitation," well aware of the marginal utility of their increased labor. The vast majority of herders belong to what we may call pastoral herder families. Their form of production shares many traits with a purely sub­ sistence-oriented form, but more so in production technology than in eco­ nomic terms. Traditional herding methods are mainly used because ecol­ ogy and distance make them feasible. Yet, bom out of historical experience, Mongolian herders retain a high level of political indepen­ dence by pursuing subsistence-like production as an optional, not an ideal, economic strategy. In any case, the greater political and marketing condi­ tions are crucial for the trade and exchange on which the families of pas­ toral herders depend. Despite herders' dispositions towards time, the pastoral nomadic tradi­ tion always comprised its own antithesis. To systematically follow the "cattle clock" and thereby perform tasks in a timely fashion relating to a particular kind of animal is demanding and may, in fact, generate intense awareness of time. The devoted herdsman, organizing both his own working life and his family with maximum efficiency, has entrepreneurial potential. The negdel leadership knew this when they honored and pro­ moted model herders. For these families the introduction of clocks was "no big deal," as one herder put it, since they already had a high level of activity and a constant time-bound attention to the needs of their animals. Successful herders can motivate their families to work well and enjoy work, while looking forward to the noon and evening meal hours when the family gathers. Thus, punctuality, in the form of subjugation to the needs of the animals and optimization of production, always existed as an option in the pastoral economy. It still tends to characterize the good herdsmen, such as the brothers Batmonkh, Batsukh, and Batjargal, who are all devoted and successful herders able to accumulate considerable wealth. Their work is not dictated by the hour, but by the natural clock of ecological necessity. The needs of the livestock and the opportunities of

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

159

the natural environment and changing seasons dictate when and how to act in order to maximize output and efficiency. During socialism they were the model herders, while today they may better be designated pas­ toral entrepreneurs. They are characterized by their greater involvement in the national economy and in monetary transactions, which are frequently based on some degree of specialization. We may thus delineate two distinct sets of values that imply participa­ tion in somewhat separate economies, although such a distinction is some­ times tentative and heuristic rather than absolute. The distinction centers on the extent to which herders prioritize livestock accumulation or human consumption and leisure. One strategy is characterized by a low labor in­ put, minimal interference with the herd, strong social priorities, even a "laid-back" attitude occasionally described as "laziness," particularly on the part of the men. For them, a gender-based, unequal division of labor and authority structure favour a herding lifestyle over other professions. The opposite strategy is full-time devotion to the animals' optimal care and protection, not for the sake of the animals themselves but for accumu­ lation. It entails actively herding to good grazing, providing maximum protection against predators and disease, cutting enough hay for winter, caring for every single animal throughout the year, providing assistance when the large female animals give birth, keeping the newborn warm, cas­ trating male animals in a timely manner, exchanging male animals with other herders to avoid inbreeding, and so forth. Taking all these tasks seri­ ously makes for a full working day for the herder family in the spring and autumn seasons, while winter and siunmer may allow some leisure. It may be asked if these are really separate herding strategies with sep­ arate ethics, or if families may be placed on a continuum between these extremes. Interestingly, Chayanov did not see his peasant-family eco­ nomic unit as an "ideal" form: they were real families representing the vast majority of Russian peasants of his time. In terms of Mongolian real­ ity, too, the vast majority of herder families are simple economic units. Yet, certain differences are evident fairly consistently: the entrepreneurial herders move their camps more often than the common herder families do, usually four to five times per year as opposed to two to four times. And entrepreneurial families transport their off-take to sum centers and markets to optimize their deal more often than do common pastoral herder families. Eventually, the entrepreneurs will sell their herd (in part or whole) to purchase vehicles, start up businesses (including sidelines), or simply migrate to the city. Even more conspicuous are the different drinking habits of the men. Those pursuing entrepreneurial strategies tend to distance themselves from the drinking habits of most herders in the summer and autumn. Par­ ticularly among the common family herder units, which still comprise the

160

Chapter 6

vast majority; alcohol consumption is integrated into daily life to an extent that over time it will induce the men into low-level herding strategies. It can be argued that the core of the problem is really alcoholism, which re­ sults in deteriorating motivation and capacity for change.

HIGH RETURNS FOR LABOR One thing is shared by both types of herding strategies, however, and it is a matter of ecology and culture rather than economics: the relatively high return for their labor enjoyed by all herders, whether they choose a mini­ mum labor input for a basic living or a high labor input for herd accu­ mulation. Throughout history this ecological and possibly technological advantage of Mongolian herders over sedentary agriculturalists in Asia has made its impression in the herding culture and identity in a profound way: people expect a high return for their labor. It is a crucial aspect of the herding identity, stereotyped in statements like "We are the people who do not need to toil senselessly in the field for a meagre living and a poor diet" and "We are the proud herdsmen enjoying our freedom and the milk and meat of our animals." A demand for high returns, often reflected in an expectation of "getting rich in no time," has its roots in a certain denial of time. In present-day Mongolian society the demand for high labor returns is carried into non­ herding activities and modern city life, where it also takes the form of high expectations as well as strong demands for individual space, a desire to work under one's own conditions and only when ready, and a rejection of unnecessary strain (such as when working in bad weather conditions or when too tired—perhaps because of a hangover). In this respect, the herders, who are used to higher returns than Chinese peasants, are not immediately well fit for factory work and clock dependency, despite their physical and technical abilities. Many foreign travelers commented on the work ethics of the Mongols in terms like "they have no heart for work in the sense of regular, steady occupation" (Michie 1864: 185), and they are characterized by sloth and holiday making (Prejevalsky 1876: 58). All prejudices aside, the historical continuity from the early-twentiethcentiuy factories, businesses, and mines using mainly non-Mongol labor is indeed striking (Bawden 1989: 246). We may ask if it is not culture itself that is to blame for creating gener­ ations of self-indulgent herders rather than ecological advantages and a well-developed herding technology. In a grander perspective, culturally informed choices do have a dramatic impact on the nomadic pastoralist form of production, simply by continuously making it possible. By insist­ ing on the herding lifestyle and opposing alternative ways of life, includ­

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

161

ing sedentary agriculture and settled life, the Mongols have shaped their own environmental conditions. The geopolitics of international relations since the establishment of the Qing dynasty could easily have had another outcome; cultural forces evident in the Mongols' stubborn adherence to their way of life should not be underestimated. We should also consider the role of socialism. Did socialism spoil rural people by giving them access to a lifestyle that would never have been at­ tained in market conditions? Massive state inputs from the 1960s to 1980s undoubtedly shaped general expectations among the present generation of young MongoUans. As shown in chapter 1, however, the rural experi­ ence wi^ socialism was limited and the period of real serious socialist or­ ganization—that of the negdel—is usually associated with hard work and strict discipline. With plenty of time to socialize, rest, play, drink, and ponder, there is ample space for a distinct artistic drive in Mongolian culture expressing intellectual, musical, and artistic creativity (far more so than in Chinese rural settings). Time and again I wondered if the pastoral way of life fa­ vors greater intellectual creativity, involving the transmission of knowl­ edge, skills, and a complex vocabulary (such as used in animal tax­ onomies). As livestock are more complex than crops, I wondered if it required a wider array of specialized work tasks and alternative re­ sponses to the shifting ecological conditions of Central Asia. Mongolian herders take pride in their special knowledge, abilities, and lifestyle, to an extent unknown among Chinese peasants.

TIME PERCEPTIONS AND RETURNS FOR BUSINESS The high return for labor in Mongolian animal husbandry has tangible im­ plications for nonherding activities. Today many households have a surplus labor capacity. Following both precommunist and communist-era practices, the men in particular seek to engage in moneymaking sidelines in business, trade, or transportation (the so-called institutionalized alternatives in no­ madic groups). Inspired by some post-Communist entrepreneurs, many men desire to "get rich fast," to make a fortune in "no time." As a conse­ quence, many business and trade relations appear to be exploitative. A French history professor who taught Mongolian history to Mongo­ lians remarked to us that the Mongolians often hate the true story of their past (for instance, that Mongol rulers lost battles to the Chinese) and re­ fuse to accept the sources. A similar ideology may support trade practices. The Chinese, past and present, play a crucial part in the Mongol identity, and any adult Mongolian may tell you how deceitful the Chinese are in business and how insincere and prone to lying and cheating they are in

162

Chapter 6

general. A stubborn belief in Mongol superiority will prevent people from making similar generalizations about their own kind, however—even though they may be cheated by other Mongolians just as often. Mongo­ lian business practices of the post-1990 period hardly compare favorably with Chinese ones. Locally, private kiosk owners are always out for easy prey when herders from remote areas or foreigners walk in. Foreigners are exploited as ruthlessly as they ever were in China. For instance, by public organizations that overcharge them for all kinds of services in the cities. Also, in rural areas hotel rates are grossly inflated for foreigners; they may demand 30,000 tugrik for a night in a ger camp when the local rate is 5,000 or less. Highly imaginative bills are common, as is plain cheating, and promises of hot water are most often empty. Further­ more, business owners and their employees may change the terms after an agreement has been made. Particularly the men hunt for quick profits and high returns for little la­ bor. Much talk among them is devoted to business opportunities and sto­ ries of people getting rich. But the rural community does not yet offer many opportunities for income generation outside animal husbandry. One viable business activity (here as elsewhere in postcommunist societies) is trade be­ tween rural areas and Ulaanbaatar, the ultimate commercial center. In Khotont, the craze for doing business really began when the new company directors took over from the negdel. The three leading executives of the old negdel divided the remaining assets between them to form new shareholding companies, with certain responsibilities toward the share­ holders, who were the herders. The old leadership took great care to mo­ nopolize trucks, however, as they were well aware of the critical role of transportation, both during and after the negdel. For some years they made contracts with the herders with ffie aim of carrying out all trans­ portation and marketing for them—and of course maintaining a monop­ oly by keeping independent traders out. That did not last long, however. As companies could not meet their responsibilities, herders started trad­ ing with outsiders, and much grumbling could be heard over terms and prices. The companies gradually became the directors' private holdings, while the market for trade with herders was opened up. When the company managers transported the herders' off-take to Ulaanbaatar, they returned with basic consumer goods as under the negdel: boots, clothes, fabric, brick tea, candles, pans, containers, cooking oil, biscuits, and so forth. In the early 1990s "modern" consumer goods started pouring into the Mongolian market: international brands of canned sodas, beers, chocolate bars, a range of new sweets, biscuits, and fruit juice, plus the cheap Chinese clothes, batteries, and appliances. Any­ one introducing the articles into the herding community could make a fortune since the profit on each item was great.

'

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

163

The first three private shops opened in the early 1990s and generated formidable profits for their proprietors. These shops were exclusively built on negdel capital; two were in the sum center and one was in Undersant. Around 1999-2000, a number of new shops opened in the sum cen­ ter, all trading the same goods, as more and more families wanted to hook into this new market. Declining profits resulted. Even today the old com­ panies are prominent in business, however, and all three company man­ agers have their own shops. The owner of a newly privatized veterinary service and her husband, a former sum director, also own a private shop. Usually, getting rich fast by overpricing is accepted. Only the reputa­ tion of Molom, who let his company go bankrupt and who privatized even the telephone wire, remains smudged. He still owns one shop in Undersant and one in the sum center. His practices evoke the foulest lan­ guage and many refuse to go to his shops. When I asked Batmonkh what Molom uses his profit for, he said that he likes to eat. I asked if he had be­ come very fat. Joking as usual, Batmonkh replied while lifting his little finger, "No, he is very skinny, because he has eaten so much that his body refuses to absorb itl" (The little finger means 'T>ad," as opposed to the thumb, which means "good.") RURAL AND URBAN TIME

I shall conclude this discussion of time and tradition with a description of our last field trip to Khotont. It vividly illustrates Mongolian culture and business practices and shows how easily the unsuspecting herders may be manipulated by entrepreneurs, who urge others to respect convention while they accumulate rather greedily themselves. Rural and urban out­ looks tend to vary, however. Mongolia still has much of the unpredictability of preindustrial society. One day just after Naadam we were at the bus station to inquire about bus service to Arkhangai. Since we could not get a conclusive answer, we de­ cided to turn up at the bus station at 8:00 the next morning to try our luck, either on the public buses or a private minibus. By inquiring among the chauffeurs on the few buses getting ready to go, we learned that there was no bus to Arkhangai. However, some passengers waiting for other buses outside said they believed that a public bus had set out earlier that morn­ ing. We turned toward the minibuses at one end of the enclosed square forming the bus station. The square was flanked by the Soviet-style bus station building, a few small stores, and a newly renovated "hotel" (which is really more of a bordello, like the ones described by Hermann Consten before the revolution). Nobody was going our way, but, observ­ ing a foreigner with a Mongolian assistant and detecting the urgency in

164

Chapter 6

our inquiries, several of the drivers offered to take us to Arkhangai~at ex­ cessive rates, of course. We declined and waited. Country people dressed in colorful deels walked around with huge bags, sacks, and containers, or rested in small groups on top of their loads. We were deliberately carrying only modest backpacks that would allow us to walk fairly long distances if we had to hitchhike, ride on trucks, or whatever. After a half hour, an old Russian minibus (UAS) pulled up and the driver announced that he was going to Tsetserleg, the aimag capital of Arkhangai. We were now part of a small group of people approaching the driver. After having him confirm the fare and his departure as soon as the bus was full, we got in. The minibus, which was registered in Arkhangai, was in poor condition and its rear doors would only close with a rope. It was now 8:45 and we still hoped for a quick departure. At 10:00 we finally set out. But not for Arkhangai, it would turn out.-Rather, the minibus headed for the north­ ern ger districts, where the driver had made arrangements to pick up a load of empty airag containers, several bags of flour, and a role of strap— at three different locations. The bus was now full, with bags, containers, and other goods stashed everywhere. To make matters worse, the driver then returned to the bus station to pick up more passengers. At 12:00 we set out again. There were now twenty people in a minibus equipped with eleven seats, which were spartan in construction. Some passengers had begun to struggle for breathing space and a proper place for their feet on the floor, and we all had to shift around to keep fellow passengers from sitting on top of us. The city people were the most re­ sistant to the driver's gross profit maximizing, even using the word "greed," and we clearly identified with them. The rural people tended to care less. The driver said it would be fine when several people asked to get off on the way out of town, and he requested everybody's fare already. Again, the minibus headed for the northern ger districts, and again we picked up stuff in three places. In one, the driver and a passenger went for lunch while we waited. Three people got off, while one climbed in, so there were now eighteen of us when the minibus was ready to leave for the countryside. It turned out that some of the stops were for passengers who had gotten on at the bus station without their baggage and who had thus asked the driver to pass by their homes to pick up their luggage on the way out. Also, a woman asked the driver to make a detour so she could say goodbye to her son, but complaints from other passengers pre­ vented that. At 1:00 we were finally on our way out of Ulaanbaatar, after making another stop at a gas station. The driver attempted to take a shortcut under the railway going north, but the minibus would not fit in the tun­ nel since it was carrying three feet of baggage on the roof. The driver

Time and Tradition on the Steppe

165

and a couple of men started unloading the baggage, while the rest of us sat down outside to eat our lunch. After starting up anew, we finally made it into the beautiful Mongolian countryside. I immediately sensed that the poor vehicle had engine trou­ ble, however. After going just five kilometers it overheated and we had to make yet another stop. We eventually started again at a slow pace, rarely surpassing fifty kilometers per hour for the rest of the trip. At 3:00 we made a stop at a small roadside restaurant, which had a TV. It was the sec­ ond day of Naadam and there was a wrestling competition on TV. The group couldn't decide whether to go on or to watch the rest of the com­ petition, and the atmosphere grew tense. Serious drinking had already be­ gun when we left the city, and several of the men now had red faces and were showing signs of drunkenness. As most people waited in the car, the last passengers eventually gave in so we could continue our trip. Vodka was passed around, though, and especially the men started singing nos­ talgic Mongolian songs about Mother and Nature. Several of them quickly fell asleep. One started crying and nothing could stop him. He kept sobbing for the rest of the afternoon. We rode along to the gentle sounds of singing, sobbing, and snoring, our backs and legs hurting like hell because of our twisted sitting posi­ tions. At 6:30 several drunken passengers spotted a small booth selling stone-fried marmots and demanded that the driver stop—they wanted to eat some meat. They got out and started eating, caring little about the ap­ proaching darkness and the purpose of our trip. I began to wonder if this was just unthoughtful behavior or if it was a form of resistance to the dri­ ver's assault on our bodies and abuse of our patience. Soon after starting again the engine suffered another problem: a broken fan belt. It was replaced by another worn-out belt. The engine had devel­ oped a dreadful knocking and a smell of burned oil. It steadily got weaker and at around 11:00 p.m. it sounded like it had had it. We all got out and sat in the grass. The night was pitch-black and nobody was sure what to do. We were only ten kilometers from Khotont, so my assistant and I got ready to walk the rest of the way, but people anxiously held us back: it was too dangerous, they said, because of both the wolves and the drunken people coming back from Naadam. So we sat down with the others and waited. Soon we heard singing at a distance. A dead-drunk herder on horseback appeared. Spotting the broken-down car and its passengers in the grass, he attempted to dismount his horse, but instead he rolled off since his legs would not support him. After he belted out a few songs for us, two men lifted him up onto his horse and sent him off, singing into the darkness. After another hour, a truck approached and our driver managed to stop the truck and persuade the driver to tow us into Khotont. We finally ar­ rived in Khotont at 1:00 a.m. after a sixteen-hour trip. I cringed at the

166

Chapter 6

thought of what my fieldwork might have been like had I depended on local transportation all the way through. Experiences like this one always reminded me that a time dimension was not really incorporated into business strategies. It is obvious that all entrepreneurs want quick returns, as they attempt to maximize profit in every deal, but their strategies tend to be short-term, even timeless. In­ stead of leaving early and pethaps running several trips the same day, they prefer to squeeze the utmost out of a single transaction, not really caring for the consequences—quite like when I first bought my jeep at the car market. It is certauily not a long-term strategy conducive to building a circle of customers for stable business. As a consequence, they often want a full price for substandard goods and services, and where possible they ask people with limited choice (foreign visitors, for example) to pay excessive prices. During the trip on the minibus, the passengers were increasingly di­ vided between country and city people. The country people accepted full payment for poor transportation, while refusing to submit to any de­ mands of the situation or group. They would care for their own needs without considering time constraints or the driver's business. City peo­ ple, on the other hand, were much more influenced by abstract concep­ tions of modernity. They took into account time constraints and were con­ scious of rights: when they paid full fare, they believed, they had the right to a whole seat!

NOTES 1. In reality, there tends to be little discrepancy between a linear and a cyclical time perception, as the notion of cyclical recurrence is logically dependent on the idea of linear time: only in linear time can cyclical sequences of events be said to recur (GeU 1992: 74). 2. For a discussion of Bloch's critique of Geertz, see Gell 1992, chapter 9.

7

Nomads in the City

laanbaatar is a city of extremes, if not an anachronism. The city cen­ ter, laid out around the government building and Sukhebaatar Square, a smaller version of its Russian counterpart the Red Square, re­ flects the waves of foreign influence in Mongolia. Old Stalinist govern­ ment buildings, museums, and theaters blend with 1970s-style Soviet con­ crete architecture, Chinese brick-built apartment blocks of the 1950s, post-independence international architecture, and low fenced-in ger dis­ tricts of which the closest is just half a kilometer from the central square. The people who walk the streets and inhabit the city embody this mix of historic^ epochs and social influences. Herders dressed in deels, pointed hats, and long leather boots blend with common shoppers, men in im­ peccable suits, young fashion-conscious women, staff members of inter­ national organizations, tourists, beggars in rags, and filthy street kids. Ulaanbaatar is in many ways an exceptional place in the modern world. Nomadic ways have clashed with an urban lifestyle, but they have also in­ fluenced the values, orientations, and ideals of the city, which is both mod­ em metropolitan and traditionally nomadic. In Ulaanbaatar, time percep­ tions and common nomadic values have implications for movement, the desire to be one's own boss and to manage things instead of producing them, expectations of a high return for labor, and gender relations. Mciny people have speculated about the extent to which the culture and values of past and current nomads have shaped the lifestyle and ways of modem Mongolian city people. Few have attempted a detailed answer. I shall not claim to provide any definite conclusions either, but will offer some thoughts on the matter based on my experiences.

U

167

168

Chapter 7

One should not uncritically attribute a set of nomadic values to all Mon­ golian herders. Shared and explicit values underpin a common national identity and national pride (including vis-a-vis the Chinese). But such values are not interpreted the same way by all individuals and groups, and they do not produce uniform behavior. In some cases they are simply high cultural ideals. Yet they shape interactions between herders and city people and between Mongolians and foreigners. There are also the less explicit, less conscious, and possibly less con­ structive cultural predispositions that derive from the herder lifestyle and environment. They tend to inform behavior more directly without being filtered through public morality. Theft, for instance, is rampant in the city. Cars and trucks must be locked up in protected enclosures at night— much like animals on the steppe. Unprotected means uncontrolled, be­ longing to the wilderness. Cultured and uncultured domains coexist in the city. One sees well-mannered behavior within the confines of home­ like places and rough and uncontrolled behavior outside them. New private businesses flourish in the city center and provide many new jobs. There has been an explosion of traffic, private cars, and trucks, creating congestion at peak hours. Yet the city generally suffers from the collapse of manufacturing after socialism and a low rate of growth, ac­ companied by mass unemployment and poverty. Social differentiation on a vastly greater scale than in rural areas has developed here. The newly rich have access to every imaginable convenience in the city while the ur­ ban poor are frequently worse off than their rural counterparts. In-the midst of this newly liberated—and exceedingly liberal—^mod­ ern Ulaanbaatar, there is an ambiance of a huge leisure park: endless beer bars, karaoke bars, restaurants, nightclubs, billiard saloons, and bingo halls have sprung up, with every street and neighborhood having their share. Closer to residential areas, the entertainment businesses.mix with hairdressers and pawn shops, where typically the last remains of socialist wealth, such as watches and jewelry, change hands. Dusty paths and unpaved stretches of steppe where animals may graze be­ tween concrete apartment blocks bear witness to the city's nascent de­ velopment. There is a sense of new settlement with inadequate law and order—the Wild East. The city wakes up only hesitantly in the morning. As in the country, opening hours tend to serve merely as guidelines for staff members, even in the public offices, which may open a half to a full hour late. Of course, closing hours tend to be more strictly observed, and many staff members do not return after lunch. Many values of the nomadic society are evident: everyone is a strong, self-reliant entity, reluctant to submit to the will of other people or to abstract notions of duty and timeliness (including in work). Some foreigners have described this as the darga ("boss") syn­

Nomads in the City

169

drome of particularly Mongolian men who are oriented toward enjoying the fruits of labor rather than producing them. If city life in general moves at a leisurely pace, the night life is impres­ sive for the size of the city and the economic capacity of its inhabitants. Mongolians of all ages like to go out at any time of the day or night; not surprisingly, many hang out all through the night without showing much concern for the next day. Again, time perceptions owe much to the no­ madic past—it is as if time merely signifies other people's expectations. Like on the steppe, there is constant coming and going everywhere dur­ ing the night. In apartment blocks, dormitories, and hotels, visitors may relentlessly hammer their fists on a door and shout boisterously to call on sleeping inhabitants without the least concern for others. Inasmuch as nomadic roots are evident among its inhabitants, Ulaan­ baatar has developed into an intermediary between the pastoral society and the modem worlds of Asia and the West. Nearly all traffic in and out of the country passes through the city. After people travel across rough mountain and steppe tracks for days, Ulaanbaatar functions like a time machine that sucks them in and hurls them away into other worlds in a matter of hours. People move in from, rural areas but without really set­ tling down, as everyone is always on the outlook for a better life. Young students come from afar to study in the capital, but a large proportion of them aspire to go abroad; in fact, so many succeed in doing so that it amoimts to a mass exodus of educated Mongolians. MIGRATION AND SEDENTARIZATION IN MONGOLIA

After independence there was a remarkable cross-flow of population segments between rural and urban areas in Mongolia, with simultaneous sedentarization for some and a return to nomadic pastoralism for others (depending on their life circumstances at that crucial moment of socialist collapse). The outcome of these processes and the present scale of no­ madism would have astonished modernization theorists of the mid­ twentieth century. The return to a pastoral nomadic lifestyle after temporary settlement is well documented for nomadic groups, and shows their capacity for adap­ tation and diversification of economic strategies. While nomadism and sedentism may seem worlds apart, these social forms and the social processes that bridge them are considerably more fluid than is commonly acknowledged (Salzman 1980: 13-14; 2004: 33). Presumably, sedentariza­ tion is a process that occurs with varying frequency in virtually all pas­ toral nomadic groups, thus having great historical depth (Swidler 1980: 21). That nomads characteristically resist this process with great vigor.

170

Chapter 7

despite historical precedence, underscores the cultural challenge it pres­ ents (Barth 1964). Two forms of sedentarization may be worth mentioning. One is a re­ sponse to large-scale political, economic, or environmental pressures, which tend to force nomads out collectively or at least in large numbers. Philip Carl Salzman describes such processes as "drought and decline" and "defeat and degradation" (Salzman 1980: 11-12). Another form of sedentarization relates to internal dynamics in pastoral nomadic animal husbandry or social differentiation either condoned or generated by na­ tive political institutions. In contrast to the processes mentioned above, sedentarization resulting from social differentiation tends to involve only the lower and uppermost strata, a fact particularly noted by Fredrik Barth for the Basseri: only the top and the bottom of the nomadic economic spectrum are at all comparable to the statuses found in the sedentary vil­ lage community (Barth 1964:101-111). What is specific to Mongolia is that sedentarization entails migration over long distances, because local town centers are seen as lacking employment potential and sedentary agricul­ tural communities are virtually absent. Not surprisingly, the main thrust of migration has been oriented to­ ward the central part of the country and ultimately toward Ulaanbaatar. This city has developed the only significant market in Mongolia, as ex­ pressed in its overwhelming concentration of businesses, services, vehi­ cles, and capital; a 1999 estimate suggests that 95 percent of all cash is con­ centrated in the capital (World Bank 2002:11). That corresponds strikingly to the allocation of foreign aid in the post-independence period—merely an alleged 5 percent has gone to rural areas (Griffin 2001). Ulaanbaatar thus forms the peak of a spatial hierarchy that migrants seek to climb. In Mongolian rural areas, health and educational services have declined, state emergency provisions were abandoned, local industry was dismantled, general terms of trade deteriorated, nonherding employ­ ment was decimated, and the entire money economy shrank as herders were referred to barter trade. For rural Mongolia, the shock therapy de­ vised by international experts provided decisive shocks, but little therapy. Migration patterns vary considerably from aimag to aimag, as do demo­ graphic structures and educational levels. Since the capital attracts both those with only basic schooling and those aiming at higher education, the educational level of migrants is close to average. The young, including those who left school and those up to thirty years old, constitute the largest group of migrants. But recent studies indicate that the elder age groups are becoming more prominent among migrants, something which presumably will accelerate as a reaction to the zud. There are a whole range of reasons to migrate, however, with great generational as well as gender-based variation. According to a recent study, over 51 percent of

Nomads in the City

171

male migrants compared to 37 percent of female migrants have straight­ forward economic motives; these migrants are mainly members of the younger generation. A reverse gender pattern is evident in relation to ed­ ucation: 38 percent of female migrants compared to 25 percent of male migraiits leave in order to study (PTRC 2001:27). Among the mid-range and elder age groups, the most common motivations relate to herding oppor­ tunities (primarily being closer to markets and improving general living conditions) and to genealogical aspects such as living closer to relatives and offering children a better future. A massive migration from rural to urban areas in recent years and an overall drop in the size of the rural population have still not relieved ru­ ral areas of poverty. Today Mongolia has a poverty rate of 36 percent, and poverty is growing. There is rising social inequality and disparity be­ tween regions, all typical of a third world economy (Bruun et al. 2000). As shown by the demographic development figures in chapter 2, contin­ uous migration from rural to urban areas has occurred since the 1920s, while the size of the herding population has remained fairly constant, with a dramatic rise only in recent decades. Though the population of Ulaanbaatar has increased by at least 20 percent since 1995, the urban poverty rate has, in fact, decreased slightly. One important conclusion of a 2000 Micro Study of Internal Migration concerning reasons for migra­ tion was that most of the population in the areas of origin expects the Government to in­ crease employment opportunities in rural areas. They wish the Government would take actions aimed at regional development, the promotion of small enterprises, and timely allocation of pensions, allowances and salaries, law enforcement and the improvement of education and health services (PTRC 2001: xix).

The study further concludes that a comprehensive policy on migration is vital. It should prevent the flow of population into urban areas by means of positive conditions and incentives for permanent habitation in rural ar­ eas. Once more, regional development should have SMm-level economic development as the primary aim rather than support to aimag centers. Apart from six aimags (five in central Mongolia, along the railway, and one in the east), of which most have established cities, the remaining fif­ teen aimags contain the vast majority of the rural population, ranging be­ tween 60 percent and 84 percent of their total population (PTRC 2001:32). These tend also to be the neediest aimags, and their rural populations have been the most underprivileged since independence. Population movements in post-independence Mongolia must be ana­ lyzed in the context of macroeconomic structures and social forces that concern everyone and that dramatically influence family organization

172

Chapter 7

and gender patterns. As in China, cultural traditions of patriarchal lead­ ership uphold the priority given to economic and physical mobility of men and their decision-making power in the family, while women are fre­ quently relegated secondary and caregiving roles (Fan 2001: 423). The transition from a socialist organization of production and workplaces to an open liberal economy and job market has more complex implications for family, kinship, and general social relations, however (some of which have been discussed earlier). In the initial privatization process, family members were bound closer together and male authority was presumably strengthened as the family resumed its role as an economic unit. This is not necessarily the case once families decide to break up and move to the city. In fact, migration has been a devastating experience for many fami­ lies, as the challenges, pressures, and temptations of the city can be con­ siderable. As shown below, migration has important social and gendered consequences through which the distance between a nomadic way of life and a modern city existence is particularly evident. In 2000, migration had affected some 20 percent of the Mongolian pop­ ulation; 8 percent had moved within the last five years (MNSO 2001: 56-57). The out-migration of people from rural areas corresponds numer­ ically to the in-migration of people to Ulaanbaatar, although the actual flows of people are much more complex. Moreover, a number of studies point out that potential migration is much larger than actual migration, as the deterioration of living conditions continues in rural areas, particularly after two consecutive years oi,zud and another bad year in 2003. Mongo­ lia's western aimags have been most dramatically affected by depopula­ tion, counting for nearly 70 percent of total migration. The situation in Khotont illustrates the complexities of internal mi­ gration in Mongolia. On a yearly basis, approximately one hundred peo­ ple (2 percent of the population) formally leave the sum, the majority go­ ing to the capital. Far from all population movement is registered as migration, however. Students generally keep their registration in their home area while studying iri the capital: some twenty to twenty-five students will go to the capital each year, only changing their registration at graduation. A far larger group of migrants belong to the so-called ab­ sentee population, meaning individuals registered at home but living and working unregistered elsewhere. These are mainly young people seeking work in the cities, primarily the capital, but refraining from reg­ istering where they work due to uncertainty, frequent change of jobs, unemployment, or lack of money for the costly registration (described below). In Arkhangai, absentees include twice as many young males as females, and on average their numbers may include as many as onethird of the younger age groups, which in IChotont comprises several himdred people.

Nomads in the City

173

As a watershed community between the western areas heavily affected by loss of livelihoods and the central parts of the country with rising op­ portunities, Khotont has an in-migration of herders from poorer areas that nearly outweighs the migration to the capital. Approximately eighty peo­ ple move into the sum on a yearly basis, the majority from poorer areas, but some are returning from the capital. In addition, an unknown number of herder families settle in the sum territory for shorter or longer periods of time without registering; many of them consider moving further in to­ wards the capital, thus gradually climbing in the spatial hierarchy. MOVING TO THE CITY

Khotont does not have a single computer or Internet connection. Only do­ mestic telephone calls of incredibly poor quality were possible when I was first there; toward the end of my fieldwork international calls, in principle, became possible. Postal service takes about a week from the capital and letters from abroad were rather unheard of during my stay. Those few individuals who subscribe to newspapers will receive them a week late. Services such as laundry did not exist and there were no restau­ rants or other forms of entertainment until toward the end of my field­ work, when a small bar opened. As a consequence, we often traveled the 400 kilometers to the capital ourselves. And since we frequently carried passengers from Khotont, it was only natural to start inquiring about their families and friends in the city, gradually opening up our investigation .to include all the Khotont migrants we could find there. I was interested in the possible existence of a translocal community of Khotont people in the capital, but there did not appear to be one. Like most other rural migrants, Khotont migrants ended up in the ger districts around the city, some of which I knew very well from previous aid projects and research inter­ views. The stories of these migrants are related below, drawing on both their own accounts and interviews with employers, teachers, neighbors, and common people in the city. Many families and individuals made the move from the country to the city after the end of socialism. Some were just returning to their native place, perhaps to join relatives or simply to make the best of their free­ dom. The majority of those who moved to the city were driven by eco­ nomic motivations and opportunities, however, as well as by a desire for social stimulation. There were professionals such as teachers, doctors, and accountants who had better opportunities in the city and moved there swiftly. There were drivers and craftsmen who were thrown into unem­ ployment and thus went to the city in search of a new existence. Among the herders, moving to the city involved both those with ample resources

174

Chapter 7

and the impoverished. In fact, as shown below, in response to rising social differentiation herders from the extreme ends of the scale, driven by ei­ ther economic necessity or social ambitions, are more inclined to move than those of the middle socioeconomic range. A few of the early migrants deliberately exploited negdel capital to build private businesses in the hectic first phase of privatization. One example was the last negdel director, who engaged in business in the aimag center. Other individuals with connections to the negdel administration were able to profit from the negdel collapse and the ensuing chaos. One director of a small processing plant arranged to sell the equipment to a middleman for a small sum, from which he paid the workers a share, and later bought back the same equipment to start up a private enterprise in the capital. Others engaged in brokering between state enterprises and local voucher­ holders in rural areas, collecting vouchers in exchange for promises of regular payment of interest but never returning with their proceeds. Sev­ eral schoolteachers and doctors also left the area immediately after priva­ tization to get better-paying and more attractive jobs in the capital. Here we shall give priority to the experiences of the herders and their children.

Some Successes In contemporary Mongolia rich herders aspire to raise their status to the level of city people. The segmentation of tire upper sections of nomadic groups, and the transfer of these households and their wealth to a settled environment, is a common and well-described process indicative of the surplus that may be generated in pastoral animal husbandry (Barth 1964). Both the rapid wealth differentiation and the general collapse in rural ar­ eas during the 1990s intensified this pattern. Some wealthy herder house­ holds contract their animals to others and live off the natural interest as absentees, but declining social order and several years of zud have made this risky. As a consequence, if wealthy herder households choose to leave they tend to sell their animals with no intention of coming back. The household of JJ, KK, and their three children sold their large herd of animals just a year before the zud, when good grazing and several mild winters had favored everyone.^ They were lucky to have secured at least one job in the city: KK's younger brother, who had become exceedingly wealthy from doing business with a Korean counterpart, offered JJ a job as the driver for his private limousine. Herders are mostly chosen for ^is kind of job. As KK's brother says, "Nomadic people don't worry about time. They can sit and wait in a car for hours or the whole day without be­ ing bothered. It is more difficult with city people. They look at their watches, complain more and want to have rights." JJ will drive for his brother-in-law any time of the day or night. When his brother-in-law goes

Nomads in the City

175

out to eat and drink with his friends and then goes to a nightclub/ JJ will either silently wait in the car outside or be on call at home. Thus JJ and KK were able to move straight into a newly bought apart­ ment in the city with prospects of a good life and the opportunity to send at least one of their children to the university. KK has taken some man­ agement courses and is considering running a small business of her own (for instance, a small grocery store or a tailor shop). LL lost his wife in a traffic accident but struggled on as a herder with their only child. Caring for his animals while making a home for his little girl was burdensome, however, and he wanted to try out another occu­ pation. When his daughter was ready to start school in the sum center, he left both her and the animals in the care of his sister's household and de­ parted for the city. Still in his mid twenties, he wanted to learn a craft and make a life for himself in the city. He hoped to bring his daughter in later. After a short training course he started working as a carpenter for a con­ tractor in Ulaanbaatar and moved into a workers' home, sharing a room with four other migrant workers. He can save up a good deal of his salary, since he is determined to avoid the expensive bars and restaurants that tempt everyone without a family. During holidays he goes back to Khotont to see his daughter. In a couple of years he hopes to rent a small flat of his own and pay for his daughter's schooling in the city. A number of school graduates go to the capital each year to study at universities and colleges. In the Mongolian press, journalists and common urbanites have vented their frustrations over the unequal composition of university students, as a majority come from rural areas; that is taken as evidence that "herders are wealtiiy." It is true that some rural areas—not least in favorable locations with easy access to the city—have sent many students to the capital. Generally, however, rural students tend to come from the elite families in sum centers, primarily those of educated profes­ sionals and business proprietors, many of whom have benefited from negdel capital. In fact, only a small minority of university students come from herder families. Among the successful students who achieve schol­ arships to study abroad, an elite background will be even more evident. W grew up in a herder family in Ulaanchuluu bag. She studied well in school, always taking a great interest in reading. Despite not having a proper place to study in the ger, moving around every season, and fre­ quently riding ten kilometers to school, she finished the tenth grade with fine marks. Her parents agreed to let her study medicine at the university, each year selling some of their three hundred animals to pay for her stud­ ies. After graduation she got a job at a hospital in the city and married an­ other doctor. Although their salaries are moderate, they have a nice apart­ ment and a good life. W had the opportunity to go abroad, however, when her husband was offered a Ph.D. scholarship in Germany. Like so

176

Chapter 1

many other young Mongolians, they chose to leave their trouble-ridden country in favor of a better life in the West. Back in Khotont, VV's parents are proud of their daughter and wish to see her in Germany one day. Yet they cannot hide a sense of disappointment since they hoped she would ease their access to the city at old age. The story of Khotont's leading lama, Dorjtseveen (described in great detail in chapter 5), also fits well here. Bom and raised in a herder family, he had a remarkable career that has brought him ever closer to the city. He makes countless trips to the capital for clerical meetings and seminars, and with one daughter studying in the capital he several years ago de­ cided to buy an apartment there. It is probably only a matter of time be­ fore he makes the move to the city, without necessarily rendering control of his temple in Khotont.

Some Misadventures Many migrants to the city, if not the majority, are caught in the misery of Ulaanbaatar's outer ger districts.^ MM and his wife, WW, were successful herders in Undersant hag. After privatization of the negdel, where MM had been working as a truck driver as WW was looking after their small children and their small number of pri­ vate livestock (which they kept for consumption), they became full-time herders. Their skills and energy enabled them to accumulate a large herd of animals within a few years, enough to secure them a good life on the steppe. MM had other ambitions, however, and they kept accumulating an­ imals hoping to achieve the status of "rich herders" (which usually implies the possession of 1,000 head of livestock). MM desperately wanted to go to the city in order to give his children an education and see them grow up as "city people." In 1997 he and WW had built a herd of over 800 animals and MM convinced WW that they should make the move when the slaughter­ ing season approached. WW's younger sister was unmarried and had noth­ ing to do, so she decided to come with them. In late autumn the animals were driven and transported to the city and the whole lot was sold at once. MM was thrilled at the sight of his money and the prospect of his new lifestyle in the city, caring little about finding new sources of income. They rented a flat in the northern part of the city, with easy access to the shop­ ping and entertainment opportunities in the center. MM developed ex­ travagant habits and started drinking more than he used to. He would in­ vite his friends to expensive restaurants and nightclubs or treat them to the best brands of whiskey in his home while they played cards. Among friends and in his neighborhood, he was popular man, considered a suc­ cessful herder with boundless wealth. He started picking up other women to whom he gave lavish presents and stayed with in hotels.

Nomads in the City

177

WW benefited from their new wealth, too. She was given expensive clothes and jewelery and enjoyed their easy lifestyle in the city. She en­ joyed her freedom from the dreary routines of milking, processing, and cooking at home in the ger. She worried about her husband's exorbitant habits, bad conduct, and lack of self-discipline, but she was unable to dis­ cuss their future with her husband, who was now mostly intoxicated. After less than a year, their money dried up, suddenly and with dire consequences. MM went to his friends for small loans, but they all refused him and quickly turned their backs on him. He turned to drinking cheap vodka at home, while his wife went looking for a job in the city. With mas­ sive unemployment and poverty in the city (as elsewhere), jobs are not easily obtained. WW failed to get other than a bit of cleaning, which could not support the family. MM started threatening her and violence occa­ sionally broke out. Knowing the ways in the city, he forced her to try her luck as a hooker in public squares and markets. Sometimes her sister, who previously had not done much except watch television and hang out in the downtown area, went with her to work as a hooker. With a small income and two children to care for, they had to give up their flat and move to the ger districts on the outskirts of the city. They man­ aged to borrow an old ger and set it up in the compound of some relatives, who had moved in some years earlier. The family was suddenly reduced to utter poverty and shared the fate of so many rural families, who either by choice or economic need move into the city in the hope of a better future. The ^r districts are a limbo between country and city, where people are sta­ tioned between a memorable past and an uncertain future—the present tends to be an unspoken tragedy. MM and WW, who had been well-to-do herders with a perfectly secure livelihood, were now struggling for their survival as well as with the social problems associated with poverty: alco­ holism, violence, and crumbling family solidarity. After another year in the city, where WW did odd jobs in petty trade and cleaning, she went to their native area with their two children, setting up a ger in her elder brother's khot ail. Her sister moved in with a man she had met in the city. MM stayed in the city, where he eventually drifted out of the reach of his family. Today the vast majority of school graduates in Khotont aspire to study in the capital, which is considered to offer a much richer life and prospects of a brighter future; they might even be able to study abroad. Not all stu­ dents can handle the passage from a simple herding existence to an urban lifestyle full of challenges and excitement, however, as DD's story below shows. Nor do many who move to the capital for other reasons have an easy time of it, as other stories illustrate. DD was only eighteen when she moved to the capital to study English at the National University. For her parents, who are mid-level herders of Burgaltai bag, it was a matter of considerable pride and promise to send a

178

Chapter 7

child to the university. DD lived in one of the university dormitory build­ ings, sharing a room with five other girls. For her, the move from the quiet life of Khotont's northern steppe to the bustling city was a mind-blowing experience. At first she studied well and mostly stayed in the dormitory at night, chatting with the other girls. But it did not take long before she was introduced to the partying in her building; they would carry on throughout the night and into the morning several days a week. Her roommates also introduced her to boys and courtship, an entirely new ex­ perience for a country girl, who had never been informed about sex and thus knew nothing about contraception. After just six months in the city she got pregnant, without understand­ ing her symptoms. It was her roommates who told her she was pregnant, and they advised her to get an abortion. She did not have the money, about 150,000 tugrik, which the hospital charges, so she had to find an ex­ cuse to get it from her parents. Thinking they were paying for books and study materials, her parents sent the money and she got the abortion. Even after this experience she was not fully aware of the consequences of her acts. It did not take long before she was pregnant again. "I did not know you could get pregiiant just from sleeping with a boy," she told her roommates. Asking her parents for more money for another abortion was out of the question. Instead she started saving her pocket money and bor­ rowed the rest from a number of other students in the dorm. When she got pregnant the third time, she still owed money from her last abortion and started getting desperate. Without even a steady boyfriend she could not return home with a baby. She took to the streets to prostitute herself in order to make money for the abortion. By this time she had stopped attending classes. Her third abortion had severe complications, which tied her to her bed for several months. A female teacher at the uni­ versity heard of her story from other students and started caring for her, bringing her food and lending her a bit of money. After two years of study­ ing, DD had passed no exams and really gotten nowhere. Her teacher ad­ vised her to give up studying and go home to her parents, but she was too embarrassed and feared they would reject her for wasting their money. In­ stead she started studying more, trying to make up for the delay. AA and BB decided to move to the capital to work soon after indepen­ dence, when the sum center was being ravaged by die negdel's collapse. AA was a schoolteacher bom in the capital. He had been assigned work in Khotont, where he met his wife, who was from a herder family. They had raised their family in Khotont and lived in the northern part of the sum center, where they could keep a herd of animals. Dissatisfied with liv­ ing in the country, however, AA had always aspired to return home. Back in Ulaanbaatar he got a teaching job in a vocational school and BB got a part-time job as a cleaner in a common secondary school. Things went

Nomads in the City

179

well for a couple of years and they were able to replace their ger with a small wooden house, while remaining in the northeastern ger district so they could keep their small herd of animals. In 1994, when the entire economy was collapsing, AA was laid off when his school closed. They now had to rely on BB's small salary and their an­ imals, having just enough to feed themselves but no money for clothes, school books, and so on. AA applied in vain for other teaching jobs, while BB wanted him to take any work that could contribute income to their household. Family relations were strained: AA started drinking and they were constantly arguing over how to make ends meet. In 1996 BB was laid off too as her school had to cut its budget. In the meantime their son had dropped out of school and left the family to roam the streets of Ulaan­ baatar, fatigued by the fighting and despair in his family. For some time BB did some trade in the "black market," sewing and selling shopping bags from cheap plastic material. AA took care of their animals, but never contributed other income to the household. In 1998, without notice, BB left with their two daughters, and AA was left alone in the house. When we visited him a year and a half later, he did not know the whereabouts of his family. He was in rags and living in piles of rubbish that covered the floor amidst the few remaining pieces of furniture; the rest had been sold. Now he was virtually eating up their animals, having just a couple of sheep left: "When they are gone I don't know how to survive," he said. AA was so excited by our visit that he quickly arranged a meal for us— a sheep head served in a plastic basin—-during which he told the sad story of his family's downfall. He showed us a few photographs of his family, including one of his wife and himself posing outside the school building in the mid-1980s; they were botii youthful, healthy, and impeccably dressed in new deels and boots. Today AA lives in a sea of despair: every­ where in the gers around him people scrape for a pitiful existence without regular jobs or access to health care or sanitation (next door, a sick and job­ less woman struggles to feed her kids, and in the next ger a husband and wife are both jobless while their kids roam the streets). Heaps of rubbish fill ditches and trenches in their area, as no one can pay the sanitation fee. Many households are not properly registered here and thus have no access to schooling or other social services. Thieves, drunkards, and violent gangs contribute to the misery of their neighbourhood, where no one feels safe. Not far away lives a family who came from Khotont's Orkhon bag just the year before we first met them. The family, consisting of a middle-aged couple and their two daughters, had decided to move to the city with their entire herd of animals because of deteriorating conditions in Orkhon bag and poor terms of trade, but also for their two daughters' education. The eldest daughter wanted to study at the police academy and the youngest at the nursing college. CC drove their herd of 150 animals toward the city

180

Chapter 7

assisted by a herder boy, while the rest of the family moved on a truck into the outskirts of the city, where they settled at the fringe of the ger district with easy access to grazing for the animals. During the mid-to-late 1990s many families made such a move, attracted by the urban market for their produce. Thus grazing resources were strained outside the capital, and in 1999 a drought threatened all the ani­ mals. During the winter, when temperatures dropped to -40° C and large parts of the country suffered the zud, CC lost his entire herd of animals. An­ other catastrophe followed: in the spring CC lost his wife and the daugh­ ters their mother, who suddenly passed away due to pneumonia. The two beautiful and talented daughters, aged eighteen and twenty, decided against all odds to go ahead with their education by means of part-time jobs as waitresses in the city, while staying in their father's ger to support him. When we visited them in their ger, the daughters' appearance was a liv­ ing testimony to the anachronism of modem Mongolia. Here, in a wornout ger with rotten felt sheets, ragged cover, and mud floor, sat two Mon­ golian beauties with fancy clothes and full makeup, worthy of a women's magazine cover.

Victims of the Zud A rapidly growing flow of rural-to-urban migration was set in motion by the two zuds of 2000-2001 and intensified by another bad winter in 2002-2003. New migrants flowed into the capital, which already exceeded a million inhabitants. The effects of the zuds were long-term. Few house­ holds lost all their animals, but many lost vital parts of their production assets. Some people chose to remain in the countryside, hoping for a se­ ries of mild winters and to at least break even between consumption and herd growth. Others decisively below the critical herd size chose to post­ pone their departure while slowly consuming what was left. The zuds im­ pacted migration patterns for several years. FF and GG, an elderly couple whose children were married and scat­ tered across the country, lost most of their animals in the first zud. With just a handful of animals left, they had the choice of either packing up im­ mediately or waiting until the next winter, when they would have to slaughter the last animals. They decided to sell what was left and go to Ulaanbaatar, where their eldest son lived. There was no question of stay­ ing with their son since his small two-room flat already housed seven people. The couple set up their ger in one of the new ger districts around the rapidly expanding capital, spending most of their money for the Ulaanbaatar registration fee.® With neither animals nor regular income or pensions, FF and GG had to rely on petty trade, selling fur hats in the mar­ kets and the city center. GG sews the hats and FF walks the streets with a

Nomads in the City

181

single hat in a plastic bag, approaching foreign tourists and wealthy Mon­ golians. Competition from so many other impoverished rural people makes their business unreliable, however. None of their children has much to spare either, and their life is miserable, with no money for travel, clothes, or medicine. Several families who had lost nearly everything to the zud and who be­ longed to the same bag at home decided to move to the capital together to form a khot ail-type of settlement in a new ger district at the perimeter of the city. All had relatives in the capital, but they were mostly without ac­ cess to work, housing, or support. They settled near the ger of an old lama with connections to their home area, hoping for his good influence on everyone. Some families still possessed a few animals, which they grazed in the hills and around the ger; others had nothing. Expectations of mutual help soon faded: at home all cooperation had been based on conventional tasks of herding, felt making, processing, and so forth, but in the unequal situation where some had animals and others did not, there was no strong incentive for cooperation. V^^thout capital to start up a new herd, those without animals offered their labor to those left with a few animals, but every family already had a surplus of labor. Relations were strained and soon the families split up, hoping to benefit from government assistance or the work of NGOs. FAMILY RELATIONS CHALLENGED

Chapter 4 showed the substantial gender division of labor and social roles among herders, with male and female responsibilities peaking at different hours and seasons and following different patterns vmascribable to envi­ ronmental circumstances or the natural cycles of animal husbandry. Sev­ eral writers have argued that the spatial organization of the ger underpins the pastoral nomadic constructions of gender and authority. With a south­ ward orientation and a division into zones of male and female activity as well as a demarcation of sacred and honorable spaces, the organization of the ger cannot be transferred into modem housing. As a consequence, most families abandon the gender-specific zones when settling in the rel­ atively complex layout of a modern apartment, but merely retain an hon­ orable space towards the back of the living room. Only a minority of new settlers end up in modem housing, but all are exposed to the social disequilibrium of the modern city, which consists of mostly gender-neutral spaces in which patterns of employment, con­ sumption, and socializing cut across traditional lines. This is not meant to say diat gender inequality has been eradicated in modem sectors of Mon­ golian society—not at all. As noted earlier, political life in particular has

182

Chapter 7

seen a heavier male dominance since independence. Most important from a rural migrant perspective, however, is that gender roles are constantly challenged in the city and thus gender relations tend to be in flux. Away from the gendered work routines and care of animals in nomadic pastoralism and exposed to the gender-breaking forces of modernization, ru­ ral households are gradually induced to redefine their division of labor as well as their authority structures. In terms of labor, city life fir^t of all entails a division between wage la­ bor and domestic labor, one that obviously does not exist in the herding lifestyle. If the women do not have jobs they will perform household chores as a matter of course, but few rural households end up in a state of relative affluence that allows such gender roles. For the vast majority, men and women alike must search for income opportunities and contribute to the family's livelihood to the best of their ability. As one informant says, "In the city we are all equal in searching for income and all equally poor." During socialism the Western notion of women's double work had al­ ready been adopted in the city as testimony to the men's unwillingness to adapt to a new division of labor. Today male rural migrants differ little from second- or third-generation urban men, sharing a vision of male freedom from labor in the home. On top of these global aspects of mod­ ernization there is the Mongolian herders' general perception of work as depicted earlier. Previously favored with a high return for their labor and an inbred privilege of being work-free for long periods of time, the men in particular tend at least initially to be less adaptive to the urban labor market than women. Some female informants complained that, "in the city it is even more evident how lazy the men are." The male herder's pride in his animals and his cultural pride in the no­ madic lifestyle find no immediate substitute in an urban wage labor situ­ ation. In contrast, the daily routines of the herding women, centered on a timely response to milking and cooking demands in the domestic sphere, make them far readier for an industrial, time-governed work ethic. In the city as in the country, they get up earlier in the morning than the men, work more steadily, refrain from heavy drinking, and tend to more read­ ily abide by the leadership of others. In terms of authority, the new labor relations in the city gradually spill over into patterns of domination and decision making in the family. The age-old unspoken conventions that a man may leave his wife if she can­ not bear him children and that a woman may leave her husband if he can­ not support her remain powerful influences in the city. Men who are un­ employed over long periods of time will inevitably lose the authority that comes with being the main breadwinner in the family (or in a herding context that comes with being the customary owner of livestock). Several men noted that, "being a herder a man can always produce meat, milk

Nomads in the City

183

and fibers, while in the city you either have a job or you have nothing." Some even stated that without their animals they lost their sense of being. In contrast, while in a pastoral nomadic context women can only with great difficulties stand alone, in the city they have both independent job opportunities and a more well-adapted work ethic. in chapter 3 we noted that male herders had spare time that potentially could be invested in the "institutionalized alternatives" of the pastoral economy. This pattern was both interrupted by and integrated into the so­ cialist organization of society, when many men were engaged in wage la­ bor while at the same time retaining some private animals. Even in the so­ cialist era, men were in exclusive positions of leadership, technical expertise, animal care, and transportation, all of which were seen to con­ firm customary gender roles, while the women engaged in a broader range of both old and new job functions. Today this is reflected in the fact that men tend to strive for respectable jobs or running their own private businesses, while the women, particularly when in crisis, almost instinc­ tively pursue a broader range of strategies for income generation. They may engage in petty trade on the "black market;" petty manufacturing; and all kinds of service work in shops, institutions, and private homes, in­ cluding washing, cleaning, and caring for children. Women are also presented with powerful new models for female be­ havior, looks, ambitions, independence, sexuality, and so forth. This has a strong impact on the younger generation in particular. Without the con­ ventional labor division and the corresponding spatial organization of the ger and the camp area, young women are more likely to ask for equal rights and opportunities. Hence, in the modern city environment, male authority is contested by both internal symbolic impulses and external so­ cioeconomic circumstances, all contributing to a gradual decline in male dominance, while at the same time conventional family relations and pat­ terns of authority are being seriously challenged. Women have attracted much attention from foreign aid institutions and NGOs, as they are seen to have greater potential for community-based de­ velopment. Based on a modernistic vision of individual freedom, choice, and career, foreign aid tends to project social utopias onto the "develop­ ing world." They may even unwittingly support the breakup of family re­ lations when directed toward those persons (rather than households) clas­ sified as weak or marginal on the basis of gender or relative poverty. Notwithstanding successes among nomadic herder households who move into the modem city, men frequently lose out, depending on their capacity for work and adaption to changing roles. For many, their disen­ chantment in the city follows immediately upon the drying up of their capital and the moment of facing the realities of meager employment op­ portunities. Long-standing dispositions for the use of alcohol may turn

184

Chapter 7

into serious abuse among the men, when social decline is coupled with personal frustrations over weakened authority in the family. A sense of loneliness in the city is also more outspoken among the men than among the women: in their home commimity on the steppe they used to spend much time visiting and socializing among neighbors and relatives, but in the city there are many more barriers. Several male herders complained thusly: "In the city there are so many classes of people with different lifestyles and habits," "Many are arrogant and snobbish and feel superior to herders," and "You never know if people are friendly just because they want to cheat you." A more curious statement was that in the city "peo­ ple are becoming much like the Chinese." It may be worth noting that not only women but also children to some extent liberate themselves from conventional authority, as children too re­ ceive new impulses and models in the city, and they frequently encounter temptations that are hard to resist. Brought up to be independent, chil­ dren may skip classes and eventually drop out of school as they see few prospects for higher education and regular jobs. Instead they roam the streets with other kids while trying to obtain food, candy, and cigarettes by performing small jobs (such as washing cars), scrounging, begging, or stealing. Some gradually lose contact with their typically conflict-ridden families and end up as street children, another focus of foreign aid.

BUDDHISM AND MORALITY

It is worthwhile to take a quick glance at the role of Buddhism in a Mon­ golian city context. Though it was never a specific focus of my research, it popped up constantly, since Mongolian morality remains as entangled with Buddhism as Western morality does with Christianity. The single incident that most forcefully brought up the issue of Bud­ dhist morality was a road accident with the jeep. We were heading to­ wards Ulaanbaatar late at night, for the usual activities of checking e-mail, washing, obtaining spare parts for the jeep, socializing, and preparing for the last stretch of fieldwork. We had been duly warned that driving at night was dangerous, but for a number of reasons we still decided to go. In the morning I had been drinking with Undendorj while he told curious stories of the power of lamas from before independence, but I had kept strict record of my intake in order to postpone our departure until I was in the clear. Admittedly I was a bit tired when we approached the capital late at night, but I still felt capable of driving. A Toyota Landcruiser came toward us with headlights up and huge spotlights on the roof, sending a gush of light towards us. The driver refused to lower his lights, so I pulled over to the right and slowed down. There in the middle of nowhere sat a

Nomads in the City

185

broken-down cattle truck with neither lights nor reflexes. I saw the truck when it was only fifteen feet ahead of us and had barely enough time to press the brake. The rear bumper was missing on the truck and the nose of the jeep hit its rear wheels at the same time as the truck smacked into our windscreen. But we were lucky. Tsendsesmee, who usually sat in the front seat, had moved to the back seat where she had laid down to rest. Since there are no seat belts in the standard Russian jeep, she would have been badly injured had she been in the front, particularly because the right side of the jeep took the heaviest impact, making it six inches shorter on that side. I held onto the steering wheel, which bent over completely, and hit my forehead against the windscreen, but escaped with only a few bruises. Tsendsesmee hit her legs against the back of the front seat, but without any real damage, though she suffered from serious shock. After some fruitless discussions with the owners of the truck, we left the jeep at the side of the road and hitchhiked into the city. Luckily, none of the ten or more cattle on the back of the truck fell off—they would have come right through the soft top of the jeep if they had. Buddhist interpretations of our accident occupied Tsendsemee and a number of other people, both in the city and in Khotont, where we told others of our misfortune upon returning. Tsendsesmee in particular re­ fused to see it as a meaningless event, persistently linking it to deeds and deserts. For her, the fact that she was in the back seat when it happened clearly indicated that the accident referred to me alone. Not for the first time, she brought up the fact that I had poked the earth around the an­ cient archaeological site of the Black City and pulled out pieces of heavy roof tiles. Maybe in the back of her mind she wanted to pay me back for a joking remark I had made—that at that time (Uigur) people could build real houses that kept rain from pouring through the roof. Another expla­ nation, supported by other people, was that I apparently had committed many sins—for instance, not listening to warnings about driving at night, not believing in the lama, or prying too much into people's private affairs. A separate line of reasoning supported by several Khotoners was that we had started out on an unlucky day—simple as that! Where do these explanations take us? Straight to the lama, one could say! Only he can navigate among all these possible explanations and in­ terpret them meaningfully. Two lamas would hardly offer the same inter­ pretations, though, and thus one should see his personal lama and make proper donations. Ambiguousness is built into Buddhist cosmology— huge and diverse as it is—to the extent that it cannot rest meaningfully in itself but necessitates the active mediating role of specialists. Through the ages, monks and lamas promoted a cosmology supported by exactly those systems of thought that bolstered their own position, making use of mul­ tifaceted explanatory devices. Obviously tile specialist takes an interest in

186

Chapter 7

helping people see their everyday lives in a myriad of perspectives, which consider personal merit, fate, astrology, unhappy forefathers, demons, and heavenly retribution. This is his contribution to the local community and the core of his success. These rich explanatory devices at the same time en­ dorsed the authority of the church as a whole and allowed it to build com­ plex temples and monasteries. My own subjective experiences in the city only added to those from the country. Buddhist representatives and institutions are unavoidable, as modem city life embraces them to an increasing extent. Several people, both Mongolians and Westerners, have insisted that I met the wrong Bud­ dhist specialists, that it was merely a matter of coincidence that these peo­ ple crossed my path. Nevertheless, those monks, lamas, and astrologers I met all appeared as actors in the divine theatre of Mongolian Buddhism. Lamas are beginning to form a new aristocracy, cautiously converting spiritual attributes to material privileges, while their rernks are steadily growing. They are increasingly visible in everyday life, often demanding privileges in public. I met Gazar lama,* a leading lama at the Gandan monastery, in the restaurant of a hotel that mainly accommodates for­ eigners. He came over to our table, dead drunk and rather filthy, wanting to talk. He liked to hang out with foreigners, he said, and looked for op­ portunities to travel abroad. He asked us to join him as he ordered vodka for himself, while the waitress looked doubtful of his ability to handle it and asked him to be sensible with "the foreigners." After we inquired about his role as a monk/lama since he wore a yellow rope, he enter­ tained us with remarks about his position. Being a leading lama, he only worked in the mornings: "Every day is a holiday," he said. "I can do what I want during most of the day. I often go to the French Cafe [an expensive downtown restaurant] because I like to talk to foreigners." Apart from his "job" at the monastery, he lived a common life with his wife and children in a city apartment. "That is the special feature of Mongolian Buddhism," he said. "In this country lamas can marry, eat meat, and drink alcohol" (these issues have been much debated in international Buddhism). Still, he would like to live in the West: "Life is better there, and Jesus and Bud­ dha are the same anyway." Questioned about a curious ring he was wear­ ing with a figure of the Little Mermaid, he explained: "Oh, that is my per­ sonal god. She is overlooking the Great Sea" (Dalai means "great sea" in Tibetan, a metaphor for great wisdom). Monks, nuns, lamas, soothsayers, astrologers, and shamans now cater to the spiritual needs of the modem city population, contributing to a general religious revival in Mongolia. Some even attract international attention and large academic audiences, notably the urban practitioners of neoshamanism. Another encounter I had with a member of the new spiri­ tual elite was with a friend of a friend, a young woman working as an as­

Nomads in the City

187

trologer in a Buddhist medical center. A former nurse, she could make clients feel comfortable and was extremely successful as an astrologer; there was constantly a line of clients in front of her stall. After her divorce a few years earlier, her exorbitant income went entirely for a new "mod­ em" lifestyle. She went out to discos every night and saw a constant flow of men. Her distinctly Asian looks were being overhauled: large sums of money made in the spiritual business went into eye, lip, and bosom sur­ gery, which was intended to increase her Value in the newly liberalized world. She was well aware of the contradiction: "If my clients knew how I live they would never accept me. Most of them do not have much money." A last representative of modem Buddhism I shall present here is Gunaajav, an elderly man living with his extended household in one of Ulaanbaatar's ger districts. We got to know him through Dorjtseveen, the master with whom he sometimes studied in his spare time. Traveling to and from Khotont presented a problem to the old man, so when he had the opportunity he traveled with us in our jeep: in return, I had an excel­ lent opportunity to get the story of his bumpy career through the entire spectrum of "feudal" society, socialist construction, collectivization, inde­ pendence, and collapse. Gunaajav was bom in Gobi-Altai in 1917. Like the elderly lama Soninbayar in Khotont, Gunaajav was enrolled in a local monastery as a young boy, studying with the lamas to continue the tradition of his family on his mother's side. At the time of the great purges and the coming of World War U, he was faced with the choice of either going to prison or joining the army (his two uncles went to prison for ten years and barely escaped execution). During the war he worked in a maintenance unit of the Rus­ sian army in Ulaanbaatar and later transferred to an administrative job in the Mongolian army headquarters. Upon his retirement in the mid-1980s and particularly after Mongolian independence in 1990, he resumed his old profession of a lama—after an intermezzo of fifty years. Despite being in his eighties, Gunajaav was in strikingly good health, easily managing the tough ride to Khotont in the jeep. His keen mind and ascetic lifestyle embodied the sense of ascetic spiritualism that we prefer to associate with learned Buddhists. When we invited him out to eat one day he claimed that it was his first visit to a restaurant in his entire life. He eats very little at each meal and always simple Mongolian food. Only twice a week does he have meat; otherwise he collects vegetables from a friend who grows them in his garden outside the city. After the Buddhist revival he acquired a new role in his neighbourhood, as many people looked him up to ask for advice. The revival of the lama as an institution in local society certainly works two ways: those among the citizenry seeking a holistic approach to every­ day life get a comprehensive religious specialist within an entrusted

188

Chapter 7

space, while the specialist—apart from getting access to an attractive in­ come—may embark on a meaningful and honorable path through his re­ tirement, one supported by convention. Many of the religious specialists participating in the new religious re­ vival are both encouraged and promoted by a massive public demand for ascetic spiritualism. Some are essentially constructed by their audiences, who are eager to receive new impulses and stimulation. When elements of Mongolian folk religion such as shamanism (reported to be squeezed out of existence except for in the remotest areas already by the 1920s) re­ ceive massive international attention and neoshamans perform for inter­ national audiences in the capital, they provide legitimacy to a wide range of native Mongolian religious practices. Conceivably this is one among several unintended consequences of the government's dabbling with symbols of Mongolianness in the ongoing nation-building process. The revival of the Buddhist church marked the end of totalitarianism with So­ viet roots and signaled the beginning of a pluralist and tolerant society. At the same time, however, it brought back a church that was already in se­ vere crisis at the coming of Communism and a Buddhist clergy that, de­ spite considerable public support, was deeply compromised as a result of fragmentation, corruption, and a waning sense of mission. Giving the modem Buddhist church free rein without simultaneously monitoring the proper training of monks and their level of religious expertise risks reviv­ ing a degenerate church without much to offer in the way of a moral con­ tribution to a crisis-ridden society. NOTES 1. In the following account I have chosen not to use the migrants' actual names, but for the sake of convenience merely called them AA, BB, and so forth. 2. The 2000 Micro Study on Internal Migration estimated that [.. .] percent of migrants end up in ger type of dwellings without access to running water and san­ itation. Since the advent of the zuds, this rate has presumably risen dramatically. 3. As a means to limit the flow of population into the capital, stricter rules of registration have been enforced combined with a heavy registration fee. Presently the fee is 52,000 tugrik per person (half for children), corresponding to the price of four sheep in the countryside. 4. I have chosen to use a pseudonym for this lama.

8

Development: Adjustment or Change?

!l ome think the Russians were invaders of paradise when they launched their ambitious development scheme for Mongolia aimed at creating a new industrial nation in their own image. With a tremendous effort and a comparable injection of Soviet capital, the Mongolian countryside was developed and industrialized in the 1960s to 1980s to become a showpiece for Comecon socioeconomic development.^ Mongolian social reality was hidden in equivocal socialist statistics: at the macro level the economy depended heavily on Soviet subsidies; at the micro level faltering participation by ethnic Mongols remained a matter of serious contention. The model cracked up as soon as the Soviets vanished, most dramatically in the countryside, where previous colonists had also left few other traces than scattered ruins on the steppe. When discussing "development" in a given context, its counterpart— poverty—needs to be considered. The Escobarian perception of poverty as essentially constructed by discourses and practices of "development," a way of rearranging the world and bringing about a new political and economic order after World War II (Escobar 1995: 24, 34), needs consider­ able modification in the case of Mongolia. For the Mongolian herder pop­ ulation, modernity and development were introduced far earlier with a native Mongolian reform movement in the early twentieth century, and intensified with the Communist takeover in the 1920s, though admittedly at a greater pace with the increasing international competition of the post­ war period. In fact, the most dramatic clashes occurred in the 1930s in the form of a massive onslaught on religion: development goals in the Com­ munist world became implicitly religious, as an aspect of the religion of

S

189

J

| f

§

190

Chapter 8

modernity (Rist 2000: 21), which the Communist world shared with the West. Clearly, Communist modernity tolerated no competing world views. Thus, in a sense, poverty was linked to a lack of modernity at an early stage. But in contrast to the rural poor in most regions dominated by a Western approach to poverty alleviation, the Mongolian herders were gradually hauled into a materially secure existence. Today, the illusion of substantial Western assistance to rural Mongolia after the Soviet breakup has been shattered: structural adjustment pro­ grams mostly benefited the urban elite and at best a new urban middle class. Contemporary Mongolian herder communities are left without much support, be it from national or international agencies. As yet, the outcome of the "transition" to a market economy has been grotesquely dis­ cordant with most developers' projections of the 1990s: having abandoned socialism and never really adopted a capitalist market, the majority of herder families participate in a:pastoral economy with great similarity to a common "peasant economy," characterized by simple family economic units acting according to a labor-consumer balance. Coping strategies after the consecutive zuds between 1999 and 2002 only emphasize how deeply conventional herding operations are ingrained in a noncapitalist, pastor^ mode of reasoning. Chayanov rightly foresaw the competitiveness of such an economic system, which rarely maximized output but permitted fami­ lies to adapt their strategies to internal and external pressures. Native Mongolian perceptions of poverty, derived from the pastoral economy, continue to contradict the international, development-based concept. Herders see their livestock and the boundless steppe as their natural wealth. Conversely, poverty is seen as a lack of animals or inhib­ ited access to grazing (boUi of which ideally are transient phenomena) as measured against consumption needs. Thus poverty is generated by un­ favorable natural conditions, death, disease, division of the herd, and gen­ eral genealogical factors influenciirg the labor-consumer balance. Poverty as a permanent condition is mostly perceived as a product of laziness on the part of the herder if not a result of these specified conditions. Both absolute and relative poverty are felt to be on the rise in Khotont. Absolute poverty is measured in livestock, as many as one-fourth or even one-third of which have perished within a three-year period. Relative poverty relates to special factors in the pastoral culture. Notions of afflu­ ence were ingrained in the Mongolian self-identity and expressed in open disdain for sedentary people, especially Chinese agriculturalists who sup­ posedly lived a miserable existence toiling in poverty and suffering from protein deficiency—presumably a common position among pastoralists vis-a-vis sedentary trading partners due to the high market value of their produce (Marx 1996:74). Today the imbalance is gradually being reversed as the significant other, the ordinary Chinese (more so in the coastal ar­

Development: Adjustment or Change?

191

eas), is becoming increasingly well off, while in Mongolia itself wealth is increasingly concentrated in urban centers, notably the capital. It is in the face of these complex circumstances that herders in Khotont along with all other Mongolians share aspirations of "development." For historical reasons, however, they have hitherto looked to external means of development. Below I discuss some parameters for change, arguing that for the time being development by means of substantial external in­ puts is unlikely to take place. More consequential, both for immediate consumption needs and for preparing the herders for a greater involve­ ment in the market, is the internal mobilization of resources, both human and natural. Refining existing forms of production is a viable strategy (Sheehy 1996: 64), but it will be necessary to create new institutions capa­ ble of defending the herders' interests in relation to the state and market. SENSE OF COMMUNITY

Presently, people may accumulate wealth from herding animals, but the effect of individual riches on the local society is only marginal when newly rich families invariably strive for a city existence. Any fundamen­ tal improvement of common livelihoods must be based on—and be mea­ sured in terms of—social and economic changes in the community itself. A new question arises: Is there anything scarcely resembling a local com­ munity within which new arenas of understanding, consensus, and coop­ eration may be built? Let us briefly consider some common notions and forms of community relevant for the pastoral setting. Anthony Cohen, concerned with the most corporeal forms of community involving immediate social interac­ tion and focused on the construction of identities, argues that the com­ munity has a symbolic nature that allows people to attribute diverse meanings to it without threatening the common identity. He defines com­ munity as "that entity to which people belong, greater than kinship but more immediate than the abstraction we call society" (Cohen 1985: 15). Ernest Gellner infers that community functions to create meaning and provide social skills in daily interaction, as a community's functioning de­ pends on a good measure of face-to-face contact (Gellner 1983: 14). Fredrik Barth has sharpened our awareness of the significance of ethnic community boundaries for the establishment of local group distinctions and identities (Barth 1969). Although aimed at ethnic interaction, we may still see his view's relevance for Mongolian sum divisions, along which historical banner identities still tend to be defended. Yet we must account for the special features of nomadic communities in which territorial boundaries are not immediately compatible with social

192

Chapter 8

and ethnic boundaries. More explicitly, among pastoral lineage groups we may find a "community of interest" involving common interaction but without clear territorial confines. On the basis of experience from the Mid­ dle East, Emmanuel Marx (1996: 80) argues that because nomads rely on one another for safe movement in inhospitable surroundings and need to adapt to rapidly changing circumstances, they must maintain a complex network of social relations and join a variety of groups. These interlock­ ing affiliations bring the nomads together in a community of interest, which in turn supports high standards of behavior and adherence to a set of fundamental values (for example, hospitality and chivalry). Along sim­ ilar lines, the concept and meaning of "community of practice" (Wenger 1998; 45) transcends nomadic and sedentary lifestyles, even localities, by focusing on the learning processes as a shared enterprise. The outcome of joint enterprise, a shared repertoire of communal resources, and mutual engagement is shared practices in the context of a "community." The Mongolian Communist revolution did away with any associations detrimental to its political goals while gradually building up sedentary administrative bases, production xmits, and social communities in rural areas. Today, the former state-led communities have collapsed and rural areas are left in a postsocialist institutional vacuum. Thus contemporary Mongolian rural society for historical reasons obviously fits into neither sedentary nor nomadic forms of community, although it clearly retains features of each form. Let us briefly examine the actual features of "com­ munity" in Khotont. In terms of a joint consciousness of belonging to a well-defined area with certain shared characteristics, historical continuity, and common symbols, there is a community in Khotont. People are well aware of the historical boundaries of their sum, which derive from the native Mongo­ lian banner organization and were reasserted in the form of negdel bound­ aries during the socialist era. They are strongly aware of the Lamaist Bud­ dhist tradition, which was anchored in the local monastery, and the killing of monks, both of which contributed powerful symbols to a local identity. Other common points of reference are the governor and the local govern­ ment institutions, which people see as their immediate link to the central government in Ulaanbaatar. Further working to establish a local sense of belonging are the yearly Naadam festivals, the bfl^-level Little Naadam, and the numerous plays and musical events in the cultural center. In terms of face-to-face interaction, people have intimate knowledge of all families who belong to their bag and general knowledge of those who belong to the sum. Conversely, they quickly identify families that do not belong (expressed, for instance, in pasture-access skirmishes along sum borders). I was constantly struck by the herders' very accurate knowledge of other family groups' new campsites at every change of season, com­

Development: Adjustment or Change?

193

monly used as social markers in the landscape, as compared to my own bewilderment over the constantly shifting arrangement of people in the landscape. Countless kinship bonds forged before, during, and after the negdel contribute to the firm placement of family groups in the landscape. After all, bags consist of little more than fifty campsites (khot ails) and the total number for the sum is approximately 250. Animal husbandry and the herding lifestyle naturally provide people with a common interest, seen, for example, in a powerful tradition of pro­ viding shelter, food, and drink for all passersby. Interests and practices as­ sociated with animal husbandry constitute a substantial body of knowl­ edge, which is zealously learned, communicated, and shared within a local social context. Thus there is "community" in Khotont in both the concrete and abstract senses of the term. It is loosely structured in space, however, due to con­ tinual movement on mostly unregulated pasture. It suffers from a series of spatial demarcations that are highly problematic to any aspiration of change. It is fragmented—in fact, better termed an amputated community. This is crucial to understanding the scope and quality of all social and economic interaction in Khotont. Spatial demarcations extend between what we may call restricted and unrestricted domains, although these shift with the yearly cycles of movement rather than being permanent in space. These contrasting domains denote humanness versus wilderness, quite analogous to the cooked and the raw in Levi-Strauss' (1964) terminology. The ger and the immediate camp area are the essence of restricted do­ mains, regulated by meticulous codes of conduct and multiple avoidances (taboos), thus being cultured fields in which all things and events are at­ tributed meaning. The sum center, too, to some extent is a restricted and regulated domain, made up of many small camps. These areas have a sta­ tus resembling that of a community, and personal and communal interests and practices enjoy a good measure of respect and sanctioning here. The vicinity of the camp and those pastures with established grazing rights may be included in this category, just as sacred places like historic spots, ruins, and ovoos enjoy culturally endorsed protection. Standing in sharp contrast to these areas is the unrestricted domain: com­ mon pasture, steppe, mountains, forests, and wild flora and fauna. De­ spite being a highly cultured landscape due to continuous grazing and wood-cutting, this domain resembles the common category of "nature." Yet it includes a number of other categories of things and beings, such as unprotected or stray domestic animals as well as their correlate in the so­ cial world—unmarried women (an analogy we shall take a bit further be­ low). This is the unorganized wilderness, where few rules apply and dan­ ger is ever present. Ghosts and spirits demanding offerings are believed to dwell here.

194

Chapter 8

Similar to time conceptions, commimity conceptions have a strong eth­ nic component, with an inherent distrust of non-Mongol constructions. If the negdel attempted to build a larger "ritual community" parallel to ritual or structural time, this only added to its quick collapse at privatization. In­ frastructure like roads and bridges, essential to Soviet socialist construc­ tion, do not have vested community interest—they still belong outside the restricted domain. For example, roads and bridges cannot be built as com­ munal structures requiring continual maintenance and protection because the sum government rejects any responsibility. All tracks are either natural passways or were established during the negdel. Existing bridges are left to collapse and eventually disappear. Where they still exist, some drivers may bind blue scarves on bridge poles or railings to invoke holy assuraiice of a safe passage. But no one will make an effort to repair the bridge. Sim­ ilarly, people may maneuver around the same pothole in the road a hun­ dred times but will never take a shovel to fill it. Tracks, roads, and bridges essentially belong to the steppe: they will either heal by themselves or dis­ integrate. Even in localities with plenty of timber where people build new timber houses, not a single board goes to the nearby public bridge, for which no person or institution takes responsibility. The consequences are plain. From time to time foreign business inter­ ests cautiously reach out from the capital—for instance, to carry out prospecting and mining operations. During my fieldwork several small mining operations opened in Khotont and in the neighboring sum with ac­ cess from Khotont. The joint Mongolian-foreign mining company offered to build, at its own initiative and expense, an improved road where the present track leads from the sum center to Undersant and further down past the hot springs in the south; this is really the communication nerve of the sum. The company's interest was to secure year-round access for its huge Caterpillar trucks and support vehicles, since at present access is blocked in bad weather conditions. The sum government, represented by the governor, declined the offer, however, presumably because no imme­ diate benefits, cash or otherwise, were allotted to local government. Tak­ ing into account the massive rate of poverty in the southern part of the sum, the dramatically deteriorating terms of trade according to distance from the center, and the general lack of predictability in trade, herders should have a strong interest in the undertaking: it would bring the cen­ ter to the periphery. The present state of buildings in sum and bag centers was noted in chap­ ter one. Another example to illustrate the point: local government pos­ sesses a little guesthouse from the negdel period, a solid brick building with wooden floors and facilities for heating. It has been abandoned since the early 1990s, with doors and windows boarded up. It is neither used by government nor leased out to possible contractors, despite general agree-

Development: Adjustment or Change?

195

merit that the sum center lacks a hostel. During my fieldwork a new gov­ ernment guesthouse was introduced: a ger, occasionally put up in the compound of Undendorj and Punsal for protection. This was not only a practical solution but a product of the pastoral mode of thought described previously. A further example: we paid a visit to Khuljit sum center (in neighboring Overkhangai), which was once a famous Russian-style holi­ day resort built on hot mineral springs, but now disintegrating and turn­ ing into a ghost town. We inquired about a room to stay overnight at the resort, which used to have several hundred rooms in operation, but were told that the rooms were "under repair." The assistant added, "But we have a ger where you can stay." Pleased, we prepared to go out and have a look when she stopped us: "No, it is inside." What is more natural for a Mongolian than to put up a ger where space permits? In the huge Russian banquet hall, which occupies the entire second floor of the building, a couple of gers had been put up. For each ger a hole was knocked through the concrete ceiling to let the chimney pipes through. So there we were in an indoor ger—for a Mongolian a little place called home in a foreign en­ vironment. In the "wilderness" few laws apply, not even those instituted by the modem society. Rustling, rape, and rioting are commonplace. Violence is endemic, particularly in the summer when drinking is heaviest. Drinking and driving, as well as drinking and riding, is commonly accepted out­ side the sum center since the law cannot be enforced. Endangered species of animals are hunted, while there are no communal efforts at keeping the wolf population down. There is no real environmental planning or pro­ tection, and trees are mostly cut without permission. Despite the Mongolian self-identity of being an ever-helpful people as opposed to the Chinese (Jagchid and Hyer 1979: 136), and despite indis­ putable Mongolian hospitality, at the personal level the present sense of community rarely provides incentive for helping others. I continuously noted this during my fieldwork and frequently asked my trusted inform­ ants for explanations. Tsendsesmee requested me to stop asking, sourly commenting, "It is only natural for humans!" Let me offer one example to show the implications. When we visited a small camp in the eastern part of Khotont, an elderly woman showed us a cow that had difficulties calving. The calf's muzzle and front legs ap­ peared from the cow's opening, but, apparently twisted into a wrong po­ sition, the calf was stuck. The woman was alone after her husband's death from liver cancer two years earlier and could not handle the situation; ob­ viously she was afraid of losing the cow. A veterinarian had been sent for already in the early morning when the difficulties had begun, but he had no transport and at mid-aftemoon he had still not come. I asked if some­ body in the camp could help, if not directly then at least by riding into

196

Chapter 8

Kharkhorin to find a vet. Two younger men from the other gers just shrugged their shoulders and smiled awkwardly, although not appearing particularly busy. They remarked, "The cow belongs to the old woman." We asked the woman to prepare to leave for town in the jeep. We drove the five kilometers across a brutally steep mountain and down the other side, and maneuvered through the turbulent Orkhon River and into Kharkhorin, where we looked up a vet. We took him across the mountain and back to the camp, where he pulled out the stillborn calf and the af­ terbirth, before checking another cow. The woman paid 1,500 tugrik and her cows were safe. We had to cross the mountain and the river twice again to bring the vet home and the Russian jeep once more proved its worth. Yet I kept wondering why we had to help the poor woman rather than the men in the camp helping her. I reflected: can there be community without mutual care and assistance? An inordinate liberalism (in the sense of individuality) prevails in the Mongolian countryside, despite all spontaneous hospitality and happy socializing. One could see this as deriving from nature or ecology, and many Mongolians prefer this perspective, but if people may spend their precious time and resources on socializing (entailing lavish eating and drinking), why can they not spend a few hours helping a poor herding woman? Culture is habitually supported by reference to nature, whereby social norms are given a compelling, inescapable form. Among the herders in Khotont we expected such liberal social relations to be couched in traditional language. When they are expressed in national politics, however—for instance, when Mongolian members of parliament pro­ claim the traditional herding culture to be a perfect adaptation to nature and ecology—it seems rather foolhardy. These predispositions have social bases and must be explicable in terms of social and cultural institutions. The historical role of Lamaist Buddhism in shaping ideas of personal merit and the moral cause of suffering should, of course, be considered. Buddhism certainly provides a certain justification for material selfishness, indicating mainly moral ways to work for the benefit of a community such as by erecting temples and stu­ pas, or by lamas pronouncing blessings for the local area, rather than ac­ tively working for development, including poverty relief and social wel­ fare. In Mongolia, however, the Buddhist heritage merges with the consequences of Communism to produce a general lack of responsibility, particularly at the community level. Working explicitly for the "common good" of the community tends not to be appreciated. It is a deviant form of behavior that elicits suspicion and is somewhat reminiscent of the unrealistic models of unselfish motivation that socialist propaganda promoted. To give an example: in the entire sum only a couple of the twenty-five wells established by Russian technicians

Development: Adjustment or Change?

197

are still operational. Only one diesel-driven pump is operating, and that is due entirely to the initiative of a former army engineer, who is now a herder in the central bag. He collected spare parts from abandoned wells and fixed the diesel engine, which is capable of slowly drawing ground­ water from sixty meters below the surface. Over twenty families now de­ pend on the well since the hills nearby have good grass in the spring and summer, but no natural water source. Each family pays a small sum of money for fuel and eventual spare parts. The engineer services the engine and pump for free, although it is burdensome to keep the Russian equip­ ment running without access to new spare parts. When we met him he was smeared in oil up to his elbows, and engine blocks, pistons, and connect­ ing rods were scattered on the ground outside the little pump station. His work is supposedly of great importance to the herders and yet, to his muf­ fled disappointment, no one verbalizes appreciation of his effort. Things got worse during the zud. Local government was rather efficient in registering the losses and later in distributing the aid, but there was no contribution from the least affected herders or from the sum elite. Every­ one looked to the state for assistance—just like in the old days when everything was state property. When I returned to Khotont in the early spring of 2000 and saw the dramatic impact of the zud, 1 automatically started pondering what I could contribute to the victims. After contacting the relevant foreign organizations, which were already working at full ca­ pacity, I decided to buy bags of flour out of my own research budget and distribute them among those households who were hardest hit. Members of local government were very cooperative in identifying the neediest households, and my good friend the sum director was eager to join us when distributing the flour bags (I presume to somehow connect my aid with the government). 1 used this opportunity to ask him to explain why wealthier herders and citizens did not help. Now that he could provide a list of all the needy households after the zud, I offered to provide him a list of all of Khotont's well-off inhabitants: leading government officials, rich herders, veterinarians, private company managers, cashmere traders, truck owners, shopkeepers, lamas, gas station owners, and so forth. Jok­ ing as usual and complaining that I already knew too much, he explained: "The rich people in Khotont feel no incentive to help. They think it is the state's responsibility, not theirs. Sometimes they have poor people work­ ing for them, cutting firewood, building, painting, cleaning, and so forth, but they don't like to pay cash. Instead they give them food for work." After the zud, emergency fodder aid was distributed by the Mongolian government. Every household received 50 kilograms of fodder for the an­ imals (20 kilograms of hay and 30 kilograms of fodder pills), but since the aid was very limited and only distributed after the snow was gone, it did not save many animals. Later in the spring, as international media were

198

Chapter 8

making headlines of several million animals falling victim to the zud in Mongolia and international emergency aid was coming in, UNDPMongolia started distributing food aid to those households identified by local governments as the neediest. Nearly 27 tons of foodstuffs arrived from the capital to be distributed among 150 households, each entitled to 150 kilograms of flour and 25 kilograms of rice. The bag leaders were en­ trusted with identifying these households and presenting lists to Vandahuu. A couple of foreign UNDP officials arrived from the capital to en­ sure that the aid was distributed correctly. They were followed by Mongolian volunteers who would participate in distributing the aid. They turned out to be members of the Socid Democratic Party, however, and as the parliamentary election was imminent it was only too conve­ nient for them to link up with the food aid and insinuate that it was given to the herders by their party. Even worse, rumors started circulating that bag leaders' friends and rel­ atives were being favored while many poor people received nothing. In response, herders who felt overlooked flocked to the sum center to plead for food aid. Accusations of misappropriation soon mushroomed and Vandahuu was criticized for being too slack with the bag leaders. In terms of gossip and slander, Khotont proved as closely knit as any community. My own routine visits to herders after the aid was distributed yielded an inconsistent picture: some evidently poor families had not received aid, while others said they had received less than the specified amount. Yet we could never be sure if prospects of more aid from my side influenced peo­ ple's memories.

POLITICAL PROCESSES AND COMMUNITY BUILDING

Political processes in the postcommxmist era have not worked to strengthen the jbnnal sense of community in Khotont and have fostered a sense of social justice even less. The top-down approach of the Commu­ nist society lives on, despite policies of decentralization, local empower­ ment, and self-governance (a Western model clearly instituted by foreign donors). The sum governor is a key figure, but political structures enforce upward accountability: the sum governor is appointed by the aimag gov­ ernor, who is appointed by central government. Similarly, the sum gov­ ernment has minimal fiscal independence and very little opportunity for local resource mobilization; thus it is extremely fiscally dependent on cen­ tral government. Accordingly, local political leaders, to the extent that they are active, mainly see their role as one of informing people about cen­ tral government policy, not promoting the views and aspirations of the electorate. Ihe sum parliament {sumiin khural) is an oversight body, which

Development: Adjustment or Change?

199

must meet at least once every season, but during my fieldwork it was dis­ solved due to lack of motivation and constant disagreement among its members. In real life this body has little significance when the governor is merely responsible to the aimag level and the sum service and technical staff are generally responsible to ministries. Only the parliament's chair­ man remains active since he receives a salary from government, and nei­ ther herders nor political parties other than ^at of the chairman have any representation. The common remark uttered by all groups of people is that politics is centralized in the capital. Thus there is no significant influ­ ence of politics on the community. The political parties are dominated by school teachers, who tend to be the local "intellectuals," but apart from the period immediately prior to an election, party politics means little. As a result, herder interests may be said to have no genuine representation. Herders are clearly positioned at the bottom of the political hierarchy, and their form of agriculture has ranked lowest in national development priorities. Hence, when the government's Poverty Reduction Strategy Pa­ per outlines support for collective action in rural development and pas­ toral management, it has little credibility among the herders. They are vir­ tually cut off from the national society, with neither information nor political representation; local political structures are in theory democratic but in practice authoritarian, with all positions filled by people with ad­ verse interests and upward aspirations. At national elections the herders' votes may change national parliamentary politics but they hardly influ­ ence their own lives. A further Achilles' heel of local politics is the fact that people of formal authority or duty enjoy no protection. Violence is commonly accepted, and threats of violence are constant, making necessary but unpopular ini­ tiatives difficult (hence, labor resources that could be used for construc­ tion, maintenance, and repair work are grossly underexploited). Even the governor risks getting a fist in the face when defending his policy. Weak government is reflected in a disorganized police force with frequent changes of leaders. Consequently, public morality has disintegrated as the responsible government officials, according to some herders, "stay in bed wi^ a full stomach." Under these circumstances the local elite has very much remained the elite, while only a few of the wealthiest or most compromised people have left, and political and business elites remain oriented toward the city. Since local political life is weak and education low, candidates for the sum governorship generally come from the city. The sum governor at the time of my fieldwork (he left shortly after), Batmonkh of the Mongolian Dem­ ocratic Party, came from the aimag center without much experience or genuine interest in rural areas. He saw the position of governor as a step­ ping stone for his career and a job opportunity while writing his Ph.D.

200

Chapter 8

thesis in business management. Apart from performing a range of cere­ monial duties at parties, banquets, and festivals and participating in obligatory meetings in Tsetserleg and Ulaanbaatar, he was not seen to make a difference in Khotont. He was particularly criticized for letting drinking get out of hand, especially among the young people in the sum center, who had previously been made to perform heavy work or been thrown in jail when misbehaving. The failure of local politics to establish a pluralist, democratic process with real public representation has effected the gradual return of a threetier structure with historical roots. While in the presocialist period it con­ sisted of aristocracy, lamas, and commoners, the emerging new version will consist of the sum center elite, lamas, and commoners. Since such structures are not a result of biological necessity, the causes must be found at the level of social institutions and social interaction. A very common in­ terpretation, particularly among the Mongolian elite, is that the Commu­ nist top-down approach and authoritarian leadership fostered moral degradation and growing selfishness in the local society, hampering social responsibility, assistance, and association. Interestingly, Dorjtseveen lama, a Buddhist practitioner passionately opposed to Communism, was the most outspoken local proponent of this view. But there is more to this problem. It is probably true that the breakup of socialist institutions created a void that is hard to fill, but Buddhist entre­ preneurship thrives in the absence of powerful social organization. The relatively weak kinship organization of herders, the low level of civil lo­ cal-area organizing, and the impermanent camp {khot ail) organization all add to the plight of social groupings in flux, whose defence mechanisms against aggressive entrepreneurship (whether economic, political, or spir­ itual) are inherently weak. Again, comparison with Chinese society is in­ structive. The Mongol way of life prohibited the powerful clan organiza­ tions that in the Chinese case built ancestor halls and promoted religious festivals, but also opposed popular divination, healing, and magic. As cooperative institutions remain weak and all forms of association are underdeveloped, the herders remain at the same time a strong and vulnerable population segment. Their most fundamental defence strategy is to withdraw from interaction with those in power: nomadic pastoralism is inherently centrifugal in political relations, militating against central and hierarchical power (Salzman 2004: 29, 136). Such strategy will in­ evitably have economic repercussions. Their common drive towards equality and freedom tends to hamper both civil peace and economic de­ velopment. Historically, only the local elite has been replaced as a result of the change of regimes in the capital—from Buddhist theocratic power to Communist political power to Democratic economic power—with each era supporting its own entrepreneurial groups.

Development: Adjustment or Change?

201

Obviously the fundamental relations of production among herders emphasize private ownership based on self-sustained family farming. Yet it is hard to imagine any substantial change of animal husbandry without joint community values for setting the parameters for trade and commercial relations, establishing an ethic of conduct, and creating a minimum of trust that will allow people to cooperate. Let us return to one of the very basic problems for common herders, the poor access to marketing produce as well as to purchasing goods at reasonable prices. In the years following privatization, several bag leaders made efforts at joint marketing of their members' animals, wool, and cashmere. Partic­ ularly the leader of Undersant bag, a man holding a university degree in literature, made several attempts to amass the animals for sale and arrange joint transportation and sale in Ulaanbaatar. The efforts resulted in endless skirmishes as everyone asserted their animals to be better than other people's animals and therefore wanted a larger share of the profit, or they distrusted the driver or claimed they were being cheated by the bag leader. Trouble was imminent at every stage of the undertak­ ing, and after repeated attempts over a two-year period the bag leader gave up: "The herders simply cannot organize," he declared. "They will never agree on anything."

SOCIALIZATION AND THE ASPIRATIONS OF THE YOUNG The societal consequences of the Mongolian way of bringing up children has not been given due attention, by observers, particularly with respect to expanding the sense of community and trust. The tough ways people attend to their children are commonly justified by reference to nature—a way of adapting to life on the steppe— rather than to socio-cultural cir­ cumstances. Yet it appears reminiscent of a warrior psychology rather than a congenital part of a herder's character, possibly carried on as a re­ flexive element in Mongolian identity vis-^-vis the agrarian Chinese and supported by a mythology of peerless warriors. Mongolian street children have appeared on national television stating that they ran away from home because they did not want to be slaves: "We were not bom to be exploited and beaten," some said. As a matter of choice, life in the streets was preferred to living in a bad family with drinking, violence, and neglect. Mongolians beat their children a lot, which was confirmed by my fieldwork as well as by many other sources. For everyone these were sensitive matters relating to the most intimate experiences of childhood as much as to national pride. Yet stories of meaningless beatings repeated themselves. For instance, one informant recalled how her mother used to beat her when she was small and how

202

Chapter 8

she hated it. Very often, when her mother had been quarreling with her father, she took her anger out on her children. Undeniably, there is much love and affection toward children in herd­ ing families and many grown-ups recall how one of their parents would watch over them or hug them all night when ill. Yet critics argue that par­ ents try to make their children, unduly respectful and thankful of them, to bind their children to them emotionally, and to force them to work for them (as noted in chapter 4). A broad range of experiences from my field­ work suggested that many children perform work tasks too heavy for their age, which combined with poor nutrition may result in stalled body growth. Brought up to endure pain without crying, the children may too easily be exploited, while at the same time building up a schismatic emo­ tional condition. When social upheaval leads to alcohol abuse, a violent inclination in Mongolian culture has a particularly adverse effect. The children's group behaviour arising out of self-reliance may be equally significant for fostering a violent pattern of behavior. Children must fight out disputes among themselves without adult interference, and it is essential to learn to fight back at an early age. Another consequence of self-reliance relates to schooling. Herder parents rarely encourage their children to do homework or assist them with it— schooling is strictly the children's own business—and they frequently leave it to the children whether to attend classes. The massive dropout rate in the early years of independence has declined considerably in recent years by means of campaigns, but children in the outback of the sum are still much affected. It is particularly here that traditional ways of socialization com­ bine with poverty and inconvenient access to schools to prompt students to drop out. At the other end, large parts of the sum center population are in­ fluenced by modem educational aspirations and support their kids. E>uring my fieldwork I found several opportunities to gather groups of young herders and higher-grade school children to inquire about their vi­ sions of a good life as well as their plans for the future. For instance, dur­ ing an ovoo festival my assistant and I sat down with a group of young herders who had graduated from school within the last five to ten years. They were all settled as herders with private livestock and most had al­ ready married and were living a typical herder's life. Characteristic of the status of herding in modern Mongolia, they really regarded themselves as "unemployed" rather than herders. After finishing school they had searched for work in the sum center, in neighbouring sums, or in Kharkhorin, but had ended up following in the footsteps of their families, who were herders. For the young men, animal husbandry was an obvious strategy for survival, building on techniques that they knew by heart, but it was never their own choice of lifestyle. Just a few of them said that herd­ ing was fine and that they were more or less content. The young people

Development: Adjustment or Change?

203

verbalized sentiments that are shared by most people in Khotont. As a middle-aged herder said, "In a way you can say that everybody here is unemployed, because we are no longer paid by the state." I decided to spend a full day in the sum-center school in order to gather groups of eighth-to-tenth-grade students and discuss their aspirations. The battered school buildings have already been described; the old dorm was abandoned and replaced with a simple mud-built one that is easier to heat in winter. There were about one hundred kids staying in the little dorm, accommodated in small rooms each with six beds. We gathered the coming school graduates in one such simple room with raw walls adorned with a few posters. They were a bit uneasy about my presence, since although they had seen many foreigners on television they had never met one face-to-face. Not surprisingly, when we asked students if they wanted to become herders after graduation, a resounding "No!" filled the room. They of­ fered explanations like, "There is no ciriture in the countryside," "No in­ formation," "The lifestyle is too simple," and so forth. Everybody wanted to go to the university to study; it was the universal ideal among the girls and also shared by most of the boys. A few wanted to enter the teacher's college or maybe do business. They all agreed that if they could not enter the university they would at least go live in the city. "Ihere is nothing for us here," they said. I asked them teasingly what would happen to Po­ tent if everybody left. Nobody answered, or even seemed to care. Instead they were eager to hear about my country and get my opinion on what would be good to study right now. The meager opportunities for a nonherding career in Khotont corrode people's faith in local economic development. Anyone from Khotont who has visited Ulaanbaatar can tell of the unequal development of the coun­ try, and rural people are becoming strongly aware of their disconnection from the city. Such social and spatial hierarchies sharpen the focus on ve­ hicles for social mobility, education being the most obvious one. Accord­ ing to local schoolteachers, the herders' attitude towards the schooling of their children has changed favorably in recent years and dropout rates have definitely gone down, particularly after both the sum government and bag leadership made children attend classes. The school plays a tremendous role in the modernization process while at the same time in­ stilling expectations of a nonherding lifestyle that work against genera­ tional continuity in herding families. The school obviously breaks with the interest and practices of herders and establishes an independent "community of practice" among the children, with a nonherding reper­ toire of communal resources and an extroverted orientation. Herders in the poorer areas clearly have fewer means to educate their young, but the general feeling is the same. At a visit to a remote camp in

204

Chapter 8

Ulaanchuluu bag, where we stayed for a few days, we also discussed ed­ ucation with some youths aged fourteen to sixteen. Several of them rode 17 kilometers to school and back every day, while others were fortunate enough to have their parents pay for boarding (60 kilograms of live sheep per year), so they could go in Monday morning and return Friday after­ noon. Turning to future education, they made it absolutely clear, even in the presence of their parents, that they all wanted to leave. They wanted to study in the capital, preferably language, and live in the city after grad­ uation: a herder's life was out of the question. The school and its teachers play key roles in promoting a set of values relating to an urban lifestyle. These are the elitist values previously estab­ lished and promoted by the socialist state, which saw the nomadic lifestyle as merely a transitional phenomenon, yet they persist in the post­ independence. Today as before, teachers and students tend to agree on the superiority of the modem lifestyle found in the city. The school curricula are standardized nationwide and do not take into account that a high per­ centage of the students will have to remain in the countryside and sup­ port themselves as mainly herders. The school has a TV, which apparently plays a tremendous role in their education. For instance, the kids watch the central news broadcasts, foreign movies, cultural programs, and so on, and convey what they learn to their families in the gers. The children are the link between the national society and the herding population, which is otherwise totally cut off, and they receive a massive input of stimuli from the outside world. Some traditionalist Mongolian intellectuals deplored the role of educa­ tion in driving the kids away from herding, particularly in the early years of independence. Many parents also complained, but the debate tended to fade during the 1990s, presumably as a consequence of the rising in­ equality between rural and urban areas. Today, few among the young see the herding life as other than a necessary evil. Giving in to circumstance, the parents are gradually changing their attitudes: now many of them want to leave too and perhaps see their children's higher education as the entire family's stepping stone to the city. During my stay in the capital I gave a few lectures at the anthropology department of the Mongolian National University. These were excellent opportunities to try out a few ideas from my fieldwork on Mongolian stu­ dents and teachers and to get their views on prospects for Mongolian "No­ madic Civilization," a common term used in the capital.® As it turned out, the students in particular held a cynical view of their nomadic past, offer­ ing comments like, "Nomadic civilization disappeared thirty to forty years ago when socialism was enforced; there is nothing to be proud of today," "Nomadism will disappear," and "People will eventually settle down," al­ though there was some disagreement about the last point. A couple of stu­

Development: Adjustment or Change?

205

dents contended that nomadism will continue. All students had lived in a ger before moving to the city and were unconditionally in favor of a mod­ em lifestyle. No one will go back to their home area if they have a chance to work in the city. When I told them about the romanticism in many West­ erners' views of their country, they laughed scornfully, "They don't see the dirt, the hardship, the freezing cold winters, the boredom, the monotonous diet, the zillion flies and mosquitoes " City dreams are one thing, however. The tough realities of modem Mongolia are another. Of those young people who go to the city to work or study, a relatively high percentage will eventually return, frequently disappointed and disillusioned by their failures. A number of instances were described in chapter 7, but many more could be recounted relating to loss of jobs, broken marriages and relationships, young women getting pregnant at the university boarding facilities, and so on.

INDIGENOUS KNOWLEDGE AND TECHNOLOGY Today a range of foreign NGOs build schools in the countryside, grow vegetables as showcases, provide microcredit, teach handicrafts, or pro­ vide various information and reading materials to rural areas. Yet few for­ eigners really question the herders' competence in their own field of ani­ mal husbandry. The Western romanticism about the herding lifestyle is reflected in many aid projects and programs. Traditional herding knowl­ edge and practices become sanctified; when transmitted from ancient times they even become wisdom. Mongolian intellectuals have been far more critical of their rural com­ patriots' skills and knowledge than have foreigners. For its part, the Mon­ golian political elite uses the Western illusions as a convenient excuse to neglect the countryside, while building aspirations for the country's de­ velopment entirely focussed on the city (that is, the inner city area of Ulaanbaatar, hardly encompassing the ger suburbs). In many respects the Mongolian nomadic identity thrives so much better among politicians and establishment intellectuals in the city, who strive to attract interna­ tional attention, than among herders on the steppe. Yet for the intellectu­ als nomadic civilization is of the past, not the present. The several consecutive zud conditions seemed to change the interna­ tional approach to herders' skills, however. It came to correspond to some extent with the domestic political argument that the loss of ani­ mals was in many places the herders' own fault due to poor skills and lack of preparation. Let us for a moment be cynical and look at local practices from a rational­ ist point of view. Anyone who has lived in the Mongolian countryside

206

Chapter 8

knows that the herding lifestyle has its virtues, but it is far from romantic. The food is inadequately stored and frequently horrible, and the diet is poor, unbalanced, and largely unhealthy. The natural potential for simple vegetable growing is not exploited and an abundance of vegetable food and vitamin sources are not collected, but left to be eaten by wild and do­ mestic animals. Even the highly praised steppe pasture is in many places a poorly exploited resource due to an inadequate composition of plant material and a highly uneven grazing pressure owing to the lack of pas­ ture management. One may ask if it is not the cultural identity associated with the no­ madic lifestyle rather than the needs of the animals that dictates when to move. Certainly, in winter the animals would be better off in more secure circumstances. Often, herders move shorter distances than they claim. Why cannot transhumance be practiced, permitting far better equipment and storage facilities to be used and providing the opportunity to build better shelters for the animals and use some form of fencing? One may ask if it is not the fear of theft and lack of efficient government and land use regulation that prevent people from adopting another lifestyle and a bet­ ter production rationale. Then there is the state of health and hygiene. The present "natural" state of affairs can hardly be defended by pointing to traditional wisdom. Everybody drinking from the Same cup, cups not being properly cleaned, knives and forks being visibly dirty, a disgusting piece of cloth being used to wipe tables, hands, runny hoses, cups, and babies—these things can hardly be defended by reference to tradition. Polluted drinking water is a major health risk, and kidney and liver problems are repeatedly mentioned by local doctors as a major hazard. It appears that even in pristine environments where wonderful spring wa­ ter is found, it is used by few people. Instead, people go to the nearest place to fetch surface water, most often letting their children do the job, in­ discriminately using distance as the sole criterion. Far too often water is stored in filthy containers. When people around the sum center take wa­ ter from the river it has already flowed a hundred kilometers from the out-spring. In the summer, horses and cattle stand in the water all day and leave their droppings. People know this and thus take water in the morn­ ing, but a quick calculation of the river current will reveal that they get the dung from last night halfway Upriver. In the summer there are insects everywhere, but the food is poorly pro­ tected. Meat is left uncovered for many hours, allowing the large population of flies to do their business in it, while people occasionally brush them away to eat it. Stomach disorders and food poisoning abound in this environment. The herders' breeding practices are also a case in point. Mongolian herders are known as expert livestock breeders, with intricate knowledge

Development: Adjustment or Change?

207

of the needs and habits of each type of animal. But in real life the animals are mostly left to themselves and procreate at random. Castration and ex­ change of male animals are habitually practiced, but intensive selection and controlled breeding are not. The different breeds of animals are rarely distinguished, as all are more or less designated Mongolian stock. In the northern part of Khotont a good breed of sheep is found, known for fine wool and good meat, but it no longer appears to be named, and the ex­ tensive sheep breeding programs of the negdel are now forgotten. Many varieties and crossbreeds of cattle are found, but the herders tend only to know that different cows have different properties and do not distinguish between them by name of breed. It is also surprising that Mongolians, so intensively devoted to animal husbandry, still cut their meat the East Asian way, without classifying meat from the various parts of the animal, and use the entire range of meats from domestic animals for the same dishes without distinguishing terms. While there are over a hundred terms for horse colours and pat­ terns, there is usually just one term for its meat. Even in urban markets, tenderloin may sell at the same price as ribs. Milk separators are not in common use even though small simple ma­ chines are produced in both China and India (they are widely dispersed among Tibetan pastoralists). Only once during my fieldwork did we come across a separator. Only traditional forms of butter are produced (yellow and white) by boiling the milk and skimming the fat. Presently all milk is boiled, which consumes both time and energy: a separator would allow simple extraction of the valuable milk fat and some of the skimmed milk could be fed to the young animals. Custom dictates that no milk be wasted and that all milk be processed into the various traditional food items (see the list in chapter 3). The reality is contradictory, however, as aU milk cannot possibly be used in the summer and traditional practices re­ sult in a colossal waste of milk*—in the end it ferments and may only be used for distillation into traditional vodka, consumed in quantities highly detrimental to people's health. Several technological deficiencies relate to the ger. The ger itself is good, solid, warm, and easy to move. Except for the waterproof white cloth, all parts may be manufactured locally, which makes it a well-adapted and ef­ ficient piece of technology. The heating and cooking facility, which con­ sists of a little iron stove in the center, is mostly of poor construction, how­ ever. The hatch has no damper, only several large holes, resulting in a complete lack of air-intake regulation. Considering the immense climatic variation from day to day and throughout the year, this makes for ineffi­ cient heating and waste of valuable fuel. Particularly in windy weather, the heat is simply blown out of the chimney. The opening in the roof is also a source of waste. In ancient times, when there was no iron stove but

208

Chapter 8

only an open fireplace in the ger, the opening in the roof was regulated by means of a felt cover pulled back and forth with strings. This traditioni technique is still used, but since the iron chimney now protrudes through the opening, the felt cover cannot be fully closed, as the hot metal will bum the felt. For both these problems simple and efficient solutions are needed. Many work routines appear casual and disorganized, based on a minimum of labor input but with high expectations. Put colloquially, people "graze" the endless landscape and "milk" the resources in an extensive fashion that assumes a bountiful landscape with inex­ haustible resources. Many other common problems deserve mention. Flies and mosquitoes are a nuisance in the summer, particularly inside the ger. Also, the Mon­ golian horse saddle offers poor support—even Mongolian herders have deadly accidents—and bewilders foreigners, given Mongolian horseman­ ship. In many instances, the Mongolian response to such problems is stub­ born traditionalism, as every single aspect of the herding culture is con­ sidered representative of the whole. Thus practice is not essentially dynamic but tends to be stalled by a defensive ethnic identity.

LOST KNOWLEDGE?

Members of the Mongolian elite tend to interpret present problems as products of a destroyed culture: a once glorious nomadic civilization ru­ ined by foreign intervention and moral decline from Communism. Many times I discussed my field work experiences with educated Mongolian ur­ banites, including academics, businesspeople, and politicians. They see present herders as mostly intoxicated amateurs,'deprived of the intricate herding skills and knowledge of the historical Mongols. They prefer to identify with the proud herdsmen of the past rather than with their con­ temporary rural compatriots. They share with modern-sector representa­ tives of most other nations the feeling that history should be glorious and commemorated. In this picture, to them the present herders are an anom­ aly, belonging to neither the past nor the present. Despite their prejudices, people clearly valued knowledge in my field­ work area. They appreciated knowledge in itself and respected people knowledgeable in any field. Similarly, local government was remarkably efficient at collecting data on population and herds. This was mostly for reasons of taxation, but the government also intrinsically valued knowl­ edge of both the population and the environment. Apart from indigenous knowledge of animal husbandry, a modern con­ cept of knowledge was apparently instilled by the Russians, who in this

Development: Adjustment or Change?

209

respect did an excellent job of merging science with tradition. In public administration the Russians introduced principles and methods of data collection that put Mongolia far ahead of most developing countries. For these reasons everyone fully supported my research, resulting in a field­ work experience worlds apart from that in China, where all information tends to be hoarded, manipulated, and traded. In chapter 4 I mentioned the philosophical trend in everyday life and the importance of ritualized speech for creating authority. We may con­ jecture about the significance of the philosophical trend in matters relat­ ing to technology. Again, comparison with Chinese society is instruc­ tive. While philosophical pursuits in Chinese society are rather elitist, the common populace is far more influenced by a technical and activist approach to life, finding simple but efficient technical solutions to com­ mon problems and with an ever-readiness to change their physical sur­ roundings. The Mongolian philosophical trend, on the other hand, is not essentially elitist, but commonly dispersed among herders—it is really part of the herding culture, or the nomadic civilization (nuudliin soyol irgenshil), as some would have it. More importantly, however, although knowledge is cherished it often remains passive in the sense that it is not actively applied. Herding techniques are one thing, an aspect of a true Mongol identity; knowledge is another thing. Knowledge is not the ba­ sis for active engagement with the physical environment, including with wells, pasture, water courses, buildings, and the like. The world of things remains tacitly sanctified, bearing strong evidence of a surviving animism. Whereas members of the Mongolian elite maintain that herders of the past had greater kiiowledge, more refined techniques, and more sophisti­ cated skills of definition and classification—that they were nobler and the true bearers of Mongolian culture—they often see herders of today as lazy, ignorant, and incompetent. Apart from the fact that nomadic civi­ lization has been adopted as the unique characteristic of the Mongolian nation and therefore is engulfed in nationalistic sentiments, they may have a point. A key to the problem could, in principle, be the negdel de­ velopment one generation back. Herders were specialized, thus to some extent divorced from the integrated mode of production with intimate knowledge of each kind of animal and of traditional techniques and prod­ ucts. Further, it may be argued that knowledge was turned into science and transferred from household level to negdel offices and experimental stations. Breeding practices became the domain of the zoo technician, fod­ der production the responsibility of the agricultural economist, and knowledge of animal diseases the monopoly of the veterinarian. Thus, the genealogical tie between herder and traditional knowledge was broken, only to begin to be patched together today.

210

Chapter 8 NATURE WORSHIP AND RESOURCE MANAGEMENT

Mongolian herders' veneration of nature and the unspoiled landscape, commented upon by many writers of both pre-socialist and socialist times (Pozdneyev 1978; Haslund-Christensen 1935; Humphrey 1995), was con­ stantly evident during my fieldwork in numerous explicit and implicit ways. There were taboos on touching historical markers; people would re­ frain from digging the earth; all interference with the landscape apart from grazing was avoided; and so forth. Seeing the environment as sanc­ tified and essentially animate augured well for a healthy approach to re­ source management. But that was not necessarily the case, particularly because of new challenges to traditional land use techniques, such as a ris­ ing number of herder households. "Traditional" technology is, of course, the result of an age-old adaptation of culture to the environment, but it is not necessarily ingrained in individual strategies to consciously protect the environment. Instead, it takes the form of a distinct group identity, in which the survival of the group depends on the endurance of its techno­ logical practices. In a sense, technology is ritualized to support a cultural identity under pressure. In chapter 3 we noted how Mongolian cultural creativity most force­ fully finds expression in language and the arts (for instance, in elaborate schemes of classification). The domestic animal taxonomy, in particular, is complex, indicating age, sex, and breeding characteristics for each animal. The taxonomy relating to the cherished Mongolian horses is most devel­ oped. An intricate system of naming for colors and patterns has been de­ veloped, consisting of some two hundred combined terms. Similarly, a rich taxonomy of hills and waterways exists, expressed in sophisticated naming of the immediate surroundings. Astonishingly, however, a similar taxonomy of grasses and pasture qualities does not exist among the herders. Buddhism apparently built on native Central Asian conceptions of an animated landscape when creating a decisive moral order between soci­ ety and nature. Minimal interference with the landscape, as well as with domestic animals, may, however, be at odds with sustainable resource management in a modern sense. EXiring my fieldwork, pasture management was in a state of disarray in Khotont as in all rural localities. The authoritarian negdel institutions had been discontinued and no traditional institutions had replaced them, apart from simple rules relating to the immediate camp area. As described earlier, intruders may graze the critical winter pastures in other seasons, herders were concentrated where there was infrastructure, marginal pas­ tures were little exploited, and nearly all pump-driven wells were out of use. After a decade under democratic goveriiment, neither "customary"

Development: Adjustment or Change?

211

nor spontaneous institutions have risen to fill the vacuum, and despite much foreign attention and aid devoted to solving this problem, little has been achieved. Even the strongest foreign proponents of "customary" pastoral institutions had to admit that this was the case (Mearns 2004: 140). Even the concept of "customary" institutions may be deceptive, as it ignores the fact that the rulers of each historical period to a large extent set the terms for pasture allocation by means of their own structures of power: searching for native institutions is a product of tribalization of the Mongols to satisfy foreign romanticism. The breakdown of local-level institutions for resource management af­ ter the negdel has both political roots and political implications, however. First of all, the transfer of national-level authority over pasture land from the Ministry of Food and Agriculture (MFA) to the Ministry of Environ­ ment (ME) in the early 1990s implied the breakup of local-level institu­ tions xmder the MFA. The MFA had both the technical expertise and local manpower, with a huge aimag-based apparatus. The transfer was a polit­ ical move to signal the closure of a chapter in Mongolian history, since the MFA was intimately linked with the negdels, state farms, and the old party organization. But the motivation was as much to appease the foreign donors and to link up with international environmentalism, in which catchphrases like "environmental protection," "sustainable resource man­ agement," and "wildlife protection" drew attention and aid. Furthermore, particularly the Democratic Coalition government from 1996 to 2000 lacked both agricultural policy and interest, resulting in utter neglect of pasture management initiatives. The MPRP came to power in 2000 with an extensive program of regional and rural development, also much in­ spired, interestingly enough, by international organizations, which by this time had realized the scandalous neglect of rural areas and agricul­ tural policy. Particularly the first zud of 1999 moved things ahead. The ME is a modem, urban-based organ, ideologically and materially, strongly oriented toward conservation issues but with little capacity to reach out. Thus, despite a stronger conservationist orientation compared to the MFA, common pasture has been left in a state of open access and no regulation, apart from those specific areas in which the ministry cooper­ ate with foreign donors and organizations on conservation issues. In Khotont the ME has a single employee, responsible for collection of environ­ mental data and reporting to the ministry. Our meetings with this employee, an elderly man who rarely shows up in the government office, convinced us that he would not make a difference; by merely passing the simplest statistical information on to the government, he plays no part in local resource management or pastoral politics. Instead, all issues relating to pasture management are left with the governor's office, which admin­ isters a land law that during my fieldwork was still in the making.

212

Chapter 8

The initial land law, passed in 1994 with a strong conservationist incli­ nation, left considerable ambiguity as to its interpretation concerning the concept of "common land," the category that pasture belongs to. While the governor's office may install regulatory devices among the herders in his sum, the land law did not prevent outsiders from getting access to pas­ ture land, thus in principle obstructing joint management. As a result of ambiguity, there was widespread avoidance of public involvement, and in any case sum governments had neither people nor vehicles to control pas­ ture, prevent overgrazing, resolve conflicts, or regulate incursion from mi­ grant herders. Only after my fieldwork had ended—and following years of political discussions—did a new land law come into effect. It called for local government regulation of pasture land, enforcement of private plots in sum centers and winter camps, and encouragement of fencing of win­ ter pasture, among other things.® The present problems in pasture management all boil down to the fact that larger-scale political institutions presumably played a significant part in resource allocation and management in herding communities all along (see Humphrey and Sneath 1999: chapter 6), despite being mostly veiled in Mongol identity since they were of foreign political or religious origin. Both local and national political relations were subject to ethnification, in­ volving real as well as imagined relations of exploitation, when any as­ pect of political authority was associated with foreign repression. The generation-long experience of the Mongols as an indigenous people to­ day shines through in the form of mostly individualized anti-politicalinstitution strategies. Despite the pastor^ resistance to state structures (Salzman 2004: chapter 5), a native rationale for overarching political structures still has be built; it must depend on genuine decentralization with a stronger downward accountability of governments and essentially require a greater sense of community—in pastoralist terminology, a stronger "community of interest." The prospect of privatization contained in the first land law generated a drive for land everywhere. While the consequences for city and town dwellers were mostly economic, they were of a more profound nature for herders. Undoubtedly, some degree of sedentarization of herders is envi­ sioned by the government, both to control migration to the city and to ac­ celerate the integration of the rural sector into the national economy. Sedentarization, manifested in a series of restricted changes, may have been initiated among wealthier herders, though it is reversible. It is too early to judge the full extent of these changes and particularly which groups of people they will include. Yet the idea of a native Mongolian form of permanent settlement in genuine rural areas has been planted. The avant garde are members of the new sum center elite, many of whom were also elite during the negdel and have drawn their wealth from its col­

Development: Adjustment or Change?

213

lapse. They replace their gers with new private houses on their enclosures, either from local timber or building blocks transported from the capital, and some equip them with simple wood-burning central heating systems. The houses are nicely painted, mostly white with blue doors and window frames, and contrast sharply with the battered public buildings and the raw fences in the areas. These people include a veterinarian, several shopkeepers, a couple of entrepreneurs, and a new restaurant owner. They intend to make their stay in Khotont comfortable, but most aspire one day to move to the capital. They move toward a pattern of sedentary settlement with a summer camp on the steppe, where they will dwell from May or June until August. The wealthier herders on the steppe follow suit, although for them the pattern is different. Their simple wooden constructions are only fit for summer use (that is, from May to September at the most), but these shacks are cooler and more comfortable in hot summer weather than are the gers, which may turn into baking ovens, frequently stinking from sour milk and decaying foodstuffs. These permanent dwellings may be seen as a move toward a more sedentary lifestyle, and they certainly extend the herder's stay in one place, but they serve other purposes besides provid­ ing a dwelling. They allow herders to mark the territory around their cot­ tages—indicating an informal privatization in full swing—and demon­ strate their wealth. Building a private cottage is quickly becoming a common ideal among elite, wealthy, and common herders alike. In addi­ tion to the approximately one hundred families who had already built one at the time of my fieldwork, another several hundred families were preparing to build one, either by saving money or storing timber. Experi­ ences elsewhere indicate that a decline in the distance or frequency of mi­ gration may, in fact, be a product of other changes; for instance, techno­ logical changes in pastoral production (Chatty 1980) or a voluntary choice in the face of changing overall conditions (Salzman 2004: 36). Indeed, the group of households who have built cottages corresponds very closely to the group of new motor owners, their decreasing migration thus being a product of increasing mobility on a daily basis: vehicle owners have bet­ ter access to markets, fodder, veterinary services, and strategic grazing with shorter intervals, making them less dependent on seasonal moves. This new craze for permanent dwellings is controversial. There is plenty of timber in the sum, but the scarcity of transportation increases the pressure on the woods in the central part of the territory near the main tracks. A small fee is due to local government when felling trees, but much felling is done illegally, only answering to local custom, expressed, for in­ stance, in the saying, "If you cut down a tree, your hand will hurt." It is obvious from the new shacks dotting especially the northern steppe that Mongolians are not innate builders. Although fascinated by towns

214

Chapter 8

and cities and their countless opportunities, they harbor no vision of building a community in their native place; town centers remain con­ structions alien to their cultural identity and thus tend to preclude their personal involvement other than as users. When I raised the possibility of transhumance in conversations with herders, their reactions seemed cul­ turally informed. Mongolians will never settle down, most maintained. They argued that the pasture does not permit it or that the rainfall changes too much from year to year. The paradoxical nature of their iden­ tity is encapsulated in the fact that few people would maintain this lifestyle if they had a choice.

INTERNATIONAL ASSISTANCE TO THE COUNTRYSIDE

To a much higher extent than other newly independent states in Central Asia, Mongolia qualified for international aid after independence. The country was open, accessible, and above all committed to democracy. Mongolia's strategic position between Russia and China also counted: it was a core area of international Communism freed from Soviet domina­ tion. In 1990 U.S. Secretary of State James Baker illustrated these senti­ ments with his famous statement about the United States offering to be a "third neighbor." Within a few years, substantial aid from a range of both bilateral and multilateral donors was intended to help Mongolia through a difficult transition. Expectations for a quick transition were high, not least on the part of the Mongolian government and elite, who envisioned their country developing a new Asian tiger economy. On the part of the donors, there were outspoken ambitions to make the best of a fresh start. Yearly donor-government Consultative Group Meetings were staged to coordinate inputs to ensure a fruitful dialogue. Ondoubtedly, these con­ sultations have had a profound influence on Mongolia's path toward full democracy, a free press, and respect for human rights. Donor meetings still play a significant role in promoting accountability and transparency in government and in addressing corruption. The donor meeting in 2002 pledged over 300 million dollars worth of foreign aid, corresponding to nearly 30 percent of the country's GDP,^ closely resembling the share of Soviet aid to Mongolia when it was at its height in the 1980s. After a decade of substantial foreign aid we may begin to appreciate who has profited and who has lost out. The modem lifestyle and bustling activity of the capital bear evidence to a heavy influx of foreign aid. Com­ mon city dwellers benefit from donor support to housing, centralized heating, transportation, education, health, communication, infrastructure works, and a free press. Many enjoy the employment opportunities and economic activity that derive directly from foreign aid, such as construe-

Development: Adjustment or Change?

215

tion, state capacity building, and administration of aid programs, or that derive indirectly from the presence of international donor agencies, aid missions, NGOs, and diplomatic representations in the capital. Even tourists and travelers tend to concentrate in the capital. There were many early warnings of an emerging regional and social po­ larization in Mongolia (e.g., World Bank 1994; Griffin 1994). They were ac­ companied by arguments that privatization without market infrastruc­ ture is not conducive to economic growth. Already by the mid-1990s a dramatic rural-urbaii divide was evident (Bruun and Odgaard 1996). Yet estimates are that merely 5 percent of all foreign aid was allocated to ru­ ral development during the 1990s (Griffin 2001: 99). That presumably re­ flects both Mongolian government and foreign donor priorities, despite the livestock sector making up roughly 35 percent of GDP in the same pe­ riod. The new Mongolian political elite has maintained a strongly mod­ ernist outlook and an urban orientation. Particularly the Democratic Coalition government of 1996-2000 was opposed to state intervention in the traditional livestock sector and favored a minimalist state. More than anything else, the winter zud disasters of 1999-2002 brought international attention to the structural needs of the herding sector. The new MPRP government had regional economic development in its elec­ tion program (the MPRP traditionally has had a strong rural basis). A number of important forums, starting with the Human Security Confer­ ence of 2000 and continuing with the Consultative Group Meetings of 2001-2002 and the Rural Development Conference of 2002, have called for substantial structural programs for rural areas. In response, the govern­ ment integrated rural development into the new Poverty Reduction Strat­ egy Paper and the Partnership Agreement on Poverty Reduction with the Asian Development Bank, aiming at a 50 percent reduction of poverty by 2005 (ADB 2002; PRSP 2002: 12). Yet regional and rural development has remained a low priority in Mongolian government policy, irrespective of political party dominance, and entering 2005 little or nothing had been achieved in terms of poverty reduction: the overall poverty rate was still 36 percent and the only change was a stronger regional disparity, with an urban poverty rate of 30 percent and a rural poverty rate of no less than 43 percent (UNDP News, Mongolia, December 10, 2004). Until now, Mongolian rural areas have seen no transition, just collapse: health and educational services have corroded, state emergeircy provi­ sions were abandoned, local industry was dismantled, general terms of trade deteriorated, nonherding employment was decimated, and the en­ tire money economy shrank as herders were referred to barter trade. For rural Mongolia, the shock therapy devised by international experts pro­ vided decisive shocks, but little therapy. The free market provided re­ placements for the old socialist institutions only to a very limited extent.

216

Chapter 8

For instance, the marketing center of the negdel that traded the herders' produce, provided consumer goods, listed market quotes, and so on has not been replaced by another institution. Today only Ulaanbaatar repre­ sents a genuine market, expressed in its overwhelming concentration of business, manufacturing, vehicles, and capital. A1999 estimate suggested that 95 percent of all cash was concentrated in the capital (World Bank 2002:11). The privatization process arid the ensuing liberalism designed for the Mongolian market economy apparently effected a net transfer of value from rural to urban areas. Human resources have adapted to this pattern. Set in motion by hopelessness in rural areas, the young and resourceful migrate to the city, presumably carrying the better part of all available capital with them. It is only now that we realize the full scale of the dis­ parity between rural and urban areas, with both the market economy and foreign aid fueling it. With deepening poverty, rising social inequality, a regional disparity typical of a third world economy (Bruun et al. 2000), and a massive influx of zud victims to the cities, the foreign-led transition has hardly been a suc­ cess. Quite frankly, the situation in the Mongolian rural areas is a disgrace, not to any particular donor institution or government, but to all involved in foreign aid. Mongolians, too, need to adapt their expectations to the real world. I shall finish this chapter with an account of a locally designed aid project that was presented to me. Generally, few individuals engage in commu­ nal projects, but one exception was Banzragch, the retired schoolmaster. He lives just behind the hot springs resort in the southernmost part of the sum, where the schoolchildren have a massive dropout rate due to both the long distance to the Undersant school and poverty. He was one of my good friends and informants, who, despite his old age, was always pre­ pared for a chat, while his daughter would prepare my favorite dish, beefbootz. He had approached me a couple of times concerning a local school project, for which he wished to apply for foreign assistance. I urged him to make a proper application and a budget, while promising to present it to some foreign donors in the capital. When I looked over his budget with him a week later, however, I knew instantly that the project was stillborn. I had imagined a simple NGOtype project with a modest budget, since a foreign NGO had built several small schools in neighbouring sums on the Overkhangai side. The budget he presented was overblown, with disproportionately high salaries for himself and his two daughters as key teachers, an expensive apparatus out of reach even to sum-center schools, tons of books and paper, ad­ vanced communication equipment, and more. Not a penny was budgeted for buildings, however, since the plan was to use an existing building in

Development: Adjustment or Change?

217

the hot springs resort—a humble shed built of plywood, usually occupied by Mongolian visitors in the summer. The budding was inferior in all ways and impossible to heat in the winter. In comparison, foreign NGOs, working on meager budgets with foreign volunteer workers, build heavy timber huts for their schools and expect an element of local volunteer work for their operation. In Banzragch's project there was no volunteer work involved.

NOTES 1. As seen, for instance, in national statistics and official self-representation (Academy of Sciences 1990). 2. During the election campaign in 2000 the local leader of the MPRP, who also ran for mayor, marked the current position of all khot ails on a map of the sum in order to demonstrate his ambitions for rural development. 3. Not least inspired by the establishment in Ulaanbaatar in 1998 of the UNESCO-funded International Institute for the Study of Nomadic Civilizations, which has held several international conferences. 4. While milk is wasted in the countryside, imported foreign milk is taking over the market in the capital, in 2002 covering 75 percent of registered sales. 5. The new land law was enacted in 2002 and came into effect in May 2003 af­ ter a decade of political discussions on a framework for partial privatization of land. During the process, Mongolians in both the country and the city sought to get access to land to ensure land titles at privatization. 6. Since 1992 the average ODA to Mongolia has been close to 25 percent of GDP.

9

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

he herder community in this study exemplifies the sweeping changes in post-independence rural Mongolia as much as the sturdiness of conventional life strategies there. DecoUectivization brought immediate deindustrialization of the countryside and eventually a massive transfer of households from wage labor to full-time animal husbandry. Increasing disparity at national, regional, and local levels—for which government policy and foreign aid have offered few remedies—also resulted. Arguably, the Mongolian elite and international developers share a bias towards evolutionism and environmental determinism, which emphasize herders' cultural and economic self-sufficiency. From such perspective, Mongolian animal husbandry is essentially subsistence herding aimed at maintaining a cultural group and its lifestyle without much dependency on the national society. Yet nothing could be more mistaken. Whether due to a lack of understanding or to political maneuvering, the negative ef­ fects of independence—collapse of infrastructure, deteriorating social services, and so forth—were permitted to hit especially hard in on the herder population. In the recent Mongolian political debate, there have been many procla­ mations that pastor^ nomadism is an "ancient way of life" and a "treas­ ure of human civilization," but these are not sufficient justifications for the continuation of conventional animal husbandry in modern Mongolia. We cannot expect its present practitioners to devote their lives to being custodians in a living cultural museum, or to persistently endure hard­ ships for the sake of humanity as a whole. Present nomads will continue nomadism as long as it is tolerable—that is, as long as it will satisfy their

T

219

220

Chapter 9

basic socioeconomic needs and provide them with a meaningful cultural identity—though a general fatigue with the nomadic way of life has de­ veloped among the young, who are much more attracted to the city. That a nomadic way of life must be both economically and culturally viable is a trivial fact, yet with important implications for our view of Mongolian nomads. Changing governments only seemed to bring new pretenses for ne­ glecting the herders. For the Democratic Coalition government of 1996-2000, rapid privatization, a policy of noninterference, and minimal­ ist government were the means of economic transition, which in rural ar­ eas evolved into common neglect of infrastructure, services, and institu­ tions. A root assumption of the Democratic Coalition government, shared by many urban Mongolians, was that as long as the environment was healthy the herders could take care of themselves. The returning MPRP government in 2000 initially presented a substantial program for regional development, recognizing the support that the party traditionally had en­ joyed in rural areas. But hopes for genuine improvement faded with the new government's urban orientation and inability to fight corruption; those hopes were further eroded by zud conditions that brought disaster to rural areas. After the failure of high modernism in the socialist era,’ the government eventually restored its Marxist faith in progress in the early 2000s: a bold new futurism conceives an approaching end to nomadism by settling the rural population in modem cities along an east-west high­ way, a Millennium Road, connected by modem communications.^ But, as James Scott observed, the history of tfrird world development is littered with the debris of huge agricultural schemes and new cities that failed their residents (Scott 1999:3).

CHANGING PERCEPTIONS OF NOMADISM?

Older literature on pastoral peoples tended to apply a historicist and evo­ lutionary framework, which argued that general human progress sooner or later would render the nomadic way of life obsolete. Distortions of the nomadic way of life were commonplace; for instance, by reference to "loosely organized tribes wandering about indefinitely" (Lattimore 1962: 31). Similar perceptions of the nomads' roaming lifestyle were repro­ duced in lexica (Salzman 2004: 17). Emmanuel Marx has brilliantly sum­ marized common approaches to nomadic groups in scholarly publica­ tions, including in social anthropology. Let's look at some assertions: that pastoral nomads live in arid regions unsuitable for the exploitation of crop agriculture; that they mainly raise animals and have no other im­ portant source of livelihood; that their nomadic movements are deter­

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

221

mined by the natural environment; that they are autonomous tribal peo­ ples who depend neither on settled farmers nor on state authorities; that they engage in an almost autarkic subsistence economy based mainly on animal products; and that they have always remained pastoral nomads throughout the ages (Marx 1996: 73-74). AS Marx argues, studies of Mid­ dle Eastern pastoralists refute each of these claims. Philip Carl Salzman has reflected on his own naive materialist bias when setting out to do fieldwork among the Shah Nawazi of Baluchistan. He had intended to study the impact of the environment on forms of no­ madism and became frustrated when his nomads did not fit the stereo­ type (Salzman 1995). Instead of being "pure" nomads, he found, the Shah Nawazi engaged in a variety of economic activities and exploited spa­ tially separated resources. According to Salzman, it was exactly this reper­ toire of activities that made nomadism possible; nomadism was not a sim­ ple tool of pastoral production. Salzman, who had already been warned by Clifford Geertz that forms of adaptation are essentially cultural con­ structs, realized that nomadism was a particular mode of adaptation in a world of alternatives. Cultural commitments (cognitive as well as value based) guided the tribesmen in selecting certain forms of adaptation and rejecting others. The issues raised by Marx and Salzman have close parallels to miscon­ ceptions of Mongolian nomads. In my fieldwork territory, crop agricul­ ture had, in fact, been proved possible by Uigur city states, Chinese set­ tlers, state farms, and socialist collectives as a complement to animal husbandry. Also, a great many herders have held regular jobs to support themselves, or presently strive for alternative means of income. Eco­ nomic, social, and purely private considerations clearly influence their movements along with environmental factors. Herder households, of course, depend on the national market, which fluctuates with the inter­ national political and economic situation. Far from being politically inde­ pendent, herders during the last hundred years have been dependent on several overarching political structures, which to varying extents have been external to their culture and beyond their own organizational ca­ pacity: an aristocracy with foreign backing, Buddhist monasteries, and Soviet-style collectives. What are commonly mistaken for subsistence strategies are activities herders share with peasants everywhere, even modem farmers (Fried­ mann 1980). Despite their dependence on the market, they do not operate their farms as capitalist enterprises, but maintain a household form of or­ ganization that allows a wider range of strategies in relation to internal and external pressures. They have a firm place within capitalist economies, which has long been recognized in agrarian development lit­ erature (Long 1984: 3-4), although it is debatable whether they are best

222

Chapter 9

understood in terms of resistance to capitalism or whether they are es­ sentially produced by it—for instance, by cheapening the reproductive costs of labor for the capitalist sector (Meillassoux 1972). Historical expe­ rience suggests that noncapitalist relations of production tend to endure as long as the form of labor organization can effectively meet the house­ hold's reproductive needs. Cultural values and normative frameworks are important for defining these needs, and the social and cultural inter­ action between household and the wider society should not be underesti­ mated. Still, the peasant type of labor organization has shown great per­ sistence in diverse settings and economic circumstances. The competitive advantage of family economic units over capitalist production was em­ phasized by Chayanov and confirmed by many later observers (e.g., Friedmann 1980; Bartlett 1993). Whether peasants or herder household units, regarding them as merely a transient phenomenon amounts to ig­ norance. In fact, the greatest misconception about Mongolian pastoral no­ mads, shared by many academics, missionaries, socialist ideologists, and politicians over the last hundred years, is that their way of life would im­ minently disappear. Among the late eighteenth-century travelers such as Prejevalsky, we merely find notice of the savage and primitive nomad, whose faith in Lamaism inhibited progress, along with hopes for Christian refining of civilization (Prejevabky 1876: 74,83). The Great Game of Central Asia that unfolded in the following decades concerned power, access, and trade more than actual colonization. Faiflr in progress grew dramatically in the new century, however, along with expanding railways and technological inventions like the airplane and the motorcar, which enabled travelers, traders, and missionaries to work deeper into Mongolia. Soon nomads would come out of the darkness (Hedley 1910). The early advent of international Communism' in Mongolia was, of course, a fact that all Mongolia scholars had to consider. The heavily politicized atmosphere that came with the new radical political order in Mongolia, particularly after the showdown with Buddhism in the 1930s, tended to divide Mongolia scholars into culturalist and modernist camps. While the former defended a "pure" Mongolian culture against polluting foreign influence, the latter approved of the modernizing influence of so­ cialism and the gradual integration of herders into cooperatives to im­ prove their quality of life. Among the culturalists, there was little inducement to research the in­ teraction between nomadic and sedentary groups, as the sedentary lifestyle and ideology in the form of Leninist minority politics were al­ ready being forced upon the nomads. This was another form of colonial­ ism, replacing Chinese rule. Herbert Vreeland, Sechin Jagchid, Paul Hyer, Larry Moses, Henning Haslund-Christensen, and many others were con-

Herders, Slate Formation, and the Chinese Connection

223

cemed with tracing the authentic Mongolianness and either recording or saving a proud nomadic heritage. The modernists, many of whom wrote from a Marxist perspective, were occupied with the progress of industrial society. Reflecting both his the­ ory and his political convictions, Owen Lattimore approved of the changes in Mongolia and the prospects of a better herding life brought about by collectivization. Daniel Rosenberg, writing from the vantage point of his unique fieldwork among herders in Arkhangai in the early 1970s, judged the Mongolian collectives an important alternative ap­ proach to organizing production among pastoral nomads. The collectives were flexible enough to allow for combining efficient production for in­ ternal consumption and export with a pastoral nomadic option for a ma­ jor portion of the population. Collectivization had positive outcomes for the nomads, Rosenberg wrote, and progress continued (Rosenberg 1982). Charles Bawden was also generally supportive of the material progress in rural areas that resulted from collectivization; he concluded along the of­ ficial government line, "If all goes well, the Mongols hope to evolve a bal­ anced industrial and agrarian economy in which nomadism will have dis­ appeared and even the felt tent will have yielded to the fixed dwelling" ([1968] 1989: 422-423). Despite contrary pressures, continued doubts about the plausibility of nomadic pastoralism, and even talk of a "possible demise of a way of life" (Humphrey and Sneath 1999:1), nomadic, seminomadic, or "mobile" pas­ toral herding will continue long into the future. They will certainly do so as long as the government of Mongolia and its foreign donors fail to offer crucial market infrastructure and access to alternative means of income, as well as appropriate social services in rural communities. So far, rural Mongolia has only sunk deeper into pastoralist dependency.

THE CHINESE CONNECTION Several times I have compared the Mongolian herder community to Chi­ nese villages, towns, and cities. This was partly because of my fieldwork in China, but also because of the pivotal place that China holds in Mon­ golia's history and contemporary national identity. Let us now review the Chinese connection from a broader perspective. At an early date, inspiration for the study of Mongolian pastoral no­ madism came from research on China. As opposed to much scholarship on Mongolia, the extensive mid-twentieth-century theorizing on Chinese civ­ ilization tended to include the pastoral north. One theorist was Wolfram Eberhard, who addressed the rise of feudalism as a result of the "super­ stratification" of a basically agrarian group by an essentially pastoral

224

Chapter 9

group: "Feudalism came into existence when the originally pastoral tribes of the migration period had conquered the Roman Empire; when the orig­ inally pastoral Chou and their allies had conquered Shang-China; when the nomadic Mongol and Turkish tribes had conquered India, or Persia, or Russia" (Eberhard 1950:24-25). The ensuing deep dualism between rulers and subject populations in terms of religion, literature, law, and so on con­ tinued in the sharp distinction between fortress cities and the surround­ ing sea of indigenous populations. Some have inferred that the ethnic component of this theory is really unnecessary and that superstratification may be explainable in purely political terms (Bodde 1981:118). Theorizing along tliese lines has been somewhat more controversial with respect to Mongolia, presumably because the Mongolian self-presentation forbade reference to common roots with the archenemy. But Owen Latti­ more, whose lasting importance for Mongolian studies is indisputable, took up the challenge. In his Inner Asian Frontiers of China, he postulated the existence of a fundamental bifurcation in the north China region that led to specialized crop agriculture on the one hand and specialized pastoralism on the other (Lattimore 1951). Based on an environmentaleconomic functionalist approach, which drew on VV^ttvogeTs work on Oriental society but utilized a broader and more refined perspective, Lat­ timore extended his conception to processes on both sides of the agricul­ tural-pastoral divide. To him, the interplay of the diverse forces deriving from an agrarian and a pastoral "way of life" was instrumental. We shall not dwell on his theory on the development processes of Chinese civi­ lization proper, but only note that as the agrarian way of life in China spread wherever the terrain was favorable and demonstrated that grain production could support a larger population, other activities of a previ­ ously mixed economy declined. Production of wheat, millet, and later rice together with the rearing of scavenging animals such as pigs, chicken, and dogs that did not demand pasturage became the great Chinese way of life. The amalgamation through military means of smaller states into larger states and finally into a bureaucratic empire was a political reflection of the growth of key economic regions. Monoculturism required efficient utilization of manpower, which again favored a bureaucratic tendency and the development of a ruling scholar-gentry class (Lattimore 1951: 375-376). The other side of Lattimore's theory has greater significance, though, and was derived not least out of the interaction in the borderlands. In his view, the pastoral way of life that evolved among the steppe peoples of China's northern periphery was in good part an outgrowth of the same neolithic north China culture from which the Chinese grain economy had evolved. In the extensive borderland zones, those groups occupying fa­ vorable localities followed the trend toward specialized agriculture.

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

225

which caused them to eventually become "Chinese," while those in less favorable intervening terrain retained their previous mixed economy, thus becoming the "barbarians" occupying the no-man's-land outside feudal states. Many barbarian groups were swallowed up by the Chinese agricultural economy. Others resisted but were driven progressively far­ ther into the mountains and finally into the inhospitable steppe. Their old mixed economy was deficient. They "found themselves in a terrain and environment that would not tolerate either their old mixed economy as a whole or the special emphasis on agriculture that had become the mark of Ijemg a Chinese,'" Lattimore wrote (1951:381). They were forced to work out a new line of specialization for themselves, building on intensive con­ trol of herded animals on the steppe. In due course, the end result was emphasis on a single set of techniques that produced a society even more one-sided than China, but sharply different from it and in the main an­ tagonistic to it. The nomadic society that developed in the steppe lands facing northern China powerfully affected Chinese history, not only through war and con­ quest but by way of technological and commercial exchange. A crucial part of Lattimore's perspective, however, is that the demarcation between the two societies was an artificial one; even the Great Wall built during the Qin dynasty is seen as more of a symbolic than a real demarcation of the Chinese from the nomadic way of life. Rather than demarcating the two ways of life, the intermediate zone played a crucially important role for both. It is a geographical fact that there is no clear-cut physical demarca­ tion there, but an ill-defined transitional zone, to some extent suited for ei­ ther herding or farming, but ideal for neither. Also, the population of the transitional zone enjoyed a peculiar strategic position, conversant with both ways of life, but definitely committed to neither. Lattimore contends that from Han times onward Chinese and nomads have repeatedly strug­ gled to gain control over the intermediate zone, as a foothold there aided efforts to dominate the homeland of the other. Each side has enjoyed tem­ porary but not permanent success, because each, to rule the other, has been forced to adopt the other's psychology and way of life, thereby los­ ing their own political and cultural identity. The development of cultural relativism in American postwar anthro­ pology, coupled with the long-established structural functionalism of British anthropology, inhibited a wider recognition of common roots or interdependence in theories. Much of the anthropological literature on nomadic people of Central Asia that came out after the breakthrough of modem anthropology in the 1950s was very much influenced by cultural relativism, which, despite gradually being rejected as a theoretical con­ struction, in many ways both legitimized the new discipline and bore its methodology. Now theorizing about the great Asian civilizations was

226

Chapter 9

weak in anthropology, and the concept of a common origin was toned down. Instead, Mongolian culture and society were cherished as inde­ pendent constructions; the Mongols, in particular, represented an ideal type of nomadism, from which a range of other Central Asiaii nomadic groups could be generalized (Jagchid and Hyer 1979; xv). The great au­ thorities on Mongolian culture Sechin Jagchid and Paul Hyer hold that despite the Chinese model of civilization that dominated in East Asia, "North of the wall, Chinese culture has had very little influence upon the society and cultural development of the nomadic people until recently" (Jagchid and Hyer 1979: 1). Their basic argument is that while the geo­ graphical distance between the two societies was short, the cultural dis­ tance remained great. In the words of Keith Buchanan, they were alien worlds separated by a boundary almost dramatic in its sharpness; one world was dominated by mobile nomadic tribes, the other was gardencultivated by an earth-bound peasant society (Buchanan 1970: 56). More than anything else, it was the work of Fredrik Barth that put the study of nomadic groups back on track. In his Nomads of South Persia (1961), Barth convincingly showed that pastoral nomadic strategies bridged nomadic and sedentary life; particularly the highest and lowest nomadic population segments moved into towns either for work or in­ vestment in land. Philip Carl Salzman (1980), Anatoly Khazanov (1984), and other writers from an ethnographic perspective brought the focus back to what had occupied Lattimore from a historical perspective, namely, the varied economic pursuits of nomadic groups, their flexible strategies, and their remarkable integration into market economies and states. Yet this common approach was only vaguely and sporadically adopted in Mongolian studies, which were still giving much credit to the notion of an autonomous cultural entity.

HISTORY AND IDENTITY IN MONGOLIA If a politicized approach to nomadism prevailed abroad, it was only inten­ sified by personal experience inside Mongolia. The atrocities of Mongolian politics affected not only the Buddhist clergy but the entire society, with a constant threat of arrest, persecution, and execution. The Stalinist reign of terror, which continued with the rule of Choibalsan and only loosened af­ ter his death and with a gradual shift of policy in the 1960s to the 1970s, had very direct implications for every family in Mongolia. Thus, the dawn­ ing reorientation of nomadic studies was not easily incorporated in stud­ ies of the Mongolian pastoral society either internally or in the West. As all Mongolians know, Mongolian pastoral civilization historically has been intimately linked to Chinese sedentary civilization. The interplay of

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

227

forces between the agrarian society of north China and the nomadic soci­ ety of the steppe, mountain, and desert zones of Central Asia was vital to the history of both. Through war, conquest, immigration, travel, and com­ mercial and cultural exchange, Mongolian and Chinese people of all ca­ pacities were constantly in touch over the centuries, and their cultural en­ counter was stereotyped and mythologized in both cultures. Today China is rapidly becoming Mongolia's major trading partner and Beijing now serves as the most convenient international shopping center, thus facilitating communication. Simultaneously, however, China's new superpower ambitions, both political and economic, affect much of Mongolia's political life and works to confirm stereotypes. Im­ ages of Chinese culture and personality, which primarily serve as an­ titheses to popularly conceived Mongolianness, are deeply ingrained in the minds of Mongolian pastoralists, no matter how few, if any, personal contacts they have with the Chinese. As we shall see below, the Chinese still hold an ambiguous position that may be manipulated in the interest of the Mongolian elite, Mongolians take pride in their traditional animal husbandry, which both provides the basics of their identity and links them to their history and the Central Asian landscapes. The tough life on the steppe, with much struggle and few comforts, tends to serve as an archetype of Mon­ golianness; the strategy for survival is known to nearly everyone. Nonetheless, the dichotomy between those who identify with their no­ madic past and those who practice nomadic livestock herding is crucial. Since independence, Mongolian urban intellectuals—supported by many foreign researchers—have tended to traditionalize nomadic herding, con­ ceivably as a consequence of their search for their own roots. They see Mongolian animal husbandry as highly skilled, structured, even scien­ tific, honorable, and, most importantly, distinctly Mongolian. They find in history a glorious nomadic civilization, capable of conquering the world and providing a common identity for the entire Mongol nation. In re­ sponse to the miserable existence in contemporary Mongolia's rural areas, however, they tend to see present herding practices as debased aberra­ tions of a brilliant past when technology was more advanced, herds were larger, herders were more devoted, and consequently herders were wealthier. They scorn the modem herders for treating their animals badly, having poor skills, drinking too much, being illiterate, and in all respects practicing degenerate herding. Nomadic civilization, including wrestling, archery, and horse racing, has been adopted as the unique characteristic of the Mongolian nation as much as it is promoted in tourism. Its adoption is engulfed in nationalistic senti­ ments and very much a reflexive response to Western steppe romanticism. While at the beginning of the twentieth century Lamaist Buddhism was

228

Qiapter 9

the Mongolian face to the world—when the religion was already seriously corrupted and degenerate—at the beginning of the twenty-first century nomadic culture is the key national characteristic, although everyone wor­ thy of notice in Mongolia has left the herding lifestyle for good. Exponents of tradition uphold religion and culture in their pure forms, evoking the past for laying out elite identities and social boundaries in the present. Pre­ sumably an elite existence is more pleasant when objects, lifestyles, and re­ ligions of identification are things of the past: it provides an opportunity in the present to adopt the lifestyle of the adversary, be he Chinese, Russian, or Western. Nomadic animal husbandry has attained a dubious position. It is a na­ tional symbol with great historical and emotional value but also a strat­ egy for survival for those without other means of livelihood who fre­ quently extract only a simple existence. The new Mongolian national identity, which is still in a nascent state (Bulag 1998), builds on new as well as old elements. The conventional themes include relations with the Chinese, who still function as the antithesis to everything worth striving for. China is considered authoritarian and communitarian, Mongolia free and independent, with an individualist, self-reliant pop­ ulation. Many aspects of the Mongolian identity still tend to make use of negations. One would suspect ^at members of the elite have a par­ ticular interest in continuing old prejudices from the prerevolutionary society: anything threatening the social order—internal strife, illegal im­ migration, corruption, illicit land use, fake foodstuffs and consumer goods, illegal border trade, unfair competition, and a host of other issues—may be seen as having Chinese roots. Chinese nationals become the usual suspects. Although the rural population eagerly conveys stories of Chinese en­ croachment on its country and thus expresses prejudices several genera­ tions old, as livestock producers the herders have a real interest in China's insatiable market. Yet the Mongolian government maintains heavy re­ strictions on border trade. During my fieldwork, the most remarkable im­ provement in the herders' general conditions came from increasing com­ petition in the cashmere market (induced by China), which brought vastly higher prices to the producers but threatened Ulaanbaatar's languishing cashmere industry, in which both political and native business interests are strong.’ Hence, both in terms of interpretation of the nomadic civi­ lization of the past and in placing Mongolia on the modem map, the new urban-driven national identity contributes to a growing ambivalence among those practicing animal husbandry. To be a proud herdsman able to accumulate wealth and transfer skills aiid animals to the next genera­ tion is becoming increasingly difficult, not only economically but socially and emotionally.

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

229

THE GREAT DIVIDE

Mongolia's urban elite want their country to compare with developed countries in Asia and the West. Their priorities are information technol­ ogy, international trade and travel, modem housing and education, and an increasingly cosmopolitan lifestyle in the city. It is hardly worth com­ paring Khotont and the capital. Despite being merely 400 kilometers to tlie west, Khotont is cut off from any services associated with a modem lifestyle: only a handful of families in the center can watch television, even radio broadcasts tend not to reach the herding population, newspa­ pers are a week old by the time they reach the sum, not a single computer is operating within the sum, only a privileged few in the center can receive phone calls, health and educational standards are deteriorating—the list could go on. The new national identity tends to alienate the herders and contributes to mass migration towards the city, which especially draws the talented and educated young. Any community will embrace many separate identities, just as the com­ munity may carry very different meanings for its members. Yet it is hard to imagine a functioning community without some measure of recognized leadership. This is where rural Mongolia presently suffers a void. Presumably the sense of community in rural areas, or possibly in Mongolia at a na­ tional level, still depends on the authority of strong, charismatic leadership. The E^enghis Khan craze that has rolled over Mongolia may be inter­ preted in this light. The old Khan established a nation where there was only tribal warfare and turned the Mongols' energies and aggression out­ wards, and they conquered the world. Today Mongolians do not want to conquer the world but to establish a platform for themselves in the mod­ em world—to reappear from oblivion, so to speak. They need a Khan that can establish a sense of commimity where there is now incessant internal fighting. Popular media abound with references to Djenghis Khan and his possible reincarnation in the new millennium. For instance, a Mongolian UNDP homepage anticipated that Djenghis Khan philosophy and a new reincarnation will rule the world on a philosophical level, and the UB Post echoed the "Return of a great Khan." The implications dawned on me af­ ter a series of incidents relating to violence. We had experienced violence in the hot springs; visited a man who was hospitalized for six months af­ ter a meaningless fight; talked to a family that had lost thirty horses dur­ ing the last couple of years due to epidemic theft; and visited the old cap­ ital of Djenghis Khan's son, which had been destroyed in intern^ fighting. In my mind it all boiled down to the following simple notion: Without strong leadership, the Mongolians fight each other. Yet we should look for present structures that uphold social forms rather than pointing to tradition.

230

Chapter 9

The emerging new Mongolian national identity bears the imprint of ur­ ban elite culture, which is obviously influenced by openness, democratic government, and international relations. As national elite identity in­ creasingly links up with global trends and a Western lifestyle, however, it inevitably alienates the main part of the rural population. In a pluralist vi­ sion, cultural practices, institutions, values, and not least identities are formed through an ongoing encounter between various interests in tlie lo­ cal society, which interact with currents in wider society and the outside world. Accordingly, we must take into account the boundaries between social strata, positioned actors, and various currents of thought and knowledge in what is habitually seen as a single cultural formation such as Mongolia. However, if globalization somehow affects everyone in Mongolia, the corresponding process of localization will bear increasing evidence of the rural-urban divide. Obviously there are potential contradictions between rural and urban identities in post-Soviet Mongolia, but perhaps more acutely there is a growing need for the formation of distinctly local herder identities that value and support animal husbandry as other than a naive, idealistic link to a distant past. The revitalizing of local identities, such as they were pre­ viously expressed in banner territories, may be a first basis for the forma­ tion of new rational institutions. Interestingly, the return of the lama and the revival of Buddhism may play significant roles here; for instance, by the building of the temple and the revival of the ovoo festivals and Little Naadams at bag level. So far, however, nativization of culture primarily has been a religious enterprise.

CULTURAL AND ENVIRONMENTAL DETERMINISM Despite mutual dependency, or rather in response to it (particularly the dependence of the pastoral economy on sedentary production), the Mon­ golian national identity has developed as an anti-Chinese narrative. A broad range of commonalities are reinterpreted to expose differences. The Chinese lunar calendar, the new year festival and astrology, musical in­ spiration, food items, linguistic influence, ideas of the sacred earth, fear of enraging the dragons, belief in a living landscape inhabited by spirits—all gave rise to powerful taboos on digging the earth and to paroles of pre­ serving harmony, despite a common disposition for violence and for keeping face. Yet anti-Chinese identity formation has frequently involved the denial of historical facts, such as Mongolian moneylending, internal social exploitation, and the use of crop agriculture. An anti-Chinese ambiance is also evident among foreign Mongolia scholars, particularly those who either through fieldwork or lengthy ac­

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

231

quaintance with Mongolian culture came to sympathize with the Mon­ golian people and perhaps adopted their cause. One thing is clear: the Mongolians themselves rarely identify with notions of common Chi­ nese-Mongolian historical dynamics and tend to reject their relevance for understanding Mongolian nomadic culture. Instead, most propo­ nents of Mongolian cultural independence, whether Mongolian or for­ eign, have shown a strong propensity towards environmental determin­ ism, which has developed as the major alternative to theories of the dynamics of civilizational encounter. To quote Jagchid and Hyer again, Mongolia represents a nomadic society "that came very close to being set by geographical determinism—whether one considers diet, trans­ portation, dwellings, or other aspects of a broad socio-cultural index" (Jagchid and Hyer 1979: xv). Endless frontier wars, the ebb and flow of conquest, migration and re­ pulsion, and trade along caravan routes in China's northern periphery left an enduring mark on the Chinese national identity, to a degree that may be impossible for any foreigner to grasp.^ Images of the strange savage country beyond the Great Wall and the Jade Gate permeate the classical poetry and literature that is still in circulation in China today. Together with more modem notions of Chinese minority culture and society, these images have constantly been utilized in shaping powerful and fairly con­ sistent moral codes and conventions for a proper way of life. They even served as justification for disciplining the population into uniform and controllable forms of production that secured the state the necessary sup­ ply of manpower for public construction works. As for images of China in Mongolia it is beyond the scope of this work to trace them throughout Mongolian history. I will simply mention those elements of Mongolian history that are still remembered today. The grad­ ual colonization and cultivation of Inner Mongolia by Chinese farmers in previous centuries forms the basis for pan-Mongolian ideology and long­ term security issues. The cheating Chinese trader of the early twentieth century, relentlessly luring the herdsmen into hopeless debt, is remem­ bered with awe in common family narrations. Chinese construction work­ ers that came with Chinese aid in the 1950s are remembered as colonists that would not voluntarily return. Illegal Chinese immigrants are con­ stantly reported in the media. Stories of Chinese businessmen buying up property and land rights in Mongolia through straw men are almost epi­ demic today. Images of Chineseness continue to serve as a countermodel for proper Mongolian perceptions and behavior with regard to lifestyle, food, forms of production, interpersonal relations, business transactions, environmen­ tal protection, religious worship, and much more. Today these images are perhaps more critical for the Mongolian nation, which has been hurled

232

Chapter 9

into a spiral of economic collapse that threatens to cause territorial disin­ tegration, than they are for the increasingly dynamic Chinese nation, which measures itself by very different standards. By comparison, Mon­ golian identity is indeed a fragile construction. The modem Mongolian identity is conveniently framed with reference to nature: Mongolians cherish their nomadic past on the steppe while state and elite interests accentuate the unique features of their habitat and his­ tory. National identity and environmental determinism support each other in the creation of a radical opposition to Chinese civilization, continuously perceived as the significant other and the greatest threat. The real victims of these antagonistic identities, however, are the contemporary nomadic herders: environmental determinism associates their demands with a healthy natural environment, and the national identity serves to uphold a series of trade restrictions that only benefit urban elite interests.

NOMADIC HERDERS AND THE STATE

The essentials of the pastoral nomadic economy—highly specialized pro­ duction with a huge potential in trade and exchange—historically have prevented nomads from accumulating wealth on their own. Without di­ rect and continued access to goods from sedentary economies, the no­ madic pastoral economy for most people lacked the capacity for other than subsistence-oriented production, which provided a low level of exis­ tence. Being both vulnerable to exploitation and potentially powerful be­ cause of the value of their produce, nomads historically needed to com­ pensate for the structural weakness of their economy by gaining advantages in their external political relations—in other words, by mak­ ing optimal use of their potential for warfare and fmding. In North Africa, the Near East, and Central Asia, countless important dynasties originated in nomadic tribes that became imperial conquerors. This was particularly the case for nomadic tribes in China's northern periphery. However, Mon­ golian nomadic empires were hardly the products of internal develop­ ment but more likely arose as "secondary phenomena" in response to Chinese imperial expansion (Barfield 2001:235), accentuating the close in­ teraction between political formations, cultural processes, and diverging identities across the sedentary-nomadic divide of northern Asia. Despite their small numbers, which rarely counted more than a million, the steppe nomads could use their capacity for mobile cavalry warfare to great effect, penetrating deep into China and retreating before the Chinese armies had time to retaliate. Using the constant threat of raiding, the steppe nomads were able to attain extraordinary trade privileges or indi­ rect subsidies during much of China's dynastic history.

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

233

Politico-cultural preferences guided the Mongols toward warfare, caravaning, and trade as they consistently rejected the sedentary agricultural option, though it was viable on many tracts of land in their territories? It was never opportune to settle on agricultural lands conquered in military campaigns, as the nomads realized their military power was insufficient to defend them against the vastly greater Chinese armies. Central Asian nomadic groups raided and retreated or conquered and established them­ selves as a ruling elite. Thomas Barfield argues that nomads had the greatest historical impact on sedentary peoples when they settled down and used their military power to dominate them, while ^ose who remained nomads had far less influence. Yet, while one may assume that nomads would benefit from having their people in power, Barfield argues that "conquest dynasties al­ ways attempted to use their newly acquired power to crush the autonomy of their nomadic cousins by refusing to share revenue or political power" (Barfield 2001; 234-235).® What, in fact, happens when nomads come to power? The nomadic state, itself a contradiction in terms, conceals intense conflicts between nomadic and settled groups. In particular, the nomadic section of society has lost its traditional bargaining power without receiving direct politi­ cal power by means of independent institutions representing its interests. As a result, nomads have been pinned down to a position usually asso^ ciated with peasants, vulnerable to exploitation and without access to in­ dependent political action. It has been shown how traders based in the city manipulate cultural codes to extort the herders. Even worse, the Mongolian state manipulates the national identity to insinuate Chinese sabotage of the Mongolian economy (for instance, in the cashmere mar­ ket) and uses the force of law to bar herders from trading directly at the China border market, which invariably would benefit the nomadic herders at the expense of the urban elite. The endemic corruption and so­ cial arrogance of many post-independence Mongolian politicians mirror the fierce, ruthless, and egotistic traits of the raiding horsemen, plunder­ ing and terrorizing before retreating to inaccessible camp areas. Nowa­ days that is done abroad. Will a state with nomadic roots follow a different trajectory than those originating in sedentary agricultural economies? The post-colonial experi­ ence of state formation in non-European countries suggests there are few prospects for alternative ways, particularly as the forces of global economic institutions and shared development-aid policy entrench governments in set patterns. Daniel Bradburd (1996; 2001) has argued that in attempting to un­ derstand the state-pastoralists relationship we should start with the state;'’ state formation, due to the inherent interests of the state in coercive means of revenue collection, leads to the indiscriminate integration of all groups

234

Chapter 9

with traditional economies and established political or ethnic identities. In his view, it is merely periodic weakness of the state that permits pastoralists to be politically significant (Bradburd 2001:143). That is quite consistent with Barfield's argument. Neither pastoralists nor peasants can escape proletari­ anization resulting from establishment of private property and free labor, thus following the same historical pattern as that in Europe. With on-going destruction of communal property, reduction of independent enclaves, ex­ tension of a fully monetized and commodified economy, and reduction of al­ ternative loci of power, pastoralists can only hope to ease the pressure by adaptation. This consists mainly of private ownership of herds and occupa­ tion of lands that are truly marginal to crop agriculture (Bradburd 1996). Contemporary Mongolia is slowly recovering from the collapse of the socialist state, which with respect to organized violence and indiscrimi­ nate proletarianization fully confirmed the foresights above. Thus, amidst a renewed process of state formation, Mongolian governments slowly ex­ pand their domain of control. Though presumed to be beneficial for pas­ ture-land management, decision-making authority has not in any signifi­ cant way been passed down to the sum level. Instead, centralized lines of authority are still mostly intact, forming dormant structures awaiting new substance. The new land law, budding privatization, and a renewed pri­ ority to crop agriculture (now undertaken by private entrepreneurs) are all signs of a nascent modem state with increasing means of control. In Ti­ betan areas, for instance the northern Amdo (Qinghai) region, rapidly ex­ panding crop agriculture is making use of improved seeds, thus making it possible to move cropping steadily uphill and to encroach on pasture land. Land is not sparse in Mongolia, but crop agriculture in a harsh cli­ mate inevitably increases competition for the fertile plains and necessi­ tates state regulation. Nomadic people are highly conscious of their independence and of the political value of their mobility. It has been suggested that the Kazakhs used their mobility to liberate themselves from coercive control (some would say from feudalism) to sell their produce on a liberal market in much the same way that the new classes of propertyless workers were en­ abled to sell their labor and services in the European city after industrial­ ization, thus overcoming capitalist exploitation (Light 1994: 8). Despite similarities in political economy, the incompatibility of nomadic culture with an urban labor market is obvious. In fact, in the case of the Bedouins, it was pointed out already in the fifteenth century by Ibn Khaldun. Bedouins were unaccustomed to the city's labor relations, forms of pro­ duction, and accumulation of property, which concentrated authority in the hands of the urban rich (Ibn Khaldun 1967: 280-281). Dependent on trade, exchange, and even revenue, unable to wage raids or pillage except among themselves, nomads integrated into a modem

Herders, Stale Formation, and the Chinese Connection

235

state have no direct political influence. Only the settled population has di­ rect access to the essentials of power. This is where herders in contempo­ rary nation-states require new institutions to guard themselves against ex­ ploitation. Previous overarching institutions for pasture allocation and management were typically external constructions, resulting from military conquest, colonial domination, or politico-religious expansion, and as such were at odds with the herder identity. There were never "customary" in­ stitutions for this aim. Today there is a growing need for lower and mid­ level institutions to guard the herders against a new centralizing state. Nomadic rulers in all ages settled in monasteries, towns, and cities, pri­ marily because of the association of settled life with luxury goods, while striving for privileged positions and quickly acquiring elite ambitions and values. Thus, as seen by Fredrik Barth among the Basseri, the top and bot­ tom layers of the pastoral society tend to be drawn toward sedentary communities: these are the two population segments with the greatest motivation for community building, the wealthy due to their influence and economic capacity, the poor because of their need to adopt a seden­ tary lifestyle to find labor. Forces of modernity reinforce this segmenta­ tion, as does political neglect.

OUTMODED LIFESTYLE OR OBSOLETE STATE?

External observers may rightfully ask whether the present-day inhabi­ tants of Khotont's rural bags are herders by choice or necessity. A growing disparity between an urban middle-class life and that of common herders adds new dimensions to the rural-urban distinction established in social­ ist times. Growing urbanism, including a sort of urban entrenchment in the capital, and a deepening impoverishment in the peripheral territories after socialism cannot help but create new value judgments toward the herding lifestyle, possibly even stigmatization. And yet in the new liberal, urban-based economy, alternatives are few and misery abounds. Herders are keenly aware of the desolation of the new migrant settlements in the outskirts of the capital as much as they are impressed by the flamboyant lifestyle of the urban elite. In a world of al­ ternatives, all share the frustration of having few viable options for really changing their lives. Herders stick to their time-proven strategies because they still make sense, both economically and socially, and indications are few that this will change in the foreseeable future, if ever. Over the past century Mongolia did not experience the demise of its an­ cient herding lifestyle as predicted by many. It survived Chinese domination, theocratic rule, socialism, and now foreign development aid. The country did, however, see the demise of several state forms. One was the centralized

236

Chapter 9

authoritarian state under socialism. Heavily supported by foreign donors, the Mongolian political elite and establishment intellectuals still promote a centralized bureaucratic state—a form that has created so much alienation and political apathy dial it perchance is becoming obsolete in the West. Ar­ guably, nomadic livestock herding is as viable an alternative as it ever was to the dreary routines of a peasant society or the miserable existence of herdless vagrants and jobless migrants to the city. The Mongolian centralized state, on die other hand, is more likely to be heading for extinction. Alternative democratic statecraft in the new millennium must get back to the early ideals of pluralism, cooperation, and voluntary associations, in order to offer new forms of economic and social governance. Mongolia is testament to Paul Hirst's observation that liberal individualism and freemarket capitalism have gained no decisive victory from the failure of so­ cialism (Hirst 1994: 3). Judging the West by its own standards rather than by those of state socialism refutes nonsense about the "triumph of the West." Common representative democracy offers low levels of accounta­ bility and public influence on decision making (in reality, it serves to legit­ imate centralized bureaucratic corporatism), and representative democ­ racy in Mongolia further suffers from the heritage of authoritarian state socialism and the challenge of bridging enormous geographical distances. The odds that this model will ever work in Mongolia are low indeed. Big government, which in the West really represents the "triumph of collec­ tivism," has grown at the expense of individual rights and freedoms. Uni­ formity of state policy and forms of social provision means pressing com­ mon rules and standard services on increasingly diverse societies. In Mongolia, those furthest out and least connected suffer the most. Associative democracy—that is, voluntary associations taking over vi­ tal functions of economic and social government—may empower those for whom services are designed and help build trust and community (Hirst 1994). As citizens of democratic Mongolia who make up at least a quarter of the population, the herders have the right to education, medi­ cine, policing, environmental management, and more. Presently these functions and services work on premises set by government, primarily centralized bureaucratic institutions, rather than by the users. In Khotont, policing is inefficient (in practice, it is mostly absent, which facilitates rustling and violence); education does not include teaching herding or business skills and inevitably orients the children away from their home areas; no banking or credit institutions exist and thus loans for restocking are imattainable; pasture management and facilities for the dispersion of grazing pressure are in ruins; transportation is a scarce resource, forcing people to rely on oxcarts and limiting mobility; and medical and veteri­ nary services are concentrated in the sum center (previous systems of semiprofessionals working at bag level have been abandoned).

Herders, State Formation, and the Chinese Connection

237

There is an obvious need for new associations and institutions, both to politically activate the herders and to fill the institutional vacuum after so­ cialism. Although Buddhism serves a purpose and obviously plays an im­ portant role in the formation of a post-communist Mongolian identity, there is every reason to avoid new powerful religious institutions to fill this gap. The present bags, consisting of several hundred people with an established sense of belonging, are natural venues for the formation of voluntary associations. But those associations must make sense. They must have legitimacy and power in addition to access to sum government funding. Considering the relatively large number of employees in public institutions, the crucial variable is not the manpower on public payrolls but their function and the direction of their accountability. Policing or se­ curity associations, restocking associations, small-enterprise development associations, public health associations, and pasture management associ­ ations should be established. New models require supervision, however, and particularly that of as­ sociative democracy assigns a vital role to international bodies in supple­ menting and anchoring the governments of nation-states (Hirst 1997). By rejecting the assumption that poor countries should model themselves on the West or even remotely follow the same course of development, foreign donors might play a far more progressive role than they have in the past by promoting new regimes. In this sense, the poorer countries could eas­ ily form the democratic avant-garde through new thought and real ex­ perimentation. The foreign donors should stimulate new arrangements for democratization, not in the form of endless new project areas and pi­ lot projects but by supporting substantial and universal reform of gov­ ernment that will secure a real transfer of power to local groups where rel­ evant.®

CLOSING STAGE

Nomadism is a challenging field of study, but it is frequently subject to politicization. The lifestyle of nomadic livestock herders fascinates some while repelling others, and pits modernists against postmodernists. It can seem both appealing and appalling. Economically and politically, nomads are an anomaly in the modem world: in the development strategies of na­ tion-states, they are the enfants terribles, resisting integration and modern­ izing efforts, including modem education. Even inteUectually nomads pose a challenge to Western absolutism: anthropologists and others who advocate on behalf of nomadic cultures may find it hard to digest that no­ mads vigorously defend their traditional lifestyle against authorities and intruders while simultaneously looking for a way out of it. What one

238

Chapter 9

writer pointed out long ago seems no less relevant today: in countries all over the world, both internal and external agents of change have unfor­ tunately tended to succumb to the least informed images of pastoral no­ mads, seeing them as irrational, even destructive, and most significantly as political opponents that must be sedentarized (Aronson 1980:173).

NOTES 1. James Scott describes the great socialist projects as the products of both vi­ sionary intellectuals and planners guilty of hubris, "of forgetting that they were mortals and acting as if they were gods," and an ecumenical faith in progress (Scott 1998:342). 2. "In order to survive we have to stop being nomads," the Mongolian premier explained {FEER, vol. 164, 2001: 30); "Mongolian Nomadism to 'die out'" (BBC News, October 24,2003). 3. The Gobi company was in the middle of a privatization process, which is still ongoing. 4. Robert Paine, as quoted in Keith Buchanan (1970:54). 5. In the Inner Mongolian territories, which are closer to Chinese sedentary agriculture, Mongols engaged in crop agriculture already in the nineteenth cen­ tury, while this option appeared alien in Outer Mongolia, even among the most destitute population groups. 6. Barfield mentions the nomads of the Mongolian plateau in the period up to the Ming dynasty as a notable exception to this general rule. 7. Bradburd builds on the work of Charles Tilly, who links state formation with interdependent processes of organized violence and a growing need for extraction of wealth: 'Armed men form states by accumulating and concentrating their means of coercion within a given territory' (Tilly 1990:131). 8. Curiously, the archenemy China may be heading in that direction by the gradual retium of the laissez-faire-type of government that prevailed in the pre­ revolutionary society. In Chinese rural areas today, much depends on the balance between common stakeholders such as Party, civil administration, and lineage groups: xmhealthy relations may stall all development while favorable relations may facilitate active cooperation and dynamic social and economic development (Tsai 2001).

Mongolian Common Terms Used in the Text

ail ard aimag

airag arkhi bag beise bod boortsog darga deel ger khainak khamjilga khoimor khot ail

khoshuu khural lam malchin negdel nuudelchin ovoo

(khot ail) old term for "commoners" (province) highest-level territorial and administrative division fermented horse milk Mongolian vodka lowest-level administrative division Manchu prince livestock unit pastry common term for leader traditional dress for both men and women (yurt) felt tent cross-breed between cattle and yak fiefs for the nobility place of honor common encampment consisting of several indepen­ dent households (banner) old administrative unit governing assembly Buddhist lama herder herding collective of the socialist period nomadic people stone cairn 239

240

otor piishin shuteen sum suur taij tenhim tsag tsam tulku tsagaan tsar tugrik urga zasag zud

Mongolian Terms long-range movement for pasture hearth sacred (township) administrative division below aimag herding and camp unit during socialism Mongolian nobility ger school time a form of Buddhist ceremonial dancing reincarnation of a great lama Mongolian new year the Mongolian currency a long pole with a loop used for catching livestock khoshuu (banner) prince severe winter condition where the pasture is covered with snow or ice to an extent that the livestock cannot graze

References

Academy of Sciences, MPR, Information Mongolia. The Comprehensive Reference Source of the i^ople's Republic of Mongolia (MPR). Oxford: Pergamon Press, 1990. Anagnost, Ann, "Politics and Magic in Contemporary China." Modem China 13, no. 1 (1987): 40-61. ADB (Asian Development Bank), Mongolia: A Centrally Planned Economy in Transi­ tion. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. ------ , Mongolia, Country Report, 1994. ------ , Mongolia, Country Report, 2002. Aronson, Dan R., "Must Nomads Settle? Some Notes Toward Policy on the Future of Pastoralism." In Salzman (ed.), 1980. Bareja-Starzynska, Aqata and Hanne Havnevik, "Buddhism in Contemporary Mongolia." In Bruun and Li (eds.), 2006. Barfield, Thomas, "Inner Asia and Cycles of Power in China's Imperial Dynastic History." In Seaman and Marks (eds). Rulers from the Steppe: State Formation on the Euroasian Periphery. Los Angeles: Ethnographies Press, University of Southern California, 1991. ------- ,"Steppe Empires, China, and the Silk Route: Nomads as a Force in Interna­ tional Trade and Politics." In Khazanov, Anatoly and Andr^ Wink, 2001. Barth, Fredrik, Nomads of South Persia. The Basseri Tribe of Khamseh Confederacy. Boston: Little, Brown, 1964. ------- , "Introduction." In Barth (ed.). Ethnic Groups and Boundaries. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 1969. ------ , Balinese Worlds. London: Routledge, 1993. Bartlett, P. F., American Dreams, Rural Realities: Family Farms in Crisis. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993. Batbayar, Bat-Erdene, Modem Mongolia: A Concise History. Ulaanbaatar: Mongolian Center for Scientific and Technological Information, 1996. 241

242

References

Bawden, Charles R., The Modern History of Mongolia. London: Kegan Paul Interna­ tional, 1989. Bechert, Heinz and Richard Gombridge, The World of Buddhism. Buddhist Monks and Nuns in Society and Culture. London: Thames and Hudson, 1984. Bloch, Maurice, "The Past and the Present in the Present." Man 12 (1977): 278-92. Bodde, Derk, Essays on Chinese Ctvilizatiott. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981. Bold, Bal-Ochir, Mon^lian Nomadic Society. A Reconstruction of the "Medieval"History of Mongolia. Richmond, VA: Curzon Press, 2001. Bradburd, Daniel, "Towards an Understanding of the Fate of Modern Pastoralists; Starting with the Slate." Nomadic Peoples 38 (1996): 37-38. ------- , "The Influence of Pastoral Nomad Populations on the Economy and Soci­ ety of Post-Safavid Iran." In Khazanov, Anatoly and Andr^ Wink (eds). Nomads in the Sedentary World. Richmond, VA: Curzon Press, 2001. Bruun, Ole, Business and Bureaucracy in a Chinese City. Berkeley: Institute of East Asian Studies, 1993. ------- , "Sociological Annex." The Qinghai Livestock Report, Copenhagen: Danagro, 1993. ------- , "The Herding Household: Economy and Organization." In Bruun and Odgaard (eds.), 1996. ------ , Mongolia: A New Vision for Rural Development. ILO (EASMAT) 2003. Bruun, Ole and Li Narangoa (eds.), Mongols From Country to City. Floating Bound­ aries, Pastoralism and City Life in the Mongol Lands. Copenhagen: NIAS Press, 2006. Bruun, Ole and Ole Odgaard (eds.), Mongolia in Transition:' Old Patterns, New Chal­ lenges. Richmond: Curzon Press, 1996. Bruun, Ole, Per Ronnas, and Li Narangoa, "Mongolia: Transition From the Second to the Third World?" Stockholm: SIDA, 2000. Buchanan, Keith, The Transfrrmation of the Chinese Earth. London: G. Bell and Sons, 1970. Bulag, Uradyn E., Nationalism and Hybridity in Mongolia. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998. Campi, Alicia, "The Rise of Cities in Nomadic Mongola." In Bruun and Li, 2006. Carrithers, M., Why Humans Have Cultures: Explaining Anthropology and Social Diver­ sity. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. Carruthers, Douglas, A Record of Travel and Exploration in North West Mongolia and Dzungeria in the years 1910 and 1911. London: Hutchinson & Co., 1913. Consten, Hermann, Weidepldtze der Mongolen. Im Reiche der Chalcha. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer, 1919. Chayanov, A. V., The Theory ofl^sant Society. Homewood, IL: The American Eco­ nomic Association, 1966. Chatty, Dawn, "The Pastoral Family and the Truck." In Salzman (ed.), 1980. Cohen, The Symbolic Construction of Community. London: Tavistock, 1985. Creed, Gerald W., "'Family Values' and Domestic Economies." Annual Review of Anthropology 29 (2000): 329-55. Dashpurev, D. and S. K. Soni, Reign of Terror in Mongolia, 1920-1990. New Delhi: South Asian, 1992. Durkheim, Emile, The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1915.

References

243

Dyson-Hudson, Rada, and Neville, "Nomadic Pastoralism," In Annual Review of Anthropology 9 (1980): 15-61. Ellen, Roy, and Katsuyoshi Fukui, Redefining Nature. Oxford: Berg, 1996. Escobar, Arturo, Encountering Development. The Making and Unmaking of the Third World. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1995. Fabian, Johannes, Time and the Other: How Anthropology Makes Its Object. New York: Columbia University Press, 1983. Fan, Cindy C., "Migration and Gender in China." In China Review 2000. Hong Kong: Honk Kong University Press, 2001, pp. 423-54. Foster, Robert). "Making National Culture in the Global Ecumene." Annual Review of Anthropology 20 (1991): 235-60. Foucault, Michel, The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1. London: Allen Lane, 1979. Friedman, Jonathan, "The Past in the Future: History and the Politics of History." American Anthropologist 94, no. 4 (1992): 837-59. Friedmann, H., "Household Production and the National Economy: Concepts for the Analysis of Agrarian Formations." The journal of Peasant Studies 7, no. 2 (1980): 158-84. Friters, Gerard M., Outer Mongolia and Its International Position. London; George Allen & Unwin, 1951. Gell, Alfred, The Anthropology of Time. Cultural Constructions of Temporal Maps and Im­ ages. Oxford: Berg, 1992. Gellner, Ernest, Nations and Nationalism. New York: Cornell University Press, 1983. Geerlz, Clifford, The Interpretation of Cultures. New York: Basic Books, 1973. Goldstein, Melvyn C. and Mathew T. Kapstein (eds), Buddhism in Contemporary Ti­ bet. Religious Rj^ival and Cultural Identity. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998. Goody, Jack, "lime: Social Organization." International Encyclopedia of the Social Sci­ ences 16 (1991): 30-42. Griffin, Keith, A Strategyfor Poverty Reduction in Mottgolia. Ulaanbaatar: UNDP, 2001. Grousset, Ren6, The Empire of the Steppes: A History of Central Asia, New Brunswick: Rutgers University, 1970. Haslund-Christensen, Henning, Zajagan. Kabenhavn: Gyldendal, 1935. ----- , The Music of the Mongols: Eastern Mongolia [1943]. New York: Da Capo Press, 1971. ------ ijabonah. Kobenhavn: Gyldendal, 1946. Hedley, John, Tramps in Dark Mongolia. London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1910. Heissig, Walther, The Religions of Mongolia. Berkeley: University of California, 1979 (1st German ed., 1970). Howorth, Henry H., History of the Mongols, Prom the 9th to the 19th Century. Vol. 4. London: Longmans, 1888. Humphrey, Caroline, Karl Marx Collective. Economy, Society and Religion in a Siberian Collective Farm. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. ------- , "Remembering an 'Enemy.' The Bogd Khaan in Twentieth-Century Mon­ golia." In Ruble S. Watson (ed.). Memory, History and Opposition. Santa Fe: Amer­ ican School of Research Press, 1994. ------- , "Chiefly and Shamanist Landscapes in Mongolia." In E. Hirsch and M. O'Hanlon (eds.). The Anthropology of Landscape, Routledge: London, 1995.

244

Reduces

Humphrey, Caroline, et. al, "Attitudes to Nature in Mongolia and Tuva; A Prelim­ inary Report." Nomadic Peoples 33 (1993): 51-61. Hyer, Paul, and Sechin Jagchid, A Mongplian Living Buddha. Albany: State Univer­ sity of New York, 1983. Jagchid, Sechin and Paul Hyer, Mongolia's Culture and Society. Boulder: Westview Press, 1979. JICA, The Study on Strengthening of Agricultural Cooperatives in Mongolia. Tokyo: Nip­ pon Koei Co., 1997. Khazanov, Anatoly, "Nomads in the History of the Sedentary World." In Khaz­ anov, Anatoly and Andr6 Wink (eds.), Nomads in the Sedentary World. Richmond, VA: Curzon Press, 2001. Klieger, Paul Christiaan, "Accomplishing Tibetan Identity: The Constitution of a National Consciousness." Ph.D diss.. University of Hawaii, 1989. Korostovetz, Iwan Jakowlewitsch, Von Cinggis Khan zur Sowjetrepublik. Berlin: Wal­ ter De Gruyter & Co., 1926. Lattimore, Owen, "Introduction: MongoUa's Place in the World." In Friters, 1951. ------ , Nationalism and Revolution in Mongolia. New York: Oxford University Press, 1955. ____ , Inner Asian Frontiers of China. Boston: Beacon Press, 1962a. ____ , Nomads and Commissars. Mongolia Revisited. New York: Oxford University Press, 1962b. Levi-Strauss, Claude, The Raw and the Cooked. Introduction to a Science of Mythology. Vol. 1. New York: Harper & Row, 1969. Lichter, David and Lawrence Epstein, "Irony in Tibetan Notions of the Good Life." In Charles F. Keyes and E. Valentine Daniel, Kartna: An Arithropological Inquiry. Berkeley; University of California Press, 1983. Light, Nathan, "Qazaqs in the People's Republic of China: The Local Processes of History." Occasional Paper 22, Center for the Study of Global Change, 1994. Lopez, Donald S. Jr., Prisoners of Shangri-La. Tibetan Buddhism and the West. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998. Long, Norman (ed.). Family and Work in Rural Societies. Perspectives on Non-Wage Labour. London: Tavistock, 1984. Mauss, Marcel, The Gift 11925]. Routledge and Kegan Paul, London: 1969. (MNSO) Mongolian National Statistical Office, Population and Housing Census 2000. The Main Results. Ulaanbaatar: Mongolian National Statistical Office, 2001. _____ , "From Paradigm Lost to Paradigm Regained." In Long and Long (eds.). Battlefields of Knowledge. London 1992. Marx, Emanuel, "Are There Pastoral Nomads in the Arab Middle East?" In Fabietti and Salzman (eds.). The Anthropology of Tribal and Peasant Pastoral Societies. Pavia: IBIS, 1996. Mauss, Marcel, The Gift. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1969. Meams, Robin, "Territoriality and Land Tenure among Mongolian Pastoralists: Variation, Continuity and Change." In Nomadic Peoples 33 (1993): 73-103. , "Decentralization, Rural Livelihoods, and Pasture-Land Management in Post-Socialist Mongolia." European Journal of Development Research 16, no. 1 (2004): 133-52.

References

245

Meillassoux, C., "From Reproduction to Production." Economy and Society 1, no. 1 (1972): 93-105. Michie, Alexander, The Siberian Overland Route From Peking to Petersburg. London: John Murray, 1864. Miller, Robert James, Monasteries and Culture Change in Inner Mongolia, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1959. Moses, Larry William, The Political Role of Mongolian Buddhism. Bloomington: Indi­ ana University Press, 1977. Munn, Nancy, "The Cultural Antropology of Time: A Critical Essay." Annual Re­ view ofAnthropology 21 (1992): 93-123. NSO (National Statistical Office), Mongolian StatisticalYearbook, years 1996-2003. Olson, David R. and Nancy Torrance, Modes of Thought. Explorations in Culture and Cognition. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Pozdneyev, Aleksei M., Mongolia and the Mongols, Vol. 1 [1892]. Bloomington: Indi­ ana University, 1971.

------ , Religion and Ritual in Society: Lamaist Buddhism in the Late 19th-Century Mon­ golia. Bloomington: The Mongolia Society, 1978. Potkanski, Tomasz, "Decollectivization of the Mongolian Pastoral Economy (1991-1992): Some Economic and Social Consequences." Nomadic Peoples 33 (1993): 123-36. Prejevalsky, N. M., Mongolia, the Tangut Country, and the Solitudes of Northern Tibet. London: Sampson Low et.al, 1876. (PTRC) Population Teaching and Research Center, National University of Mongo­ lia, A Micro Study of Internal Migration in Mongolia. Ulaanbaatar: National Uni­ versity of Mongolia, 2001. Rist, Gilbert, The History of Development: From Western Origins to Global Faith. Lon­ don: Zed Books, 2000. Rossabi, Mary and Morris, "Namkhainyambuu and Changes in the Herding Economy of Mongolia." In Bruun and Li, 2006. Rupen, R. A., Mongols of the Twentieth Century. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1964.

------ , How Mongolia is Really Ruled: A Political History of the Mongolian People's Re­ public, 1929-1978. Stanford: Hoover Institution Press, 1979. Salzman, Philip Carl (ed.). When Nomads Settle. Processes of Sedentarization As Adap­ tation and Response. New York: Praeger Publishers, 1980. ------- , "Studying Nomads: An Autobiographical Reflection." Nomadic Peoples 36/37 (1995): 10-15.

------ , Pastoralists: Equality, Hierarchy, and the State. Boulder: Westview Press, 2004. Samuel, Geoffrey, Civilized Shamans. Buddhism in Tibetan Societies. Washington: Smithsonian Institute Press, 1993. Sanjdorj, M., Manchu Chinese Colonial Rule in Northern Mongolia. (Translated by Urgunge Onon). London: C. Hurst & Company, 1980. Scott, James C., Seeing Like a Slate. How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condi­ tion Have Failed. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998. Sheehy, Dennis P., "Sustainable Use of Pastoral Resources." In Bruun and Odgaard (eds.), 1996.

246

References

Shore, Bradd, Culture in Mind. Cognition, Culture and the Problem of Meaning. New York: Oxford University Press, 1996. Skapa, Barbara, and Ann Fenger Benwell, "Women and Poverty During the Tran­ sition." In Bruun and Odgaard (eds.), 1996. Sneath, David, "Social Relations, Networks and Social Organisation in Post-So­ cialist Rural Mongolia." Nomadic Peoples 33 (1993): 193-207. ------ , Changing Inner Mongolia. Pastoral Mongolian Society and the Chinese State. Ox­ ford: Oxford University Press, 2000. State Statistical Office of Mongolia, Mongolian Economy and Society in 1996. Ulaan­ baatar: State Statistical Office, 1997. Swidler, Nina, "Sedentarization and Modes of Economic Integration in the Mid­ dle East." In Salzman (ed.), 1980. Swift, Jeremy and Robin Mearns, "Mongolian Pastoralism on the Threshold of the Twenty-First Century." Nomadic Peoples 33 (1993): 3-7. Szynkiewicz, Slawoj, "Mongolia's Nomads Build a New Society Again: Social Structures and Obligations on the Eve of the Private Economy." Nomadic Peoples 33 (1993): 163-172. Tilly, Charles, Coercion, Capital and European State, A.D. 990-1990. London: Blackwell, 1990. Toulmin, Stephen, Return to Reason. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001. Tsai, Lily L., "Cadres, Temples and Lineage Institutions, and Governance in Rural China." The China Journal 48 (2002): 1-27. Tumurjav, Myatavyn, "Traditional Animal Husbandry Techniques Practiced by Mongolian Nomadic People." In D. Badarch et.al., Mongolia Today. Science, Cul­ ture, Environment and Development. London: Routledge Curzon, 2003. UNDP, Human Development Report, Mongolia 1997. Ulaanbaatar; UNDP, 1997. UNDP, Human Development Report, Mongolia 2000. Ulaanbaatar: UNDP, 2000. Vreeland, Herbert H., Mongol Community and Kinship Structure. New Haven: Hu­ man Relations Area Files Press, 1962. WB (World Bank), "Mongolia," 2002. Weber, Max, The Religion of China. Glencoe: Free Press, 1951. Wenger, Etienne, 1998. Communities of Practice. Learning Meaning, and Identity. Cam­ bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Whitehill, James, "Buddhism and the Virtues," In Damien Keown (ed.), Contempo­ rary Buddhist Ethics. Richmond: Curzon Press, 2000.

Index

airag, 58-59, 64

70, 91,105,114,149,160-61,195, 200, 230-31; Chinese merchants, 5 Choibalsan, 7,226 collectivization, 7-10 commoners {ard), 7 communism, 7, 21, 27, 68,101,147-48, 208, 222; communist modernity, 190 community, 191-201, 229 Consten, Hermann, 43,106,113 cooperation, 55, 58, 93,181 crop agriculture, 14 cultural center, 13,15,103,109,153-55, 192 cultural values, 37, 60

alcohol, 36,59-60,109,159-60,176-77, 202 alternatives to herding, 108,183 animal units {bod), 41-42 arkhi, 59,64 banners (khoskuu), 2, 5, 6, 8,192, 230 Barfield, Thomas, x, 233-34 Barth, Fredrik, 191, 226, 235 Bawden, Charles, 121, 223 Beisiin Khuree, 2-10, 39,121,126-27, 132 Bloch, Maurice, 146-47,152 Bradburd, Daniel, 233-34 broadcasting, 17 Buddhism, 1-10,91,113-14,117,121-42, 147,184-88,196,210, 227-28, 237 business mentality, 29,108,163-66

cashmere, 53, 61, 201, 228, 233 castration, 54, 207 Chayanov, Alexander, viii, x, 157-59, 222 children, 102-4,114, 201-2 China, 5-6,112,116,122,172, 209, 223-26, 228, 231; Chinese culture.

Dalai Lama, 122,140 decentralization, 198, 212 deindustrialization, 40, 47, 219 democracy, 106, 111, 199 divination, 102 Djengis Khan, 4,100,114, 229 donations, 133-35 dried meat, 61 Durkheim, Emile, 145 education, 106,122,177,199, 204, 236. See also schools; university

247

248

Index

environment, 51,195,208-14, 221; environmental determinism, 51, 230-32 Erdene Zuu, 3,10,126 Evans-Pritchard, E., 145-46 family solidarity, 181-84 felt making, 61 fieldwork methodology, 25-33,143 foreign aid, 41,183-84,197-98,211, 214-16, 219, 235-37

games, 98 Gandan monastery, 123,186 Cell, Alfred, 145 gender, 95,104-10,112-13,131,159, 171-72,181-82 gers, 33, 53, 62, 71, 92,95-97,114-18, 207- 8; ger districts, 14,167,173, 176-77,180,187 goats, 54 Goldstein, Melvyn, 136 government (sum), 31,151 governor, 31,112,194,198-200

Haslund-Christensen, H., 132, 222 health, 44,125,141,206-7,215,229 herding strategies, 157-61 horses, 54, 58, 65,104, 207-8 Humphrey, Caroline, ix, 148 identity, 136,160-61,168,190,192, 206, 208- 9,212, 220,226-28, 232 indigenous knowledge, 205-9 industrialization, 37, 46 infrastructure, 194,220,223 « intellectuals, 94, 205, 227, 236

Jagchid, Sechin, 105,113, 222, 226, 231 joking, 95,100,117, 222 Kazakhs, 29, 234

khainak, 34,56 Khazanov, Anatoly, 226 khot ail, 32,58,67-68,83,92-95,181, 193, 200 khural, 198-99

lamas, 3-9, 38,44,101,106,116, 121-42,184-87 Lattimore, Owen, x, 222, 224-26 leaders, 95,168-69 Levi-Strauss, Claude, 146,193 liberalism, 196, 216 Lopez, Donald, 184 male chauvinism, 107,110 marriage, 92,106,110,115-18,149 Marx, Emanuel, x, 192, 220 Marxist perspective, 222 meat consumption, 60 migration, 69,169-84 milk separators, 207; milking, 54-55 model herders, 16,158-59 modernization, 91,107,122,137, 203 monasteries, 45,136,147,186-87. See also Beisiin Khuree Mongol values, 83,95,115,167,182 moving camp, 65-86 MPRP, 2, 6,17, no, 128,140, 211, 215 musical instruments, 98,154 Naadam, 13,15,151,163-65,192 naming, 101,129,133 negdel, 1,11-22,38,44,46-47,66,96, 148,154,174 NGOs, 106,181,183,216-17 Ninth Bogd Khan, 127-28 nobility, 4,7-8,11,44,200 nomadic civilization, 204, 208-9, 227 nomadism (definition), x nutrition, 202

otor, 69 ovoo, 100,130,150, 202 pastoralism (definition), x pasture degradation, 51 pasture management, 15, 20, 34, 66, 199,206,210-12, 234,236 police, 28-29,31,36,109,125,199,236 poverty, 42,97,99,118,135,168,171, 181,189 Poverty Reduction Strategy Paper, 215 Pozdneyev, Aleksei, 2,113

Index Prejevalsky, N.M., 43,105,113,222 privatization, 1-2,17-22,174,201 production team (suur), 12-13,15-16, 46 prostitution, 177-78 proverbs, 99-100,130,150,154, 213 rape, 107,195 reincarnation, 128. See also lulku rituals, 3,71,100-101,116,128-34, 146-48,210 Rosenberg, Daniel, 223 rural-urban divide, 69,137,166,191, 203-4,215,229-30,235 Russia, 214 rustling, 70,99, 111, 133, 236 sacredness, 124,129-31 Salzman, Philip Carl, x, 170, 221,226 Samuel, Geoffrey, 127 schools, 13,78,104,156,202-4,216 sedenlarization, 36,70,169-70,212, 213 shamanism, ix, 127,132,186,188 sheep, 54-55,207 slaughtering, 60 Sneath, David, ix social movements, 132 social obligations, 93 social organization, 91-118 Soviet Union, 1,6,8,11,15,149,189 State Privatization Committee, 17 story telling, 98 street children, 179,184,201 Sukhebaatar, 6,31

249

temple, 38,124-25,127,138,140 Tibet, 3,122-23 time, 143-66,169,182,194 traders, 61-62 transition, 190 transportation, 56,61,162,236 tsain dancing, 98,121,132 Tsetserleg, 8,11,133,164, 200 tulku, 138 TV, 204

Ulaanbaatar, 16,19, 26, 29,47, 69,114, 123,162,167-88, 200-203, 216, 228 unemployment, 68,124,141,156,168, 182, 202-3 university, 26, 28, 30,69,175,177, 203-5 urbanization, 25 vegetables, 205-6 veterinarians, 13-14, 209, 236 violence, 99,111-12,199, 202, 229 Vreeland, Herbert, 44

Weber, Max, 146 wells, 15,196-97 Whitehill, James, 141-42 wolves, 27,63, 96 women, 104-10,151,183-84,193 wool, 54, 65, 201 wrestling, 28,130

yak, 54, 63, 78

zud, 21, 32, 42-43, 57-58, 63, 94,139, 170,172,180,197, 215, 220

About the Author

Ole Bruxin has a Ph.D. in anthropology and has done extensive fieldwork in China and Mongolia. He is an associate professor in the Department of Geography and International Development Studies at the University of Roskilde in Denmark.

251