Qazaq Pastoralists in Western Mongolia: Institutional Change, Economic Diversification and Social Stratification 0367700859, 9780367700850

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Qazaq Pastoralists in Western Mongolia

Taking the case of Qazaq Pastoralists in western Mongolia, this book looks at the universal human requirement to balance individual fexibility and strategies designed to make a living with the social expectations that impose particular rules of conduct but also enable mutual trust and cooperation to emerge. Pastoralists in western Mongolia have experienced dramatic changes in recent decades, including the dismantling of the socialist economy, a series of natural disasters, and emigration of roughly half of the local Qazaq minority to the newly independent state of Qazaqstan. Four aspects illustrate the chances and challenges that people face. First is the emergence of the market as the dominant mode of production and exchange, a thorny way full of uncertainties. Second is the individual household and its adaptation to the new economic system, creating new opportunities as well as precarities, and resulting in rapid social stratifcation. Thirdly, patterns of pastoral land allocation highlight problems of collective action and institutional fragmentation in the wake of a retreating state apparatus. Finally, social networks of mutual support and cooperation constitute a key component of pastoral livelihood but are under great pressure due to short time horizons and a lack of trust. With the frst longitudinal analysis of the Qazaqs in Mongolia in English and a contribution to anthropological theories on human adaptability and decisionmaking, economic and social inequalities, institutional change, and the diffculty of deriving cooperative solutions, this book will be a standard work and of interest to academics in the feld of Central Asian Studies, Anthropology, Human Geography, and Development Studies. Peter Finke is Professor of Social Anthropology at the University of Zurich, Switzerland. He has conducted feld research in Mongolia, Qazaqstan, and Uzbekistan on issues of economic transformation, institutional change, transnational migration, and social identity. His recent publications include Variations on Uzbek Identity: Strategic Choices, Cognitive Schemas and Political Constraints in Identifcation Processes (2014).

Routledge Series on Economic and Social Transformations in Central and Inner Asia Edited by Peter Finke, University of Zurich, Switzerland

This series deals with processes of economic and social change in contemporary Central and Inner Asia and its impacts on local livelihoods. With the transformation from a socialist economy to one oriented towards market mechanisms, people in the region saw themselves confronted with new chances and challenges to sustain their living. Taking their hopes and everyday experiences as a starting point, themes covered in the series include local economic practices, the inclusion into global chains of production and exchange, growing inequality and precarisation, changing gender relations and social networks, new forms of consumption as well as large-scale labour migrations. Distinctive for the series is also the combination of areas commonly labelled – and thus separated – as Central versus Inner Asia, which share multiple historical, ethnic, and political features, and thus provide ample opportunity for inner-regional comparisons. The series welcomes new submissions for monographs, edited volumes, and student textbooks in this thriving feld. Stemming from a variety of disciplines, social and cultural anthropology, human geography, sociology and gender studies, it offers the possibility to develop new theoretical models and methodological approaches, and show practical implications. For a full list of titles in the series please go to https://www.routledge.com/ Routledge-Series-on-Economic-and-Social-Transformations-in-Central-and/ book-series/RSESTCIA 1. Qazaq Pastoralists in Western Mongolia Institutional Change, Economic Diversifcation and Social Stratifcation Peter Finke

Qazaq Pastoralists in Western Mongolia

Institutional Change, Economic Diversifcation and Social Stratifcation

Peter Finke

First published 2024 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 Peter Finke The right of Peter Finke to be identifed as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identifcation and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Finke, Peter, 1963- author. Title: Qazaq pastoralists in western Mongolia : institutional change, economic diversifcation and social stratifcation / Peter Finke. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2023. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifers: LCCN 2022017014 (print) | LCCN 2022017015 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367700850 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367709563 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003148692 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Kazakhs--Longitudinal studies. | Kazakhs--Mongolia-Khovd Aĭmag--Social conditions. | Kazakhs--Mongolia--Khovd Aĭmag-Economic conditions. | Nomads--Mongolia--Khovd Aĭmag. | Khovd Aĭmag (Mongolia)--Social conditions. | Khovd Aĭmag (Mongolia)--Economic conditions. Classifcation: LCC DS24 .F56 2023 (print) | LCC DS24 (ebook) | DDC 305.894/3450517--dc23/eng/20220610 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022017014 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022017015 ISBN: 978-0-367-70085-0 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-70956-3 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-14869-2 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692 Typeset in Galliard by Deanta Global Publishing Services, Chennai, India

Table of contents

List of illustrations Acknowledgements Transliteration 1 Systems come and go

vi viii xi 1

2 A portrait of Khovd-sum

29

3 Changing regimes of production and exchange

63

4 Making ends meet

101

5 Using space and mobility

144

6 Social webs and hierarchies

185

7 Flexibility and adaptation in pastoral decision-making

225

Glossary Index

233 236

List of illustrations

Maps 1.1 The Khovd-sum 5.1 Annual grazing cycle in the third bag

28 157

Charts 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 3.1 3.2 3.3 4.1 4.2 5.1 6.1

Demographic changes in Khovd-sum Ethnic groups in Khovd-sum Average temperatures and precipitation in Khovd city Number of Qazaq families in Khovd-sum by linage affliation Development of livestock in Khovd-sum by species Used areas per agricultural product (2010–2019) Private livestock holdings per family in the third brigade in 1990 (n = 160) Livestock numbers per household in the third bag (1989–2017) Development of livestock for individual households Livestock numbers and estimated carrying capacity šejire of the Abaq-Kerey

38 39 41 49 65 69 75 111 121 147 192

Illustrations 2.1 A view of the district centre Dund-Us (Peter Finke 2014) 2.2 A mixed Qazaq-Uygur family near their summer pastures (Peter Finke 1995) 3.1 Herd of horses in the lower summer pastures (Peter Finke 2014) 3.2 On the market in Khovd (Peter Finke 2013) 4.1 Selling potatoes to a merchant from Ulaanbaatar (Peter Finke 2011) 4.2 She-goats queued up for milking (Peter Finke 2018)

45 53 66 88 110 127

List of illustrations vii

5.1 Winter camp in the lowlands of Ulaan-Khargana (Peter Finke 1996) 5.2 The Qaq plain in late August 2018 (Peter Finke 2018) 6.1 Wedding ceremony in the sum-centre (Peter Finke, 2013) 6.2 Taxis at the bazaar in Ölgiy with their destinations in Qazaqstan (Peter Finke, 2011)

156 174 195 220

Tables 2.1 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 6.1 6.2 6.3

Administrative structure of Khovd-sum Livestock per family in bod (2017) Distribution of livestock (in per cent) in 2009 and 2017 Families engaged in agriculture by bag (2016) Total yields per family in tonnes (2016) Agricultural products in tonnes by bag (2016) Potential household incomes in 2018 (in million tögrög) Combined herd sizes per camp (1996) Composition of camps in the third bag (1996) Categories of people taking care of livestock from families in the sum-centre

44 115 118 123 124 124 136 197 198 206

Acknowledgements

If I were to mention everyone involved in the genesis of this book, I might have eaten up all the pages allowed by the publisher before beginning with the actual content. Over the course of three decades, hundreds of people have contributed in very different ways, some as informants and interlocutors in the feld, others as colleagues and students at various universities and institutes, and yet others as friends and family members responsible for much more than just emotional support. Some accompanied it for the whole period, others had more of a cursory impact and may not even have been aware of that. But to all of them I am deeply indebted. First and foremost, this is the people in Khovd-sum, where I conducted most of my research. With dozens of them I have been in more or less intensive contact throughout the years. Many more know me by name or have heard stories about a German guy who visited the district again and again, travelling on horseback from one place to another and asking funny questions. My warmest thanks go to all of them but most particularly to the families of Ivni and Elemes who hosted me for all these years, and even after they had later migrated to Qazaqstan. Both are no longer with us, but their memory lives on. To list all of the family members and close relatives would exhaust the space given here, but I would like to mention Rıskeldi and Janay, Nurgül and Bigül, Amankeldi, Patima, Arıstan, Aqmaral and Aqerke, and my younger brother Alpamıs who sadly passed away before his time had come. There are many more people in Khovd-sum who had major impacts on this book. This was, frst of all, the pastoralists and farmers of the third bag, including Janibek, Qaydar and Bıda, Bagzıy, Baytaylaq and Atšıbay, Batırkeldi and Jankeldi, Hajinaviy, Hajihan and Qali, Qadır and Ämirjan, Tölew and Dörvöd, as well as the families of Pürevjav, Choyjilsüren, Nadmid, Damdinjamts, and Shirchin, representing the Mongol minority. Bazar and Äzipa together with their son Düysenbek were my main hosts, and key informants, when I stayed in the district centre. Representing the local administration and school, I would like to mention in particular the families of Önerhan, Därgerhan, Khovdabay and Volodya, Leshan, Joldı, Qabdolda and Dawletbek, Nurtıhan and Qaldıbek, as well as Tilek, and hope all the others who helped me over the years will forgive me this reductionist approach. In the city of Khovd, it was in the earlier days

Acknowledgements ix Tövöökhüü, and later Kabetey and Qawıla as well as their son Shoyqa whom I always could rely on when I needed a place for a stopover or any other kind of support. Nyamsüren, from the local university, as well as Nyamdavaa, it’s former president, were a great asset to know, while in the capital of Ulaanbaatar my special thanks go to Batjargal, Hurmethan, Rainer Nuklies and Michael Rossbach, and to my esteemed language teacher Luvsan who enabled me to communicate in Mongolian in the frst place. He also left our world far too early. Back in Europe, my work has been inspired by countless colleagues and friends over the years. My frst encounters with the nomads in Central Asia gave birth to an MA thesis, supervised by the late Lawrence Krader at Free University Berlin, which was followed by a PhD at the University of Cologne. I warmly thank Michael Casimir, Michael Bollig, the late Erwin Orywal and Ulla Johansen, Joachim Görlich, Monika Böck, and Michael Weiers, as well as the late Ivan Kortt and Franz-Volker Müller at FU Berlin for their support and intellectual exchange during that time. After I moved to the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology in Halle, my engagement with Mongolia moved into the second line but never disappeared and would revive again after I joined the Anthropology Department at the University of Zurich. Along the way, many have helped to refne my thoughts and to keep on going. I would like to mention in particular Daniela Dietz, Brian Donahoe, John Eidson, Mareile Flitsch, Otto Habeck, Patrick Heady, Jan-Patrick Heiss, Esther Horat, Heinz Käufeler, Stefan Leins, Günther Schlee, Bertram Turner, Thomas Widlok, and Lale YalcinHeckmann, as well as Linda Kelley who ended up working in the neighbouring district in Mongolia. Other people who have been inspiring interlocutors during this time included, amongst many others, Bayram Balci, Tom Barfeld, Nazgül Baygabatova, Näpil Bazılhanulı, Thomas Eriksen, Byambabaatar Ichinkhorloo, Svetlana Jacquesson, Adeeb Khalid, Anatoly Khazanov, Klaus Koppe, MunkhErdene Lhamsüren, Näbijan Muqamethanulı, John Schoeberlein, David Sneath, Cynthia Werner, and Russell Zanca. I would also like to thank Joseph Bristley and Tilek Baqıt for commenting on earlier versions of this book. Equally broad is the list of fnancial and institutional support. It all began with a small grant by the German Academic Exchange Service (DAAD) that enabled me and four other students from Berlin to visit western Mongolia in 1991. DAAD also provided me with the means for a more extended stay a few years later after I had started a PhD. This was complemented by stipends by the state of North Rhine-Westphalia and the University of Cologne. At later stages, the Max Planck Institute and the University of Zurich constituted the institutional anchors for my research stays and writing periods, interrupted again and again by other academic and administrative duties. Dinara Abildenova and Indira Alibayeva would be on the spot whenever my Qazaq did not suffce for a passage to understand; Tamara Horn, Sarah Keller, Natalja Ulrich, and many more helped with coding, formatting, and other indispensable support to get the book ready for publication. Last but not least, family and friends were a constant support in a multitude of ways and an enduring audience for stories to be told, whether they liked it or not. Nothing of this would have happened without my mother Christa and my father

x

Acknowledgements

Wilhelm who was not allowed to see the fnal result of this work anymore. My sisters Dagmar and Astrid, and their respective partners Georg and Marcel, are to be mentioned here for their care and support, as is Meltem. Her anthropological as well as social skills were a great asset and her company during my last stay in Khovd in 2018 gave this work a new fnal twist. I would equally like to thank Güzide and Mehmet, Arda and Irem, Meric and Defne, and, representative for many more, the boys in the band, Rolf Bernbacher, Hans-Peter Billian, Michael Mayr, and Stephan Zaunbrecher.

Transliteration

It is commonplace to complain about the pitfalls and necessary faws of transliteration, especially if several languages are involved for which no offcial rules exist. This is also true for Qazaq and Mongol. Both are written predominantly in Cyrillic scripts, which are equipped with special characters to account for specifc sounds not existing in Russian. Back in the 1990s, Mongolia voted for a partial return to the old alphabet used before the revolution but until today it has not gained superior usage. A few thousand kilometres further west, the government in Qazaqstan has announced the switch to Latin a few years ago but has not fnalised the process yet. At this moment, several variants for such a change in writing are circulating in public, none of which has so far been able to assert itself.1 This puts one in a diffcult position, in particular when it comes to Qazaq. There is a – more or less – offcial version in Latin that is used also by the Qazaqstanian government. But it is full of faws, contradictions, and (post-)colonial legacies. This begins with the ethnonym itself, usually written as Kazakh, which, however, not only violates basic rules of transliteration (that one sound should not be written with different letters) but is, in fact, a colonial heritage derived from the Russian version of the ethnonym. The commonly used Latin alphabet is also inadequate for other reasons. As all Turkic (and Mongol) languages, Qazaq is rich in vowels and hereby follows strict rules of sound harmony. Thus, any back vowels (a, ı, o, u), should not meet a front one (e/ä, i, ö, ü) in the same word. And at least in Qazaq, this also determines whether the word contains the back consonants ğ and q, rather than their front equivalents g or k. All this gets lost without a proper transliteration. In the end, I decided on a mixture between different propositions for the new alphabet, adjusted by letters adopted from the Turcological system of transliteration. It remains to be seen how close that is to what will eventually be the new offcial Qazaq alphabet.2 For Mongolian, I have voted in a similar vein for a transliteration that is close to the one used by the majority of Mongolists. This, however, does not solve all problems. With two languages and transliteration systems, some oddities remain. One is when the same sound is written differently (like in š versus sh). Another is the opposite case of one letter representing two sounds; thus, j in Mongol is close to the English pronunciation, such

xii

Transliteration

as in journal, while in Qazaq it approximates the same letter in French words like jeunesse. Cyrillic x, by contrast, is transliterated differently (h versus kh), refecting also differences in pronounciation. The same is true for Cyrillic ы (ı versus y). The letter ń indicates the merging of n and g, and exists only in Qazaq. Most other letters are more or less straightforward. Any switch of alphabet is a great challenge and will leave many behind for some time to come, especially in elder generations. On the other hand there are also chances inherent. The chosen Cyrillic alphabet for Qazaq was never perfect and included letters that merged two or more sounds into one, such as ıy and iy, both written as и. The same sign, however, stands for an i in loan words from Russian. Similar ambiguities arise within the u/ü/w-group, which is particularly oddly designed. A solution for this is to use different translations for the same letter, depending on whether it is an original Qazaq or a Russian word. Otherwise ‘universitet’ would end up as ‘wniyversiytet’. More generally speaking, the transition to Latin is also a chance to decide on a writing system that is closer to the actually spoken language. This may, in a few instances, also refect local specifties, although the idiom used in western Mongolia does, as all Qazaq dialects, not differ substantially from the literary version. And this would also increase the comprehensibility between closely related languages, which – on purpose or not – had been made to adopt different letters for identical or similar sounds back when the Cyrillic scripts were introduced.

Notes 1 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kazakh_alphabes. 2 Most similar to this is a new proposal by an initiative that calls itself ‘Qazaq grammar’ (https://www.facebook.com/qazaqgrammar/).

Transliteration for Qazaq and Mongolian alphabet cyrillic а ә б в г ғ д е ё ж з и й к қ л м н ң о ө п р с т у ұ ү ф х һ ц ч ш щ ъ ы і ь э ю я

qz a ä b v g ğ d e j z ıy/iy y k q l m n ń o ö p r s t (u/ü)w u ü f h h š ı i ‘ e yu ya

mgl a b v g d ye yo/yö j z i y k l m n o ö p r s t u ü f kh ts ch sh y ‘ e yu ya

1

Systems come and go

Laying out the themes “Ten years there was jüt! It was very cold, there was lots of snow, and no grass for the animals to eat. Many of them died.” These were the words of Temir in July 2011. It had been 15 years since I last met him and during this time his fate, and that of many other households in Khovd-sum, seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. Numbers of livestock, the main source of subsistence, had dropped by almost half. Some families had moved to town, adding another layer to the already large urban poor. Others tried their luck in agriculture or engaged in petty trade. For members of the Qazaq minority, like Temir, there was yet another option. With a new state bearing their name and a corresponding government that maintained a program of resettling members of its diasporas, thousands of families all over Mongolia had decided to migrate to the Republic of Qazaqstan. Mongolia was indeed badly affected by a series of ecological disasters, called dzüd in Mongolian and jüt in Qazaq, during the early 2000s and yet another one during the winter of 2009/2010 (Murphy 2014; Thrift & Ichinkhorloo 2015). Pastures were covered with thick layers of snow and temperatures dropped below −40°C, often for weeks. Millions of livestock perished, and tens of thousands of households lost their economic basis. The situation in Khovd-sum to be described in this book was, in fact, somewhat better than in other areas due to the availability of arable land nearby. Growing potatoes and vegetables became a promising alternative, even more so because the sequence of disasters had made people lose trust in pastoralism as a sustainable livelihood. “The climate is out of order (buzıldı)”, as Temir put it. “We don’t know what the future will bring.” Such challenges are not unknown to pastoralists in Mongolia. Natural calamities are a regular phenomenon and often take a heavy toll on livestock holdings. Dealing with such environmental precarities is built into the pastoral economy, even if the intensity and frequency of recent events was exceptional and brought herders to their limits. Other hazards are of a political nature and may equally infringe on the well-being of humans and animals alike. During the last century, this included the establishment of a socialist economy in the 1950s and its subsequent demolition during the privatisation process of the early 1990s. Rural households have responded to such challenges with an amazing DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692-1

2 Systems come and go fexibility that helped them to adapt to ever-changing and often unforeseeable circumstances. And in contrast to other parts of the pastoral world, such adaptations are no one-way street towards sedentarisation in Mongolia. Two years of favourable climatic conditions later, families like Temir’s were back in the countryside, trying their luck again in pastoralism. The potato boom was gone as quickly as it had come, also due to the fact that the market was not prepared to absorb such an increase in production. Many of the bunkers that people built to store agricultural products over the winter had not even been fnished when I came back in 2013 as they didn’t seem necessary anymore. Livestock rearing promised much higher growth rates, and a less tedious workload, as long as the weather is your friend, although this time people were eager to invest profts more broadly than in the past to safeguard for future rigours. And farming would stay around as a highly proftable activity on a par with pastoralism. This book looks at the impacts such events have on people’s livelihoods. Adaptability is a key concept in this regard, as is the institutional set-up within which it occurs. People always have, so the central argument, to maintain a fne balance between pursuing their individual interests to make ends meet, and adhering to social expectations and rules to be accepted as a member of a given community. And even though circumstances may sometimes force them to overstep existing norms and regulations, this also must happen within a framework of generally agreed upon procedures, if not to jeopardise one’s long-term reputation. Such rules and institutions are the cement of society but, at the same time, always fragile and contested. What is specifc for the case made here is that decision-making is – and partly has to be – of a rather individualised character, which puts stress on the maintenance of mutual trust and cooperation. The main protagonists in this study are a group of – primarily – pastoralists of mostly Qazaq ethnicity in the district of Khovd in western Mongolia whom I had the luck to work together with for 30 years now. This is a region of utmost natural beauty with endless steppes, gorgeous mountain ranges, and magnifcent lakes and rivers. But it is also one where people have to struggle on a daily matter. Ecological conditions are harsh and often unpredictable, and political circumstances have not always been favourable. Qazaqs are, comparatively speaking, newcomers to the region. They started to move into western Mongolia during the second half of the 19th century and soon became a local majority in many districts. As Turkic-speaking Muslims, they constitute the prime other to the Buddhist Mongols in the local context. Relations, nonetheless, have been fairly peaceful, although not very intimate. Social networks are very much an internal affair and inter-ethnic marriages hardly exist. But until recently, there has been little political or economic discrimination. In fact, most Qazaqs did comparatively well. Despite this, beginning in 1991 many of them decided to migrate to Qazaqstan after the latter had gained independence with the breakup of the Soviet Union. Today, some 50–60 per cent of those families originally residing in the research area have left, although many of them were in a constant fow between both places until the Corona Pandemic put a temporary end to this.

Systems come and go 3 My frst feldwork in the region took place in the early and mid-1990s when Mongolia had just disbanded a socialist system (Finke 1995). When I went back in 2011, the idea was to conduct a restudy, the frst of a post-socialist society, or so I thought. It seemed worthwhile to take a closer look at how things had developed and how many of my earlier fndings would still hold true. Now, several feld trips later the issue of transformation still does have some meaning but one far from being as pervasive as I had expected. Socialism’s legacy does play an important role, also due to the tremendous and unprecedented character its replacement with a capitalist system would have. It is by now, however, only one of a number of themes that are relevant for peoples’ lives. Systems then come and go, but they also leave their footprints behind. This book tries to describe the impacts these general developments had on individual livelihoods. What is specifc about this is the rapid and fundamental character of the transformations that took place in the course of the 20th century. The frst one, the establishment of socialism, came in several waves beginning in the 1920s but was not fully installed before the late 1950s and thus effectively lasted for little more than three decades. By its very defnition, this was a system aimed at shaping every aspect of economic, social, and political life. But while it certainly did so also in Mongolia, it took a somewhat smoother and more fexible path than in the Soviet Union. In particular, pastoral nomadism was, after an initial attempt for sedentarisation, not as severely persecuted and remained largely intact, probably due to its vital importance for the national economy. Also, political authoritarianism had never been as full-fedged and in everyday life, there was much more local decision-making preserved than in the Soviet realm. Nevertheless, the socialist period changed pastoral ways of life and social arrangements fundamentally. And, as in other places, the centrally planned economy caused grand problems of ineffciency, which would become a major reason for its later downfall. Equally important are the ways transformations towards a western-style democracy and market economy were implemented in the country, although they do so by their very nature in more indirect and less planned ways.1 Mongolia by all accounts was a prime example of a shock therapy or tabula rasa approach and is also highly illustrative of the diffculties such a treatment brings along. On the other hand, judging from the experiences people made in other parts of postsocialist Central Asia, it may be doubted whether it would have fared any better with a more gradual approach where a new system is implemented step-by-step (Finke 2018). The switch from a planned economic system to one depending on market mechanisms has proven a tremendous challenge and one accompanied by myriads of social consequences, resembling less a calculable and guidable process than one of “rebuilding the ship at sea” (Elster et al. 1998). Three major challenges have affected the livelihoods of pastoralists in Mongolia during the last three decades. The frst is the general macro-economic policies, faws in their implementation, and the accompanying economic crises. With the decomposition of the socialist collectives, also the system of distribution had broken down and people were left without functioning channels to sell their produce

4 Systems come and go and purchase goods needed. Industrial production had declined to almost nothing while at the same time the former international socialist trade, the Soviet-led Council for Mutual Economic Assistance (COMECON), had ceased to exist. Widespread poverty, growing inequality, and a lack of legal protection added to the precarious situation (Bruun & Odgaard 1996). For that matter, the state was also forced to severely cut down on infrastructural and other services. Especially during the early years, pastoralists were more or less left on their own, authorities and international advisers believing in the robustness of livestock rearing as a subsistence sector. The second challenge was the series of droughts and winter frosts that have shaken the rural economy since the year 2000 and have at least temporarily decimated herd sizes severely (Murphy 2011). The increased frequency of jüt in recent times has both changed the imagination of the future and concrete responses to enact. Awareness of global warming has made its way into Mongolia and caused people to lose trust in the business. It also changed the patterns of adapting in economic and social terms, with a switch to agriculture, where possible, or a move to town becoming an attractive alternative. But as soon as the climate appears more benevolent and livestock numbers begin to rise again, people tend to re-invest into pastoralism, as it promises a quick recovery and an attractive market for animal products. Finally, the migration to Qazaqstan is the third challenge in the case of western Mongolia, and one that equally affected all parts of society. This happened in several waves since the early 1990s, interrupted by periods of a standstill or even return migration (Finke 2022). A population shift of this size obviously has important consequences also for those who stayed. Some effects are economic and, at least partly, positive, as the remaining families have more land at their disposal. It also serves as an enduring fall-back option should things turn bad. On the other hand, the social costs have been tremendous, namely a divided society where each and every family has members on both sides of the border. But migration has also infringed on ethnic relations and land allocation regimes. All this turned the book into one on the fundamental adaptability of human livelihoods, as well as the impacts this has on individual strategies and social relationships. Pastoralism in itself requires a high degree of fexibility to adapt to variations in climate and vegetation as well as to trade confgurations. The socialist organisation managed to reduce the risk for the individual herder by creating a system of regular redistribution of means of production in case of calamities, which would become highly instrumental for its legitimacy. But its dismantling did quite the opposite and gave rise to a sequence of political uncertainty, economic precarity, and social stratifcation. Mobility is a key aspect of this adaptability. But it is a very different and more manifold one than generally associated with seasonal movements in search of grazing for livestock. Pastoralists change their place of residence within a rather fxed pattern and according to established formats. They may have to adjust to unforeseen external conditions but take this as the exception rather than the rule. What current

Systems come and go 5 challenges force them to adopt are a great variety of mobilities, seasonal, and occupational as well as migratory, to make ends meet and prepare their children for the future. Essential in this scenario are issues of trust, or the lack of it, caused, on the one hand, by the rising disregard of rules and, on the other, the withdrawal of the state or rather the disappearance of its previous paternalist attitude. For that matter, institutions of all kinds, formal and informal, lack legitimacy and are not properly aligned to predict people’s behaviour anymore. As “rules of the game” (North 1990), they rest on previous experiences and the ability of people to build up reasonable expectations of other actors’ future behaviour. This is diffcult enough but even more so in a situation of rapid social change and ongoing migration. What also proved a major obstacle is the fact that informal institutions were pushed into the background during socialist times, losing their relevance for survival strategies and networks of solidarity. Now, all of a sudden, this is what they are expected to provide. And indeed, people can rely on their relatives, friends, and other members of the community to some degree. No one starved during the early transformation period, at least not in the research area. But the economic stratifcation in recent years puts additional pressure on these institutions, as the well-off fnd increasingly less motive to invest in reciprocal arrangements. The rest of this chapter provides an overview of recent economic and political developments in Mongolia, as well as introducing the theoretical and methodological approaches. This is followed in Chapter 2 by a description of the research setting, the Khovd-sum. In historical and geographical terms, the district mirrors the general situation in western Mongolia, shaped by large-scale population movements and a volatile natural environment. It is also peculiar for its ethnic minorities, Qazaqs and Oyrat-Mongols, as well as a political marginalisation that comes along with this. Of great impact is the migration to Qazaqstan, which led to a reduction in population by almost half. The chapter ends with an ethnographic overview of the basic patterns of social organisation and the portrayal of a sample of households that represent different types of engagement with pastoralism. The main part of the book, Chapters 3–6, is devoted to analysing the dilemma of combining predictability and fexibility in livelihood strategies by looking at key institutions crucial for pastoral management and how they play out in everyday life. The frst theme, explored in chapter three, is the changing systems of production and exchange, including types of property rights. Socialism in this respect constituted a system where the individual household was rather safe from risks and caprices of nature – but also one affected by endemic ineffciencies. This has changed fundamentally in the last three decades. Privatisation of the means of production was a crucial event in this regard, but also one loaded with fraud and frustration, partly due to the breakdown of trade infrastructure or more generally high transaction costs. With time and adaptation, the market proved a rather benefcial form of economic institution and encouraged a range of usages. But success was not equally distributed, and the diffculties and continuing uncertainties

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prompted many households to leave the system altogether and start a new life in Qazaqstan. Chapter 4 looks at the household as the key unit of production, consumption, and strategic decision-making. Two aspects are of prime importance here. One is the need for diversifcation as a response to increased risk, which is now to be borne by the individual producer; the other one is the increase in inequality following privatisation. Households show an amazing fexibility when it comes to adopting economic strategies, and switch easily from pastoralism to agriculture, petty trade, or wage labour, as well as back to livestock rearing. But they also constantly face the threat of natural calamities or other (man-made) misfortunes. Mutual coordination is a great challenge and so is the prediction for future investments in family affairs. This is further complicated by the growth in economic stratifcation and the diffculties for some households to make ends meet, although things have – by and large – improved considerably compared with the situation in the early days of post-socialism. In Chapter 5, the focus moves to patterns of seasonal mobility and rules of land access, particularly in pastures. Local topography and climate impose some peculiar arrangements that challenge long-term sustainability and mutual agreements. In a similar way as with modes of exchange, the dissolution of the socialist system has led to a loss of reliability where institutional regulations become more and more questioned, while mechanisms of rule enforcement are weak. At the same time, trespassing has increased due to the demands of the new market economy and a return to multi-species herds. As with production strategies, fexibility and individual decision-making are necessary prerequisites in managing seasonal mobility but often handicap coordinative acting and confict resolution. National policy makers and global experts advocate more inclusive rights and the creation of stable user groups, but it may be doubted whether this would work to the beneft of local herders. Chapter 6 investigates the meaning of social networks for cooperation and mutual support. The situation here is very ambivalent, partly due to the dilemma to balance individual aims and the need to cooperate, partly due to the fundamental and rapid nature of the transformation process. This often leads to a lack of trust and the fragility of local institutions. Growing inequality and a lack of means for confict resolution further aggravate the situation. On the other hand, cooperation exists in many spheres of life, and nobody is left alone in case of need. In fact, networks of mutual support are quite robust, more so in some respects than in others. This also extends to ethnicity, although the possibility to migrate to Qazaqstan adds a unique dimension of uncertainty to that. For many people, on both sides of the border, transnational ties with kin and friends are more signifcant than interacting with members of other local groups. In the long run, this may threaten a careful balance of inter-ethnic relations, also jeopardised by the growing national character of both states in question. Obviously, the case made here is a specifc one in time and place, as is true for any anthropological study of a particular community. Peculiarities include a highly volatile environment and the series of political changes that transformed

Systems come and go 7 social life and individual trajectories fundamentally. But, as argued in the concluding chapter, the case also provides insights into our general understanding of human behaviour, social institutions, and cultural models that guide people’s livelihoods and prepare them to deal with different types of precarity – ecological, social, and political ones. The fexibility of livelihood strategies in western Mongolia is surely amazing but, in modifed ways, true also for other types of sociality. As humans everywhere, people weigh their individual interests with the recognition of institutional guidelines that make us members of specifc communities. This is, after all, the very basis of mutual trust and cooperation. And any spectrum of subsistence strategies also includes the option of searching for new opportunities in other sectors or leaving the local system altogether, as in the case of the migration to Qazaqstan.

Pastoralism in Mongolia: historical trajectories and contemporary challenges Mongolia occupies a special place among the countries in the world, one flled with romantic notions of endless steppes, small, enduring horses, picturesque nomadic tents, and ferce warriors. This is how it was for me when I frst went there in 1991, fuelled by early childhood books and scenic images in documentaries. As free and self-suffcient people, the Mongols and, by extension, other Central Asian nomads come maybe closest to the archetypal “noble savage” that European historiography has painted over the centuries (Barfeld 1993).2 None of such images are wrong. Like maybe no other place, Mongolia is indeed a land made for pastoralism. Wide open spaces dominate the landscape where herders with their animals roam throughout the year. One can drive for hours or sometimes days through treeless steppes and deserts without any hints of human populations, while in other parts of the year individual campsites and large focks of livestock may occupy the same spots in close vicinity to each other. The other popular perception is equally valid to a certain degree. Mongolia had indeed been for many centuries a place of small- and large-scale empire building on horseback. The one founded by Chinggis Khan in the 13th century was only the most famous – as well as the largest and possibly bloodiest – one (Morgan 2007). But today these are foremost historical imaginations. The days of the empire are long gone, and contemporary Mongols rarely carry weapons unless for the purpose of hunting. Systemic violence is virtually unheard of, and the country’s peaceful image is primarily disturbed by reports of domestic abuse in connection with excessive consumption of alcohol (Pedersen 2011). Of course, things have never been static, but the course of the 20th century has impacted pastoral livelihoods in particular ways. This began in 1911 when the Qing dynasty in China collapsed and Mongolia declared its independence. With the help of the Soviet Army, these hopes and efforts were put into reality and, after a short intermezzo of regained Chinese rule, by 1924 the country had become the Mongolian People’s Republic, the second socialist state in the world. The goal since was to create a society of equality that aimed to progress towards a communist future. A frst step

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was to destroy traditional social structures, considered backward and characterised by exploitative feudal relationships. Essential to this seemed the collectivisation of the means of production and the establishment of a new economic and political order under the guidance of the communist party as custodian of the proletariat. Implementing this new order, however, proved to be more diffcult than expected. The frst efforts towards collectivisation in Mongolia were launched soon after the establishment of socialist rule. It met with great resistance and was abandoned in the early 1930s, as it threatened to endanger the national economy. Herders started to slaughter their animals in the millions, and the lack of alternative livelihoods made a radical push less advisable than had been the case in the Soviet Union.3 Some cooperatives were formed, especially in the few larger settlements, primarily for the small group of craftsmen. Among pastoralists and farmers, this was still rare. What was implemented during this frst phase was the confscation of the huge livestock holdings that belonged to the monasteries and the aristocracy, to be distributed among poor herders. In particular, the Buddhist clergy was suppressed with great cruelty, causing the death of tens of thousands (Bawden 1989; Rossabi 2005). It took another 25 years until a second effort for collectivisation was launched, this time encouraging voluntary membership by granting tax advantages and infrastructural services such as access to wells or the allocation of credit. By 1960, almost all herders had become members of a pastoral collective, called khödöö aj akhuyn negdel or simply negdel (“union”), and were now frmly embedded into a nation-wide planned economy with strong links to the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. For the decades to come, the developments closely resembled those in the motherland of socialism although with some important particularities. Tightly controlled by the Mongolian Revolutionary People’s Party, the transformation of society and the destruction of the previous ruling classes went on rapidly but, nevertheless, allowed space to maintain traditional modes of economic organisation. And while industrialisation of the country was given high priority, the bulk of the population remained employed in the agricultural sector with livestock being the backbone of the national economy. Besides natural resources, it was also the main export good Mongolia had to offer (Sanders 1987). Putting socialism into practice proved to be equally diffcult. Closely following the Soviet model, it ended with the establishment of a planned economy, organised in fve-year cycles with adjustments in-between (Rosenberg 1977; Humphrey 1978). In practice, this meant installing a line of command, from the central authorities in Ulaanbaatar, or indeed Moscow, transmitted via provincial and district channels, to the negdel and its brigades down to the individual producer or household. Production and distribution of goods came under the control of the state apparatus, which represented the de facto owner and decision-maker, although offcially the property of the people. The individual enterprises had little saying in this (Finke 2004). Plans correlated with inputs, including fuel, veterinary services, and agricultural seeds, as well as labour force. In return, the state demanded the delivery of fxed amounts of products, such as young born animals, wool, or vegetables. Other authors have described the

Systems come and go 9 intensive bargaining between different levels of this chain of command in socialist systems, specifcally between the lower administrative orders and the collective enterprises, and its potentially corruptive nature (Kornai 1980; Humphrey 1983; Verdery 1991). I am not able to replicate these fndings for Mongolia but expect the situation to have been very similar. What the new system aimed at was a general rise in living standards, the eradication of social stratifcation, and a high level of security, which many people recall positively until today. Also, many outside observers drew a rather favourable picture in comparison with the pre-socialist period (Lattimore 1964; Rosenberg 1977; Humphrey 1978). But the achievements were based to a large extent on massive technical and fnancial support by the Soviet Union, which accounted for more than 30 per cent of the national budget in the 1980s. Altogether 95 per cent of all trade was conducted with members of the COMECON, creating new dependencies (Sanders 1987). The indigenous industrial production developed little during the socialist period, concentrating on a few spots in the country, such as the capital of Ulaanbaatar and the newly founded towns of Darkhan and Erdenet. What also developed, despite the preached egalitarianism, were distinct modes of accumulation and consequently of social stratifcation. Verdery (1991) has persuasively described this as being grounded in the position within the redistributive channels. Heads of the negdel or those bureaucrats above them could not only control means of production, although they did not own them, but thereby also put pressure on the people dependent on them, just as bargaining theory would predict it (Knight 1992). This did not, however, translate into hereditary access to resources and professional positions, and until its end the socialist system in Mongolia featured a high degree of permeability and upward mobility. Children of pastoral and other rural households all had access to school education and many of them the chance to attend university. This included study programs in befriended socialist countries, such as the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, or the German Democratic Republic (Sanders 1987). Despite pronounced and to some degree inherited differences, inequality did thus not lead to a new classbased structure. Salaries were suffcient to make a living for everyone, especially as most people in rural areas produced much of the needed goods by themselves. Unequal access to goods and services was often based more on the use of informal channels and networks rather than due to differences in offcial salary. Most commodities were readily available and, being produced in Russia, usually of long-lasting quality. Upon retirement, men at the age of 60 and women depending on the number of children they had between 36 and 55 received a pension, which was a welcomed addition to the family budget.4 The end of socialism was as sudden as in the Soviet Union, beginning with a period of restructuring during the second half of the 1980s. Party general secretary Batmönkh had initiated political and economic reforms that paralleled those of perestroika by Gorbachev. This included the introduction of lease contracts rather than fxed assignments for livestock and other means of production, in combination with an end to limits on private property and entrepreneurship.

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While the basic income was now lower than in the past, the rewards for overfulflment of plan fgures were raised to increase productivity. But the reforms proved ill-fated, not only because they met with little enthusiasm but also due to the general economic downturn in the socialist world, which made mutual trade more diffcult, and sharply reduced subsidies from Moscow. As the switch to lease contracts was voluntary, most herders and farmers shied away from it because they were afraid of the risks these entailed. When leasing animals became obligatory in 1990, households were allowed to keep any surplus for themselves, which they used primarily to increase herd sizes. Soon, however, the crisis reached a new climax with the introduction of supply ratios for foodstuff and other necessities. This was the situation when I frst visited Mongolia. Shelves in shops were empty and supply with basic goods irregular at best. For foreigners, lacking food ration cards, the only place to go was one of the few restaurants, which outside of the capital – and sometimes there as well – were often closed due to “lack of material” (material baykhgüy), as there was nothing to prepare food out of. Generally, the crisis hit the urban population most while farmers and herders could rely on their subsistence basis to a certain degree. Dependency on the Soviet Union that provided most of the inputs and fnancial support was still very high and affected the industrial and service sector even more than the rural economy. Since then, Mongolia has followed a policy of rather radical transformation, which turned it into a forerunner of democracy and market economy in the eyes of western advisers. The changes started with mass protests and hunger strikes on the central square in Ulaanbaatar in 1989, which soon prompted the ruling communist party to give up its monopoly and allow free elections. Since then, they have alternated power with the Democratic Union, and until recently Mongolia has been the only state in Central or Inner Asia where elections actually resulted in a change of the government. In spite of reports of corruption and nepotism being on the rise, the situation is still rather bright in terms of a multi-party system and a fourishing civil society compared with other parts of the region. This also provoked western governments and international organisations to support this process rather generously (Griffn 1995; Bruun & Odgaard 1996; Dierkes 2012). At the same time, Mongolia also experienced one of the most radical decollectivisation programs in the post-socialist world. The transferal of resources into private hands was envisioned to promote entrepreneurship and, in the longer run, economic growth. Pioneer was the rural sector, overwhelmingly organised in collectives rather than as state enterprises.5 Within 18 months most of the means of production had been privatised, except for pastureland, traditionally held as common property (Mearns 1993; Sneath 2001). People working in the industry were less fortunate as most of the production sites were of low effciency and either closed down or had to reduce output fgures drastically. This made city dwellers suffer more than those in the countryside, inducing many of them to return back to a pastoral way of life. Consequently, the proportion of the urban population in Mongolia dropped by roughly fve per cent during the early 1990s (Müller 1995).

Systems come and go 11 The chosen path for privatisation was a rather simple and unique one. It was decided to calculate the total value of the means of production existing in the country and distribute it by the number of its inhabitants. Each individual should receive corresponding vouchers for free that would enable households to acquire collective or state property, be that livestock, means of transportation, or a share in an industrial enterprise. It was planned to fnalise the process in two steps, the so-called small privatisation (baga khuvchilal), to be conducted in autumn 1991, and the big privatisation (ikh khuvchilal), supposed to be completed by spring 1993. During the frst phase, each individual would be allotted vouchers of 3,000 tögrög worth, or 75 dollars by that time, while in the second it would be 7,000 tögrög – which, however, due to the galloping devaluation corresponded to a mere US$45 then (Potkanski 1993; Finke 1995). In real life, things looked different. The negdel association claimed that legally speaking these were cooperative enterprises and their assets thus collective property of their respective members. By this defnition, the state had no right to use them for redistribution among the general population. The association was successful in its campaign, and in the end, each negdel could decide on its own how to divide property internally. As to be expected, rules varied. In most cases, all members received a share refecting family size, age, and years worked for the negdel. In some districts, non-members – that is to say, local state employees – were also included while in others they were not. A main reason seems to have been whether people thought they could afford to share, which was usually not the case in regions with low animal–human ratios (Potkanski 1993; Finke 1995). Pastoralists were also transferred rights for their winter and spring campsites, equipped with some permanent structures. Most of these sites had been assigned during socialist times and were often in the possession of families for generations. The transformation period was diffcult and resulted in widespread impoverishment. During the early 1990s, industrial production dropped by 30 per cent and agriculture by 50 per cent, although the latter fgure probably underestimates its relevance for subsistence. Accordingly, GDP per head declined by 35 per cent and Mongolia experienced a dramatic shortage in imported food products, consumer goods, technical equipment, and, most signifcantly, fuel (Bruun & Odgaard 1996). Some authors have labelled this period as the severest crisis any country has faced in the course of the 20th century (Griffn 1995). What also increased is the dependency on the global market. Being squeezed between two powerful states, Russia to the north and China to the south, Mongolia’s situation has for long been precarious in this respect. Most people until very recently felt closer and more comfortable with Russia, but economically the southern neighbour is of utmost importance and any political affront can endanger the future of this crucial trade relationship. Entanglements with the West as well as with Japan and Korea are growing and have had a deep infuence on everyday life. A particular role in this has been played by the myriad of NGOs and international development agencies that swamped the country since the 1990s. During those days, Mongolia became one of the countries with the highest per-capita fow of development aid worldwide (Dierkes 2012).

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These rapid changes confronted people with a range of challenges as well as opportunities. Of course, pastoralism is always risky business due to natural calamities, epidemics, animal predators, and, most of all, human interference. In the past, this was primarily by warfare and livestock raids, to which in more recent times may be added the attempts to transform pastoralism into a more sedentary lifestyle and effcient production system, with often devastating results. Socialism was hardly any better in this respect than many of the western-inspired modernisation schemes. Both resulted in a reduction of seasonal mobility to the detriment of the sustainability of grazing management. This was further aggravated by the need to adapt to the new market economy, which put an end to free provision of transport. But pastoralism is also still threatened by ecological hazards that may or may not be man-made, as with the mentioned natural disasters and the threat of degradation due to overgrazing. Things slowly started to get better with the turn of the century. Gradually trade structures re-emerged and people were able to sell part of their surplus to decent prices on regional and national markets. During the same period, livestock numbers in the country exploded. After they had remained rather stable around 25 million throughout the socialist period, since then households did everything to have their herds grow, and by 2019 the total number exceeded 70 million (MSY 2020: 702). As important was the discovery of relatively large amounts of natural resources, in particular gold and coal, that provided new income sources for the central government. Regarding gold, besides a state-run sector with international collaborators, a lot of the exploitation takes place in the form of semilegal “ninja mining” (High 2017), when individual diggers roam the country for new sites. Coal is mostly interesting for China with its insatiable need for fuel supply. These new revenues created, on the one hand, a rise of demand in urban markets and, on the other hand, allowed the government to re-distribute part of the revenues by way of a lump-sum to the population at large that was for most families indeed higher than the annual tax they paid (Kelley 2019). By 2010, Mongolia had turned into the fastest growing economy in the world with regular double-digit growth rates. It continued to do so for a few years but since has also seen periods of regression again. For people on the ground, the last few decades have thus been more one of cycles of “booms and busts” hard to predict (Murphy 2014). And for many of them, this entailed the threat of falling into a debt trap (Murphy 2019; Empson 2020).

Transformation as a process of institutional change Being the place it is, Mongolia has attracted academic scholarships for a long time. A particular focus has been history and linguistics, both with a tradition going back to the 19th century and earlier. Anthropological engagement was for most of the 20th century primarily theoretical or limited to interviews with exiles who took refuge in the United States (Aberle 1953; Vreeland 1953; Krader 1963). Conducting feldwork was hampered by the socialist regime, which allowed only very few western scholars into the country (Rosenberg 1977; Humphrey 1978).

Systems come and go 13 It apparently did not attract too many Soviet or East-European colleagues as well, with the notable exception of a few Polish colleagues (Szynkiewicz 1987, 1993) and some Mongolian ethnographers (Badamhatan 1962; Nyambuu 1992). For socialist times, we lack detailed information for specifc localities, including the western provinces.6 Many aspects of Mongolian society are thus better researched for the prerevolutionary period, where there exists a large body of work written by geographers, historians, missionaries, and travellers. They draw a picture of a society and polity in deep crises, if not on the edge of extinction (Carruthers 1913; Consten 1919/20; Larson 1930; Pewzow 1953).7 Being a colonial hinterland of China, the bulk of the population was poor and indebted, exploited by their indigenous aristocracy, the Buddhist clergy, and by the Manju overlords in Beijing (Pozdneyev 1893). A particular concern was the poor health state, allegedly caused by itinerant monks who did not follow the prescribed rule of celibacy all too accurately. With the end of socialism in the early 1990s, things changed quickly, and Mongolia experienced a boom in feldwork specifcally in the pastoral sector (Potkanski 1993; Sneath 1993, 2012; Goldstein & Beall 1994; Finke 1995, 2000, 2004; Müller 1995). Much of this was conducted by geographers and rangeland specialists, often from an applied-oriented perspective (Mearns 1993, 2004; Sheehy 1993, 1996; Fernández-Giménez 1999, 2002; FernándezGiménez & Batbuyan 2004; Bruun 2006). A few years later, a second generation of anthropologists started to publish on a wider range of topics, including the revival of Buddhism and Shamanism, urban landscapes, gender regimes, or the impacts of gold mining on local communities (Pedersen 2011; Buyandelger 2013; High 2017; Bumochir 2020; Empson 2020; Plueckhahn 2020). At the same time, pastoralism also regained attention, in particular with the sequence of natural disasters and the impacts these had on local communities. Key issues in much of this work are the question of resilience and the unequal effects of disaster on different sectors of society (Upton 2008, 2012; Ericksen 2014; Murphy 2014, 2018; Thrift & Ichinkhorloo 2015; Undargaa 2016, 2017; Ahearn 2018). A prominent issue here is also whether national or international interventions on behalf of pastoral communities are really for the good and what role informal institutions such as kinship could have in that (Ahearn 2016; Ichinkhorloo & Yeh 2016). All these studies take the sudden rupture of the dismantling of the socialist production and exchange system as the starting point. But they also confrm that pastoralism as such depends on a great deal of fexibility where decisionmaking often has to be rather spontaneous and sometimes opportunistic. If you see a snowstorm coming up or a wolf pack approaching your camp, there may be little time left to organise a successful emergency plan with your neighbours, not to speak of sharing scarce resources like the last truck nearby. You have to act immediately. But more critical than this is the fact that coordination would often go against an individual’s advantage. If you identifed a good pasture to move to next, it would be highly detrimental to spread the news. Should there

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be too many others arriving at the same time and spot, it is not a good pasture anymore. Any economic or spatial planning thus demands careful consideration. Balancing the wants and needs of the individual household with the expectations of society along prescribed rules of conduct has been a topic in anthropology for long. Seminal in this regard has been the work by Raymond Firth (1951), Edmund Leach (1954), and Fredrik Barth (1966) who, each in their own way, have put the question of agency and the deviation from rules at the front of anthropological thinking. Hotly debated, and very often refuted, the question of the utility-maximising “homo oeconomicus” is nevertheless highly relevant in this regard. Most basically, it implies that strategies rest on some kind of calculation with the aim to achieve more of one’s goals rather than less. How much calculation, and how this actually takes place, is a matter of dispute. Important to note is that goals are subjective. So, what people prioritise may vary over time and from individual to individual, be that material goods, friendships, or continuous access to unhealthy substances. Important also to note is that the decisions people make do not necessarily lead to the desired outcome. One of the reasons for our expectations to be unfulflled is the diffculty of predicting and calculating external factors, such as climate, that come into play. Decisionmaking then may turn into gambling where we have at best a subjective probability of potential outcomes. Therefore, people all over the world, according to bounded rationality theory, prefer strategies that minimise risks and potential losses rather than those promising the maximum possible gain (Simon 1957; Tversky & Kahneman 1986; Donahoe 2009). This is particularly true for situations where such a loss may threaten one’s livelihood, as in the case of pastoralists. One of the reasons is our limited cognitive capabilities in a world that is far too complex to be easily measurable. Accordingly, calculative shortcuts as heuristic devices have been shown to be often more benefcial than careful planning (Todd & Gigerenzer 2003). There are other reasons why plans may not fulfl. One is the sometimes accidental, sometimes intentional act of jeopardising one another. Such strategic interdependences are modelled as dilemma situations of different kinds, which may or may not enable people to arrive at cooperative solutions. Crucial is, on the one hand, mutual trust and, on the other, suffciently long time horizons – a game-theoretical paraphrase for how important we evaluate future opportunities in comparison to the present. If one does imagine a low probability to interact with the same actors in the future, the willingness to forego an immediate pay-off is expected to be equally low (Axelrod 1984). Amongst other factors, in the case of Qazaqs in Mongolia, the large-scale out-migration has contributed to a lack of trust and cooperation exactly for the reason of short time horizons, that is to say, the probability whether someone else will still be around tomorrow. Cooperation is particularly tricky in situations where many actors all depend on each other’s goodwill to achieve their goals but have little means at hand to control decision-making or persuade others to act according to a common beneft. This is modelled in the literature as the public good dilemma. Worse

Systems come and go 15 so, the incentive for people is to let others do the job and still beneft from the common good in the end, because by its very nature, no one can be excluded from usage, leading to the so-called free rider dilemma inherent in any collective action (Olson 1965). In regard to pastoralists, the most famous example is the “tragedy of the commons”. According to Hardin (1968), any collectively used resource, such as grazing lands, will ultimately be overused because individuals beneft from any privately owned additional animal while the costs, in the form of degradation, will be shared by all. As others do the same and are expected to, no beneft will arise out of cooperative behaviour. For several decades, scholars have demonstrated that this scenario is too shortsighted and that societies all over the world have been able to create effective rules to prevent depleting the common good (Ostrom 1990). Rather, it is often state interference or land privatisation, the two remedies propagated by Hardin, that contribute to the decay of a resource (Acheson 1989). It will be shown that the debate is not only a vivid one in national and international policy making, but indeed an open question in pasture allocation practices. Depending on circumstances, collectively used resources may indeed face the threat of serious depletion. In the case of Mongolia, the dissolution of the collective enterprises, which had also served as annual grazing territories, has questioned existing allocation rules and is about to turn a common pool resource, where access is limited to a defned group of people, into an open access regime with no restrictions of any kind (Finke 2000). This relates to a key theoretical tool in this book, namely the concept of institution, or the social arrangements that allow people to get an idea of how to do things properly to be accepted by others. Institutions are all the formal and informal rules that provide us with instructions on what to expect and how to design successful strategies in a given situation, social environment, and resource endowment (North 1990; Ensminger 1992). Most important, institutions not only describe the patterns of how to act but also entail possible sanctions in case of disregard. The latter are important because they tell us how costly trespassing of rules might be but even more because they provide us with information on how likely it is that others will apply the same calculations. In other words, institutions create some predictability and enable strategic decisions that promise a desirable pay-off. Without institutional support, it would be nearly impossible to develop large-scale social arrangements or political orders of any kind (Ostrom 1990). At the core of institutional theory is the concept of transaction costs. In real life, any kind of economic or social interaction is associated with costs of some kind. This includes, for example, the transportation of goods, gathering information on prices, or the negotiation of contracts. It needs time and resources to fnd out with whom to exchange and to what conditions. In the worst case, the risk of failure or fraudulent opponents may be so high that people prefer to restrain from an interaction (North 1990; Ensminger 1992). Early post-socialist societies provide a very insightful example of the role of transaction costs in analysis and in practice. Due to a lack of information, a decaying transportation system and a general legal uncertainty, transaction costs for the individual producer were so

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high that many took a rather cautious attitude towards it. This is exactly what happened during the 1990s in Mongolia, when households responded by a partial withdrawal from the market. And, reversely, the reduction of transaction costs in later years gave rise to a change in strategies towards active investment and taking advantage of market opportunities. Property rights, or the rules for access and usage of resources, are maybe the most crucial institutions in economic affairs because they defne, on the one hand, the distribution of resources within society and, on the other hand, set the incentives for their respective utilisation based on the promise of return. If farmers face a threat of appropriation, e.g., by the government, they will refrain from investing too much into a sustainable usage of the land. If the short-term exhaustion of an oil feld is the most proftable way to utilise a given piece of land, because the costs of its restoration are not imposed upon the extracting company, the damages to landscape and agriculture will not be included in the calculation (Acheson 1989). And if I know that trespassing of my spring pastures will not be penalised, there is little reason why I should not act likewise under given circumstances. The primary role of institutions is thus the creation of mutual expectations on how others will most likely act in specifc situations in order to provide guidelines for one’s own choice of possible strategies. People do not have to be satisfed with a particular institutional arrangement but, considering the strategies of others, expect to fare better with adherence than with disregard. To do so, institutions must be reasonably stable, or expectations would be constantly disappointed. But as every institution ultimately constitutes a restriction of options, they also provoke a temptation to disregard. And any such transgression may be the source of a permanent change when more and more people do not follow a rule without facing consequences, which then no longer serves the purpose of being a meaningful predictor. Institutional change can thus be the unintended side effect of growing deviation. It can also be the result of a deliberate attempt to change the rules of the game to make them better ft one’s own interests (Ensminger 1992). Economic or political inequalities are another constant feature of any institutional confguration. There will always be actors who are able to impose their will on others and make them accept institutional arrangements for their own beneft. For the same reason, institutional change does not necessarily lead to more effciency but often to a redistribution of pay-offs to the more powerful actors (North 1990; Ensminger & Knight 1997). Most forcefully this idea has been developed by Knight (1992), who views institutions primarily as the byproduct of distributional conficts. It means that those equipped with resources that other actors are dependent on for their livelihood have the ability to enforce institutional arrangements that systematically favour themselves – as a refusal would imply even greater disadvantages for those in weaker bargaining positions. Feudal landlords, capitalist entrepreneurs, or slave owners all have the means to blackmail their dependents to accept unfair regulations in order to survive. For that reason, institutions are not necessarily effcient or fair but always refect more

Systems come and go 17 of the interests of the respective elites in society. Power asymmetries are also one reason why institutional change typically evolves in specifc ways set by the existing constellation, a fact described as “path dependency” by North (1990) and others. I will on several occasions turn back to Knight and his bargaining theory to explain constellations and outcomes of disputes on institutional arrangements, e.g., during the privatisation process or in regard to a change of pasture allocation rules. States obviously have a great impact in this regard. They do not only exhibit the means to enforce specifc institutional orders, but their formalised structure and professionalised army of implementers also provide these rules and underlying ideologies with an aura of legitimacy. Depending on the type of governance, the existence of states now more than ever accounts for the importance of formal institutions. They can lower transaction costs by standardised measurements and currencies, provide inexpensive access to transport and information, as well as contribute to a functioning judicial system to enforce contracts. At the same time, from an institutional perspective, state apparatuses create distinct groups of actors with their own agendas and modes of advocating particular worldviews that in turn become infuential to the degree of achieving hegemonic status (Ensminger 1992). This creates not only new incentive structures but potentially also new modes of distributing resources. When it comes to Mongolia, social and economic inequalities have been constantly growing over the last decades (Plueckhahn & Bumochir 2018).

Investigating change and adaptation In line with these theoretical considerations, what I adopt in this book is an approach that is usually labelled as critical realism or rationalism. What is meant by this is a principal assumption that ethnographic research creates fndings and analyses that are not arbitrary, and which have some relation with an existing reality. We may not, or never be, able to explain exactly how things are and why they evolved that way but, if properly conducted, our conclusions hopefully become more accurate over time. In other words, our understanding of the world is not identical to any type of reality because we do see things through our biased minds as individuals and as products of specifc social and cultural legacies. But anthropology – like other sciences as well – is about developing tools to reduce these effects, by making ourselves aware of potential biases, rather than being paralysed by inevitable shortcomings. To take anthropological endeavour seriously, it is important to show that our empirical fndings are not just any kind of truth among endless others. Such a position would hardly justify the funding we get and the kind of training we pursue, or impose upon our students. Having said that, research for this book was very much grounded in qualitative methodology and participant observation in particular. Although, at times, more rigid and controllable methods of data collection might have been desirable, there is no such thing as a free lunch – especially in the sense of loss of familiarity that provides us with an intimacy of everyday life, which is diffcult to achieve

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by any other means. I conducted hundreds of mostly semi-structured interviews over the years, but the bulk of the data comes from doing ethnography the traditional way: hanging out, visiting ceremonies, accompanying herders to the pastures (and offcials who try to make them move when violating allocation rules), following election campaigns, and so forth. And I believe this is exactly what is anthropology’s strength, not because it is a superior method per se but because it allows us to collect data no other method would enable us to. In particular, it is the only method to obtain direct information on people’s behaviour, less fltered by shaky memories, laboratory circumstances, or discursive legitimisations than interviews or other more formalised approaches. My frst stay in Mongolia dates back to the summer and autumn of 1991, certainly one of the most exciting periods of recent history. I was then travelling with four fellow students to Ulaanbaatar with the Trans-Siberian Railway through the Soviet Union – which no longer existed by the time I went back to Berlin three months later (via Beijing). Socialism was also in its fnal days and, in fact, this frst stay coincided with a period of daily meetings and heated debates on how livestock is to be redistributed among the families in the region. I went back three years later to pursue PhD research and spent 15 months between 1994 and 1996 in Mongolia. By that time, de-collectivisation had been completed and people tried their best to adapt to the new market economy. At the core of my interest were economic strategies of diversifcation and risk management, issues on land tenure and pastoral mobility as well as social networks and inter-ethnic relations (Finke 2004). Apart from a short visit in 2004, my next opportunity to continue research did not arise until 2011, followed by three more visits in 2013, 2014, and 2018. By then, I had decided that it would be time for a re-examination of my earlier fndings. After all, the initial research had covered merely the frst fve years of postsocialism, which by now had entered its third decade. I was wrong, not with the idea of going back, but with the assumption that this would become a restudy of a post-socialist society. So much had happened since the early days and the legacy of the previous system is now only one aspect among many, although still a signifcant one. Even more striking was that things changed year by year, and often quite drastically. People move in and out of jobs, resettle in town, or migrate to Qazaqstan, only to show up again a few years later. And in connection with this, social confgurations and cultural patterns have also changed. Modern technology, including motorbikes and mobile phones, has transformed herd management. Economic stratifcation has accelerated and is increasingly showing off in terms of consumption patterns. Even marriage, a core cultural institution, today has very little to do with what it was in the mid-1990s. The only thing that has remained more or less unchanged, so it seems, is the lack of trust towards each other. Equally, procedures and circumstances of feldwork have changed. Obviously, I am older now – and thus addressed and treated differently. When I began to return in 2011, I was deeply touched by how many people would know me by name; many of whom had not even been born by the time I did my original

Systems come and go 19 research. This made feldwork easier, as did the technological advancements, including regular transportation services to the next town, something that simply did not exist in the 1990s. On the other hand, some things had changed to the detriment. Many people had left for Qazaqstan, and of the families I was hosted by and built close relationships with, most were no longer around. And I strongly missed the quiet (and dark) evenings in the yurts before light bulbs and TV sets took over. Also, doing research among a highly mobile group of people is a challenge in itself. Apart from the physical exhaustion and the inconvenience of lacking washing facilities, it also impacts data collection. People move earlier or differently than expected, they stop halfway to escape the mosquitoes down in the plains, or they decide to just be off for a day or two, visit friends, or go to the market in town. A few individuals that would have been part of my sample, in fact, I was not able to meet once over all these years. With others, I have been luckier and came to closely follow their fates and decisions. Besides participant observation and interviewing, I used other tools for data collection. First, this includes local and national statistics, complemented by household surveys. Numbers seemed very important to get an idea of how privatisation went along and, as a result, the stratifcation it produced over the years. Offcial fgures obviously have their pitfalls, and I became particularly aware of this when accompanying the people who collected them. In most cases, animals were not counted but only inquired. On the other hand, self-reporting during a survey is not necessarily more reliable and counting the herds by myself – which I did for a number of households as a check – poses the problem that one does not know whom the animals actually belong to. Many herders keep custody of their brothers’, friends’, or neighbours’ livestock without that I would be able to tell the difference. In addition, my own surveys included fgures on the composition of households, on kinship, on grazing cycles, and on voting preferences. With regard to kinship networks, I collected a few genealogies and, what turned out to be more important, data on camp composition and herding responsibilities. Biology teachers were asked to name the most important plants and their usage, geography teachers about landscapes and boundaries, and history teachers – about history. Archives were a bit more of a problem, as they are not properly maintained and therefore of limited use. But some books and leafets published over the years have been carefully drawn together, providing data on history and genealogies in particular. In other cases, former offcials had, for reasons I don’t know, kept statistics in chests at home and were willing to lend them to me for review. In earlier years, this meant days of writing numbers after numbers. Modern technology and – more or less – dependable power supply have made things easier in this respect. Finally, over the years, this research developed a strong multi-sited component. I have visited several of the places where families from Khovd-sum have taken up residence in Qazaqstan if for personal reasons in the frst place. But their view on things are, of course, also relevant for an understanding of the situation and future of those who stayed in Mongolia. People maintain intensive ties across

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the border and visit each other frequently, which also results in a constant and quick exchange of information in both directions. And while the transnational character of everyday life may be slightly less pronounced among those who stayed in Mongolia (Finke 2013), the fact of a migration option and the existence of kin relations in Qazaqstan is omnipresent and also infuences decision-making at home. Access to the feld was amazingly easy during the frst period of research in 1991, when socialism had entered its fnal days. By that time, state structures were partly dysfunctional and authorities more concerned with other issues than lonesome anthropologists roaming the steppes. Colleagues in Ulaanbaatar as well as in the western provinces were from the beginning very supportive of my endeavour. Of great help was probably also that life on the ground in Mongolia was, as indicated, never as tightly controlled and power structures less rigid as in the Soviet Union. People had no problem with hosting foreigners even for extended periods and did not bother to inquire frst with offcials on this – as happened during my later feldwork in Uzbekistan (Finke 2014). As time went by, I became more and more accepted and, to some degree, integrated by being associated with particular families and kin groups, as happens to members of our discipline. Very early I also befriended some of the local elites, such as brigade chiefs and veterinarians, who became of great help during the research process. Also, the fact that from the beginning I spoke Mongolian and, a few years later, Qazaq as well certainly helped a lot. This links to issues of power relations. When I started my work as a young student, I did not feel in a superior position to people, and I doubt anyone around me did. This has changed over the years regarding my own status, although most people are now also more prosperous than they were back then. As time went by, my growth in age had additional advantages, e.g. being able to refuse one more drink offered. But, of course, power is not only about money but can be grounded in the possibility to write about and speak for others, not necessarily with their consent. The people I worked with were always aware of what I was doing and that the information they provided would turn into a book like this. As far as I can judge, the great majority is fne with this. Many were proud that I picked their district in particular, even if they may not agree with all I have to say or would interpret some of the fndings differently. Many more may approve of the conclusions drawn but would prefer some of them not to be published. I have done my best to refrain from any descriptions that paint an undeserved picture of the community in question. While our relations have changed over time, I always felt strong empathy and understanding for the way people do things. And, so I hope, they always knew I did. But, after all, nobody is perfect – neither the ethnographer nor the people we work with. This is obviously not to say that people do not react to one’s presence in the feld. But as time goes by this is slowly decreasing in scale, as any experienced ethnographer would confrm. We live together with people, share their everyday lives and perceptions, and often become gradually adopted into specifc households or kin groups. One will easily notice when this starts to be more than a rhetorical

Systems come and go 21 device, as mutual expectations grow, and one becomes accepted as belonging to certain networks. At some point I became, to a certain degree, a member of the locally dominant Jantekey lineage, and more specifcally its sub-branch Botaqara, and when I meet others belonging to the same group anywhere in the world, the difference in attitude – both ways – is, indeed, striking. During feldwork, people would test me to fnd out whether I knew which of the families in a given valley is the closest to me or my host family by balancing a number of different criteria and consequently picking the place I am supposed to spend the night at. It is also well known that I helped kids of the families I lived with getting into university in later years. This did not create expectations, though maybe hopes from other, more distant, or non-related families. After all, I was supporting my younger sisters and brothers, so to speak. And I did so because their father, one of the closest friends I ever had in my life, died a premature death. Gender is another major issue in the feld. As an unmarried male by the time I arrived, I was surprised how easy it was to engage with women of all ages, and even stay in yurts overnight if the head of the household was not around. After all, this is a Muslim community. Of course, relations with men tended to be closer, which was also due to the economic nature of my research. But Qazaq society does not have any of the segregating tendencies that one fnds in other parts of Central Asia or the Middle East. Sometimes tricky were my relations with the local Mongols in the district. Those I knew from early on, which were usually also those with closer contacts to Qazaqs, had no issue with my presence and activities. Those I met later, and particularly those who had come from other areas, were more suspicious and in some cases outside of reach. Their view, which is that of a small minority, is therefore underrepresented in this book. As many of us know, we sometimes become utilised in local politics and social affairs. During the earlier election campaigns when oppositions between the former Communist Party and the Democratic Union were at their heights, the candidates of both sides would have liked my ideological support (which I was able to resist). In other cases, one gets involved into neighbourhood disputes or conficts on land, be that as the bearer of respective messages or as a potential expert. There are a few instances of that kind scattered throughout the book. Also, especially in the early days, I was sometimes sought after as an authority to decide on the future: is it wise to migrate to Qazaqstan or are the chances of recovery better in Mongolia? These are tough decisions to make if you are not a gambler or an economist; and as it turned out even for them. For most time periods, I felt unable to give any clear advice, although as a friend and family-member one cannot simply retreat to the position of a neutral researcher. My ideas on this have changed over the years and I am still not sure whether my advice can be of particular help.

Notes 1 I use the term transformation in the sense of a fundamental change that affects all spheres of a given system or society and is, by its very nature, irreversible. The

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2

3

4

5 6

7

Systems come and go outcome is a new structural arrangement. In much of the economic and political sciences, the term transition is preferred but most anthropologists refrain from that usage due to its teleological character where the direction of change seems predetermined (Hann et al. 2002; Finke 2004). I use the terms nomads more or less interchangeable with pastoralists throughout the book, referring to the original Greek meaning of the word, which stresses the basis of livelihood, namely domesticated animals, rather than patterns of movement (Khazanov 1984). During the Soviet collectivisation in the late 1920s and early 1930s, an estimated 1.5 million Qazaqs died in famines as a consequence of forced sedentarisation, an event which should have lasting impacts on society (Olcott 1987; Kozybaev and Ohayon 2012). Socialist Mongolia followed a pronatalist policy. Women with fve or more surviving children were awarded a medal of the second class and those with eight or more one of the frst class. Each was connected with the right to earlier retirement and other benefts (Bawden 1989: 12; Goldstein & Beall 1994: 94). State farms, called sangiyn aj akhuy in Mongolian, played little of a role in the rural economy but were, as their Soviet model, the sovkhozes, important in the industrial sector. There is rather little literature on the Qazaqs in Mongolia, and there was even less when I began my research. Most of this is by local historians and linguists (Minis & Saray 1960; Bazılhan 1977, 1984; Täwkeulı 1995). Among the more recent literature, paramount are the works by Hurmethan Muhamadiyulı (1997) and Zardıhan Qınayatulı (1995, 2012 with Šildebay Qılanbayulı), a native of Khovd-sum who would later become a chief diplomat for the Mongolian Republic before resettling to Qazaqstan during the 1990s. Both became important interlocutors over time and were always supportive with additional information. The main exception to this was Lattimore (1940) who provided a much more sympathetic portrait of the Mongols than most of his contemporaries.

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Finke, Peter. 2004. Nomaden im Transformationsprozess: Kasachen in der PostSozialistischen Mongolei. Münster: Lit-Verlag. Finke, Peter. 2013. “Historical Homelands and Transnational Ties: The Case of the Kazak Oralman.” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie (Special Issue on Mobility and Identity in Central Asia) 138 (2): 175–194. Finke, Peter. 2014. Variations on Uzbek Identity: Strategic Choices, Cognitive Schemas and Political Constraints in Identifcation Processes. Oxford and New York: Berghahn Books. Finke, Peter. 2018. “Institutional Change in Central Asia: Refecting on 25 Years of Post-Socialist Transformations.” In Asia and Europe – Interconnected: Agents, Concepts, and Things, edited by Angelica Malinar and Simone Müller, 331–350. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Finke, Peter. 2022. “Is Migrating a Rational Decision? Motives and Procedures of Qazaq Repatriation.” In Dynamics of Integration and Confict: Essays Inspired by the Anthropology of Günther Schlee, edited by Markus Hoehne, Echi Gabbert, and John Eidson, 272–290. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books. Firth, Raymond. 1951. Elements of Social Organization. London: Watts and Co. Goldstein, Melvyn C., and Cynthia M. Beall. 1994. The Changing World of Mongolia’s Nomads. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Griffn, Keith (ed.). 1995. Poverty and the Transition to a Market Economy in Mongolia. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Hardin, Garrett. 1968. “Tragedy of the Commons.” Science 162 (3859): 1243–1248. High, Mette M. 2017. Fear and Fortune: Spirit Worlds and Emerging Economies in the Mongolian Gold Rush. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Humphrey, Caroline. 1978. “Pastoral Nomadism in Mongolia. The Role of Herdsmen’s Cooperatives in the National Economy.” Development and Change 9 (1): 133–160. Humphrey, Caroline. 1983. Karl Marx Collective: Economy, Society and Religion in a Siberian Collective Farm. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hurmethan, Muhamadiyulı. 1997. Mongoliyadağı qazaq subetnosınıń qalıptasuwı men damuwı (Character and Development of the Qazaq sub-etnos in Mongolia). Almaty, Ulaanbaatar: Academy of Sciences. Ichinkhorloo, Byambabaatar, and Emily T. Yeh. 2016. “Ephemeral “Communities”: Spatiality and Politics in Rangeland Intervention in Mongolia.” The Journal of Peasant Studies 43 (5): 1010–1034. Kelley, Linda R. 2019. “Fleeting Hooves? Coping with Uncertainty in Times of Economic Boom and Bust in Contemporary Western Mongolia.” PhD diss., University of Zurich. Khazanov, Anatoly. 1984. Nomads and the Outside World. Cambridge and London: Cambridge University Press. Knight, Jack. 1992. Institutions and Social Confict. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kornai, Janos. 1980. Economics of Shortage. Amsterdam: North Holland Press. Kozybaev, M., and Isabelle Ohayon. 2012. La famine kazakhe: à l’origine de la sédentarisation [The Kazakh Famine: The Beginnings of Sedentarization] (Encyclopedia of Mass Violence). Paris: CERCEC (CNRS-EHESS). Krader, Lawrence. 1963. Social Organization of the Mongol-Turkic Pastoral Nomads. The Hague: Mouton.

Systems come and go 25 Larson, Frans August. 1930. Larson, Duke of Mongolia. Boston, MA: Little, Brown, and Co. Lattimore, Owen. 1940. Inner Asian Frontiers of China. New York: American Geographical Society. Lattimore, Owen. 1964. Nomaden und Kommissare: Die Mongolei – gestern und heute. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Leach, Edmund. 1954. Political Systems of Highland Burma: A Study of Kachin Social Structure. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Mearns, Robin. 1993. “Territoriality and Land Tenure among Mongolian Pastoralists: Variation, Continuity and Change.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 73–103. Mearns, Robin. 2004. “Sustaining Livelihoods on Mongolia’s Pastoral Commons: Insights from a Participatory Poverty Assessment.” Development and Change 35 (1): 107–139. Minis, A. & A. Saray. 1960. BNMAY Bayan-Ölgiy aymgiyn Kazakh ard tümniy tüükhees. Ulaanbaatar: Ulsyn khevleliyn khoroo. Morgan, David. 2007. The Mongols (2nd edition). Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. MSY. 2020. Mongol ulsyn statistikiyn emkhtgel [Mongolian Statistical Yearbook]. Ulaanbaatar: National Statistics Offce of Mongolia. Müller, Franz-Volker. 1995. “New Nomads and Old Customs: General Effects of Privatisation in Rural Mongolia.” Nomadic Peoples 36/37: 175–194. Murphy, Daniel J. 2011. “Going on Otor: Disaster, Mobility, and the Political Ecology of Vulnerability in Uguumur, Mongolia.” PhD diss., University of Kentucky. Murphy, Daniel J. 2014. “Booms and Busts: Asset Dynamics, Disaster, and the Politics of Wealth in Rural Mongolia.” Economic Anthropology 1 (1): 104–123. Murphy, Daniel J. 2018. “Disaster, Mobility, and the Moral Economy of Exchange in Mongolian Pastoralism.” Nomadic Peoples 22 (2): 304–329. Murphy, Daniel J. 2019. “We’re Living from Loan-to-Loan: Pastoral Vulnerability and the Cashmere-Debt Cycle in Mongolia.” Research in Economic Anthropology 38: 7–30. North, Douglass C. 1990. Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nyambuu, X. 1992. Mongolyn ugsaatny züy: Udirtgal [Ethnography of the Mongols: An Introduction]. Ulaanbaatar: Academy of Sciences. Olcott, Martha Brill. 1987. The Kazakhs. Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press. Olson, Mancur. 1965. The Logic of Collective Action. Public Goods and the Theory of Groups. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ostrom, Elinor. 1990. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pedersen, Morten Axel. 2011. Not Quite Shamans: Spirit Worlds and Political Lives in Northern Mongolia. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Pewzow, Michail W. 1953. Wo man mit Ziegeltee bezahlt: Bericht einer Reise durch die Mongolei und die nördlichen Provinzen des inneren China. Leipzig: VEB F. A. Brockhaus Verlag. Plueckhahn, Rebekah. 2020. Shaping Urban Futures in Mongolia. Ulaanbaatar, Dynamic Ownership and Economic Flux. London: UCL Press. Plueckhahn, Rebekah, and Dulam Bumochir. 2018. “Capitalism in Mongolia: Ideology, Practice and Ambiguity.” Central Asian Survey 37 (3): 341–356.

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Potkanski, Tomasz. 1993. “Decollectivisation of the Mongolian Pastoral Economy (1991–92): Some Economic and Social Consequences.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 123–135. Pozdneyev, Aleksei. M. 1893 [1971]. Mongolia and the Mongols (Indiana University Uralic and Altaic Series Vol. 1). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Qıynayatulı, Zardıhan. 1995. Jılagan jıldar shejiresi (Genealogy of the Sad Years). Almaty: Merey. Qıynayatulı, Zardıhan, and Šildebay Qılanbayulı. 2012. Qobdalıq Qazaqtar (The Qazaqs of Khovd). Almaty: Tarih tağılımı. Rosenberg, Daniel. 1977. Political Leadership in a Mongolian Nomadic Pastoral Collective. PhD thesis, University of Minnesota. Rossabi, Morris. 2005. Modern Mongolia: From Khans to Commissars to Capitalists. Berkeley, Los Angeles, CA and London: University of California Press. Sanders, Alan J. K. 1987. Mongolia: Politics, Economics and Society. London and Boulder, CO: Frances Pinter, Lynne Rienner Publishers. Sheehy, Dennis P. 1993. “Grazing Management Strategies as a Factor Infuencing Ecological Stability of Mongolian Grasslands.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 17–30. Sheehy, Dennis P. 1996. “Sustainable Livestock Use of Pastoral Resources.” In Mongolia in Transition: Old Patterns, New Challenges, edited by Ole Bruun and Ole Odgaard, 42–64. Richmond: Curzon. Simon, Herbert A. 1957. Models of Man: Social and Rational. New York: Wiley. Sneath, David. 1993. “Social Relations, Networks and Social Organisation in PostSocialist Rural Mongolia.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 193–207. Sneath, David. 2001. “Notions of Rights over Land and the History of Mongolian Pastoralism.” Inner Asia 3 (1): 41–58. Sneath, David. 2012. “The “Age of the Market” and the Regime of Debt: The Role of Credit in the Transformation of Pastoral Mongolia.” Social Anthropology 20 (4): 458–473. Szynkiewicz, Slawoj. 1987. “Ethnic Boundaries in Western Mongolia. A Case Study of a Somon in the Mongol Altai Region.” Journal of the Anglo-Mongolian Society 10 (1): 11–16. Szynkiewicz, Slawoj. 1993. “Mongolia’s Nomads Build Up a New Society Again: Social Structure and Obligations on the Eve of the Private Economy.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 163–172. Täwkeulı, Sultan. 1995. Shejire. Ulaanbaatar. Thrift, Eric D., and Byambabaatar Ichinkhorloo. 2015. “Management of dzud Risk in Mongolia: Mutual Aid and Institutional Interventions.” In Building Resilience of Mongolian Rangelands: A Trans-Disciplinary Research Conference, edited by María E. Fernández-Giménez, Batkhishig Baival, Steven R. Fassnacht and David Wilson, 136–141. Ulaanbaatar: Tsogt Print. Todd, Peter M., and Gerd Gigerenzer. 2003. “Bounding Rationality to the World.” Journal of Economic Psychology 24: 143–165. Tversky, Amos, and Daniel Kahnemann. 1986. “Rational Choice and the Framing of Decisions.” In Rational Choice: The Contrast between Economics and Psychology, edited by Robin M. Hogarth and Melvin W. Reder, 67–94. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Undargaa, Sandagsuren. 2016. Pastoralism and Common Pool Resources: Rangeland Co-management, Property Rights and Access in Mongolia. London: Routledge.

Systems come and go 27 Undargaa, Sandagsuren. 2017. “Re-Imagining Collective Action Institutions: Pastoralism in Mongolia.” Human Ecology 45 (2): 221–234. Upton, Caroline. 2008. “Social Capital, Collective Action and Group Formation: Developmental Trajectories in Post-socialist Mongolia.” Human Ecology 36 (2): 175–188. Upton, Caroline. 2012. “Managing Mongolia’s Commons: Land Reforms, Social Contexts, and Institutional Change.” Society & Natural Resources 25 (2): 156–175. Verdery, Katherine. 1991. “Theorizing Socialism: A Prologue to Transition.” American Ethnologist 18 (3): 419–439. Vreeland, Herbert H. 1953. Mongol Community and Kinship Structure. New Haven, CT: Human Relations Area Files.

Map 1.1 The Khovd-sum Note: The transliteration on this map is not identical to the one applied otherwise in this book. Instead of kh in Mongolian words h is used here (thus Hovd rather than Khovd, or UlaanHargana rather than Ulaan-Khargana) and Ölgiy is written as Ölgii. Jargalant is the name of the city of Khovd as an administrative unit.

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Western Mongolia: the regional setting Western Mongolia is unique in comparison with other parts of the country for a variety of reasons, and so is the research area, the Khovd-sum, exemplifying many of these regional peculiarities. It begins with the name of the district, which often causes confusion even for people in Mongolia and may need some words of explanation. Khovd designates, frst of all, a city and the corresponding province (mgl. aymag), to which the former serves as the administrative centre. At the same time, it is also the name of one of the subordinated districts (mgl. sum) within that very province. And all these derive their names ultimately from the mighty Khovd River, the major water course in the western part of the country, forming the northern border of the aymag. Along its course there is another Khovd-sum in neighbouring Uvs-aymag, that has, however, no border with the area under discussion. Gateway to the region is the provincial capital. Located just outside the boundaries of Khovd-sum, it is a major point of reference for its inhabitants, as well as for anthropologists doing research there. Khovd is one of the oldest cities in Mongolia and has served as the political and cultural centre of the larger western region for centuries. It was founded in the early 18th century and has preserved some of its historical atmosphere, although most of the architectural remains of the earlier Manju garrison have been destroyed in recent decades. Originally located on the banks of the eponymous river, it was later transferred to its current site along its major tributary, the Buyant, at an altitude of 1,400 m. Today, the city hosts a theatre, a university, and a local museum, displaying the cultural diversity of its multi-ethnic population. It is the place to go to when one applies for a passport, seeks cultural entertainment, or needs medical treatment beyond the basic care provided in the countryside. And its airport as well as more or less regular bus connections to the capital makes it the prime transportation hub in the region. There have been rumours to create a larger administrative unit, the western belt (baruun bus) with the city of Khovd again as its capital, but so far these have not materialised. Apart from its political and administrative status, Khovd also accommodates the largest bazaar in western Mongolia, and, in fact, the only one in the DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692-2

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northern part of the province. Recent years have seen a blossoming of construction activities near the market district, with new multi-storey houses, roads, and a few industrial enterprises. In addition, a number of small-scale businesses have opened up and employed part of the urban labour force. Most of this is in the service sector, such as restaurants and hotels, as well as in trade. Industrial production is little developed, apart from the state-led construction sites, but there are some privately run garages and small manufactories. Tourism is of some relevance in the region due to its natural beauty and cultural heterogeneity, which attracts alpinists, hunters, and globetrotters. However, the relatively poor state of infrastructure and the fact that the neighbouring Bayan-Ölgiy-aymag offers even more touristic sights has so far prevented this from becoming an important source of revenue. But the western provinces take a special place in Mongolia for other reasons as well. One is geography. Here, one fnds the highest mountains, the northernmost deserts, and the greatest fuctuations in temperature, with annual amplitudes of up to 80°C and more. Two great landscapes dominate the region. One is the majestic Mongolian Altay range with peaks above 4,000 m and a total length of 1,600 km. To the east and north-east lies the Great Lakes Basin, basically a huge and rather fat area of semi-deserts on 1,100–1,300 m (Murzaev 1954: 319ff.). In-between are vast steppe areas with ever-changing colours and landscapes. Crossed by two of the largest rivers of Mongolia, the Khovd and the Buyant, this is one of the most beautiful parts of the country. Apart from ecological features, the region is distinctive also for its physical remoteness from the political centre and, related to that, a prevalent image of distinctiveness. The three aymag of Khovd, Uvs, and Bayan-Ölgiy are the ones most distant from the capital Ulaanbaatar, with some 1,500  km on largely unpaved roads or a three-hour fight in-between. In fact, the borders with Russia and China are much closer, which is, for political and economic reasons, both a burden and an opportunity. The total four checkpoints, two to each neighbour, are intensively used for trade and allow a certain independence from the rest of the country. At the same time, the frontier location at least in the past also created nervousness on the side of the central government and was responsible for a higher degree of surveillance. With a population of roughly 100,000 each, the three aymag also belong to the more populous provinces, and the administrative centres of Khovd, Ulaangom, and Ölgiy are bigger, with some 30,000 inhabitants each, and more dynamic than most others in the country.1 However, the main reason for the exceptional status of western Mongolia is arguably its ethnic composition. It is here where the national minorities are concentrated, and the only region where Khalkha-Mongols, comprising close to 80 per cent of the total population, do not form the majority. As in the Soviet Union, ethnic belonging was highly formalised in Mongolia. Each individual is registered as belonging to one offcially recognised group, which is also noted in the passport. This list includes linguistically distinct categories, such as the Turkic and Tungusic minorities, but also a great number of Mongolian-speaking populations. There is some debate on the basis of such distinctions, as neither

A portrait of Khovd-sum

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linguistic differences nor cultural patterns or self-identifcation are very pronounced (Munkh-Erdene 2013). The majority of the population in the three western aymag is either Qazaqs or Oyrats, the latter being a conglomeration of groups speaking western Mongolian dialects. Both take a special place in political and public imaginations, and often are looked at with some suspicion. This is grounded in the case of Oyrats in alleged separatist ideas, especially during the early days of the socialist period, and towards the Qazaqs for their cultural distinctiveness (Bawden 1989). In contrast to the Buddhist majority population, the Qazaqs speak a Turkic tongue and are Sunni Muslims of the Hanafte School. Described in the literature as traditionally superfcial in their observance of religious obligations, this is nevertheless important when it comes to mutual demarcation. It also draws a clear boundary between Qazaqs and other Turkic-speaking but non-Muslim minorities like the Tuvans in the westernmost corner of Bayan-Ölgiy (Taube 1996). The few Uygurs in Mongolia, by contrast, who live primarily in and around the city of Khovd, are Muslims as well and frmly integrated into Qazaq society. Other minorities in the west include the Uryankhay who speak Mongolian. Like the Tuvinians, the Uryankhay are Buddhists, albeit with an allegedly stronger legacy of shamanic elements. Finally, there exists a small group of Mongolian-speaking Muslims in Uvs-aymag, the Khoton, who were apparently deported here by the Oyrat rulers from oases further south during the 17th century (Nyambuu 1992). The antagonism between western and eastern Mongols goes back to the period of the 15th century. By that time, the Oyrat or Jungar confederation populating western Mongolia as well as contemporary Xinjiang had gradually become more powerful than the descendants of Chinggis Khan ruling to the east. Lacking the royal genealogy of the latter, the Oyrat rulers were considered a kind of usurper but kept the rest of the Mongol world, and indeed all of Central Asia, in a state of alert. In fact, the submission of the eastern Mongols to Manju rule as well as the acceptance of Tsarist suzerainty among the Qazaqs to the west have been explained as a reaction to the continuous threat of Oyrat warfare. It was only after their fnal defeat by the Qing dynasty in 1757, resulting in what some authors have labelled a genocide, when the western Mongols, or what was left of them had to move into the second line (Halkovic 1985; Benson & Svanberg 1988). Today, Oyrats live in small numbers throughout western Mongolia but northern Xinjiang as well as along the lower Volga River where a branch of them had settled in the early 17th century and became known as Kalmyks (Schorkowitz 1992). After 1757, the north-eastern realm of the Oyrats was incorporated into what was then the Chinese dominion of “Outer Mongolia” as the District of Kobdo, as Khovd was called by that time. Up until the beginning of socialist rule in the 1920s, this continued to be a distinct administrative unit before being split into the three aymag of today. The Qazaqs are, linguistically and historically, heirs to the Qipchaq confederation that had dominated the steppes west of the Altay mountains all the way to the Black Sea coast since the 10th century. Qipchaqs also gave their name to one of the branches of the Turkic languages that includes Qazaq, Kyrgyz, Tatar,

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and several other closely related idioms. As an ethnonym, however, the term Qazaq appears only in the course of the 15th century. Why these groups adopted a distinct name and when it started to take over an ethnic meaning is a matter of dispute. But during the 16th and 17th centuries, the formerly loose congregations of nomads gradually consolidated into a distinct union of linguistically and culturally very similar groups. Today, the number of Qazaqs worldwide is estimated at around twelve million, of which roughly one-third reside outside the state bearing their name. Qazaqs may represent one of the most homogeneous ethnic categories in the world with very little dialect differences over a territory of several thousand kilometres, spanning from the eastern shores of the Caspian Sea and the lower Volga River to the Altay Mountains and beyond (Kirchner 1992, 1998). In the frst half of the 18th century, most Qazaqs came under Russian suzerainty. This would become a serious matter towards the end of the 19th century when the mass infux of European settlers put the local economy under pressure. Being deprived of their best pastureland, and specifcally of the precious winter grazing, Qazaqs started to move east into Chinese territory where the massacres among the Oyrats had created a population vacuum (Benson & Svanberg 1988). In succeeding waves, far into the early and mid-20th century, hundreds of thousands of Qazaqs, feeing land seizure by Russian settlers, forced collectivisation and subsequent famines, moved to northern Xinjiang, which now hosts the largest community outside of Qazaqstan with some 1.5 million individuals (Svanberg 1999). The Qazaqs in Mongolia in their majority originate from these groups. The frst crossed the border from Xinjiang – which was not an international one by that time – during the 1860s to settle along the banks of the upper Khovd River (Pozdneyev 1893; Carruthers 1913; Grumm-Grzhimaylo 1914/1930; Nyambuu 1992). This movement continued back and forth well into the 20th century. Apparently, the newly independent government in Ulaanbaatar did nothing to prevent this but, on the contrary, granted the Qazaqs the right to settle down. In fact, some groups settling in Xinjiang were reportedly invited to utilise grasslands in southern Khovd-aymag as late as the 1940s (Szynkiewicz 1987). It may only be speculated why this was the case but, as I have argued earlier, the tensions between local Oyrats and the government headed by Khalkha-Mongols may have had a role in this. Qazaqs, as long-term opponents of the Oyrats, were potential allies to thwart any separatist movement in the far west (Finke 1999, 2004). By 1956, the percentage of Qazaqs in Mongolia had increased to 4.3 per cent of the total population and until 1989 it had reached – mainly due to higher birth rates – 5.9 per cent or 130,000 individuals (BNMAU 1990: 1; Nyambuu 1992: 24). Qazaqs thus became the largest minority in the country, and still are in spite of the large-scale emigration. Most of them settle in the westernmost aymag of Bayan-Ölgiy, where they constitute some 90 per cent of the population, as well as in neighbouring Khovd. Outside of western Mongolia, several thousand live in the capital of Ulaanbaatar and in industrial towns such as Darkhan and Erdenet (BNMAU 1990: 1). Also among the coal miners in

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Nalaykh many have been Qazaqs in the past. Others had been recruited as herders to the central and eastern provinces of Mongolia where there was a shortage of labour in the pastoral sector during socialist times. Most of them, however, have in the meantime moved to Qazaq-dominated regions within Mongolia or left the country for good. While the overall number of fve to six per cent of the population may sound small, the fact that Qazaqs are the largest minority and the one most distinct in terms of language and religion has always awarded them a special status in the country. And except a few intellectuals in Ulaanbaatar, I rarely heard any complaints about political or economic discrimination. Rather, Qazaqs were the only minority enjoying some degree of cultural autonomy with TV programs, newspapers, and school instruction in their own language. The city of Ölgiy hosts a theatre and music hall for events in Qazaq. Public signs are usually bilingual or only in Qazaq. And the local governors for most of the time were ethnic Qazaqs who could also be found at higher levels of the administration. In contrast to the situation in the Soviet Union, however, there existed no formal structure of autonomy in ethnic minority regions in Mongolia. There were several members of parliament and even a few ministers during socialist times (Sanders 1987). Many economic and political organisations, such as the National University in Ulaanbaatar, had a Qazaq vice-president, although the frst man was usually a person of Mongol ethnicity (Finke 2004). Also in economic terms, Qazaqs did not differ greatly from other segments of society. Among the rural population, there is relatively little specialisation in ethnic terms. The majority is in one way or another engaged in pastoralism, although Qazaqs always formed a higher proportion among the farmers. In fact, Qazaqs in Mongolia have the reputation of being hard-working and provided a signifcant part of the industrial and mining labour force in the country. This is a striking difference from Qazaqstan where this was pretty much a monopoly of Russians and other Europeans (Olcott 1987). Also, in terms of higher education, Qazaqs in Mongolia were not discriminated and many of them participated in exchange programs within the socialist world.

Khovd-sum: history and population Of all the aymag in Mongolia, Khovd is the one particularly famous for its ethnic heterogeneity. And within the province, each group has specifc districts assigned to them. In the case of Qazaqs, this is the Khovd-sum where they form the overwhelming majority of the local population. Larger communities also live in Buyant, Erdenebüren, Bulgan, and Üyench, as well as in the provincial capital, where they dominate one of the eight sub-divisions that make up the city. Other groups in Khovd-aymag include Torguud, Dörvöd, and Ööld, who all played some role in the history of the Oyrat empires, as well as Uryankhay, in the high-altitude central parts, and Khalkha, primarily in the eastern parts of the aymag. In recent years, the memory of the Oyrat rulers has been actively revived in the city and monuments have been built for two of the most locally admired

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protagonists, Galdan Boshigt (1644–1697) and Amursana (1723–1757), in the centre of town.2 Khovd-sum is located in the north-western corner of the aymag and in the immediate vicinity of the city. With a territory of some 2,800 km2, it is slightly bigger than the state of Luxembourg or roughly the size of the Swiss canton of Ticino. For Mongolian standards, this is a rather small district. The sum has natural boundaries to the north and east where the rivers of Khovd and Buyant draw physical borders towards the districts of Myangad and Buyant. In the west and southwest, except for a few horse paths that are occasionally used during summer, the Khökh-Serkhiyn-nuruu, a mountain range with peaks around 3,800 m running parallel to the main ridge of the Mongolian Altay, forms an almost impassable barrier towards Bayan-Ölgiy. It is only in the north-west toward Erdenebürensum, with which it shares an extended semi-desert lowland, that the district does not have any natural boundaries. Located in-between the districts of Buyant and Khovd is the territory of the provincial centre. Originally built entirely to the east of the river, that is to say, within Buyant-sum, in recent years the town has begun to expand into the territory of Khovd-sum where a new satellite settlement is under construction. Prior to the revolution, the territory of Khovd-sum belonged to Tuslagchgüngiyn-khoshuu, which also encompassed most of the contemporary districts of Buyant and Erdenebüren. It would be renamed as Ööld- and later Narankhayrkhan-khoshuu (Rinchen 1979: 18–20; Nyambuu 1992), which is why many of the local Mongols consider it as their genuine territory. By that time, the population consisted mainly of Ööld in the pastoral hinterland as well as Uygur and Chinese farmers along the Buyant River. The latter two groups had been settled here by the Manju since the 18th century to provide the nearby fort at Khovd with agricultural products. Apparently, the sum territory also hosted a number of Uryankhay families in the mountain areas, as well as in neighbouring Bayan-Ölgiy. They may have been the majority population at some earlier point but were gradually pushed back since the early 18th century when Galdan Khan had garrisoned a group of Ööld here (Nyambuu 1992: 104ff.). Already by the late 19th century, there had been small groups of Qazaqs in and around the city of Khovd, as reported by Pozdneyev (1893: 203ff.; cf. also Grumm-Grzhimaylo 1914/1930). But apparently, they all left again, and the current population does not trace its origin back to that period. All people interviewed mentioned the 1920s to 1950s as the time their families came here, either from neighbouring regions of Bayan-Ölgiy or directly from Xinjiang. A few families also originated from Eastern Qazaqstan, then already a Soviet republic. In the early years, many of the Qazaqs were rather poor, working as hired labourers on the felds of the Uygurs. A few worked as shepherds for rich Mongol herders, but there were also some wealthy Qazaq pastoralists who had come from Bayan-Ölgiy in search of grazing grounds. But especially those families that would become the nucleus of the future agricultural brigade were mostly poor. In 1946, Khovd-sum was created as a separate entity and – in spite of the vicinity to the provincial capital – originally attached to Bayan-Ölgiy-aymag,

A portrait of Khovd-sum

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presumably because it already hosted a Qazaq majority at that time. The sum then encompassed only the western mountainous half of the territory. It was not until the 1950s that it obtained its current shape and at the same time was transferred to Khovd province, “to respond to a demand by the local working class” (Kh.S.T. 1980: 6). When collectivisation efforts resumed during the late 1950s, the majority of Uygur and Dungan farmers left for China while the bulk of the Mongolian pastoralists moved to town and abandoned herding. Why so many of the local Mongols decided to settle down remains unclear. Some reported that the Ööld of this area were particularly rich and not willing to continue herding their confscating livestock, but no written evidence was available for that. In any case, during this time, the Qazaqs became the local majority and also the ones to take over most of the now collectivised herds. By the late 1980s, they formed close to 90 per cent of the sum population with some remaining Mongol and Uygur families making up the rest. Of the Chinese, only three families of Dungans had stayed. Being Muslims as well, they have given up their native Chinese dialect and assimilated into local Qazaq society. In fact, the few Dungans in Khovd-sum had all become pastoralists but mostly left for Qazaqstan in the mid-2000s. No traces of the Uryankhay have remained. Presumably, they moved to neighbouring Duut-sum where they form the majority of the population today. With the end of socialism, the demographic situation changed again. As the urban population was particularly affected by the economic downturn in Mongolia, many city-dwellers decided to go back to the countryside to take up a pastoral lifestyle again (Müller 1995). This was also true for people from the aymag-centre, many of whom moved into the surrounding sum. During the early 1990s, approximately 50 Mongol families – as well as some Qazaqs – resettled to Khovd-sum, most of whom originated from here. As they were, and in their majority still are, registered in the city, their number is not refected in the offcial statistics of the sum. Most of them had been state employees during socialist times. Some began to engage in petty trade but were soon outcompeted by more professional representatives in the business. Not registered are also those families only seasonally settling on the territory of Khovd-sum, in their majority Mongol herders from neighbouring districts. In average years, these amount to approximately another 50 households, although this is to a certain degree balanced by pastoralists from Khovd-sum who seasonally graze outside its territory (cf. Chapter 5). Most important for the future demographic development, however, has been the beginning migration to Qazaqstan. This opportunity arose exactly when socialism came to a standstill in 1991. Before that, relations had not been very intensive. A few people had studied in places like Almatı or Qarağandı, but most had never seen the place before the frst wave of migration set in. And hardly anyone had traceable kin relations there. As the literary language and the corresponding script were adopted from Qazaqstan, this was also a source of some of the schoolbooks and other publications. Much of that was, however, produced locally in Bayan-Ölgiy. It was only with migration that Qazaqstan became a point of reference and also a model for social and cultural patterns to be imported. At

36

A portrait of Khovd-sum

the same time, relations with Ulaanbaatar declined as people now preferred to send their kids to Qazaqstan for studying, as this would make them ft for the job market there in case of a family’s later migration. The decision to migrate was very much supported by the Qazaqstanian government that had issued an offcial invitation for the diasporas worldwide to come home and help build up the new independent statehood. This promised everyone with proven Qazaq ethnicity, usually recorded in people’s passport or ID card, to come at any time, and to help them settle down. Such a policy had its origin in the delicate ethnic balance in Qazaqstan where, at the time of independence, Russians and other Europeans formed roughly half of the population (Finke & Sancak 2005; Kuscu 2008, 2012; Diener 2009; Finke 2013; Genina 2015). And indeed, as of today, the proportion of Qazaqs has been rising from some 40 per cent to over 70 per cent within a matter of three decades. In addition, being considered more traditional in respect to language and religion, in contrast to the strongly Russifed local population, the returning diasporas were also expected to make the country more Qazaq, culturally speaking. In the early days after the initial call, the community in Mongolia was the most responsive one, attracted by the imagined opportunities in Qazaqstan in contrast to the devastating economic situation they faced at home. Migration took place in several waves, corresponding to periods of economic booms and crises in both countries. During the frst wave, between 1991 and 1994, an estimated 57,000 Qazaqs, or roughly 40 per cent, left Mongolia. From Khovd-sum, an equivalent of 400 families, or some 2,000 individuals, emigrated during this period. What is striking is that it was primarily sedentary families and farmers who chose to migrate after they lost their jobs and privileges associated with a settled life during socialism, while pastoralists in their majority decided to stay (Finke 2004). Upon arrival, however, things looked very different and life in Qazaqstan proved to be a far cry from the expectations people had. As the country was going through an economic crisis as severe as in Mongolia, it was particularly diffcult for the new arrivals to gain a foothold, and many felt socially excluded. In addition, most people in Qazaqstan thought of their brethren from Mongolia as rural and backward, which made life not any easier. Offcially, they were assigned the status of returnee, or oralman in Qazaq, and over the years this turned into a hereditary and quasi-ethnic category, which prompted the government to replace it by the more inclusive qandas (literally “bloodfellow”). To make things worse, most were settled in the northern provinces, dominated by Russians, Germans, and Russian-speaking Qazaqs, to make up for the population loss due to the out-migration of those of European descent. As important was presumably to pre-empt claims on the northern provinces by nationalists from Russia by making them more Qazaq. The diffculties encountered in Qazaqstan caused the frst emigration wave to stop by 1994. A smaller return movement to Mongolia set in, which brought back some 10,000 Qazaqs countrywide, with corresponding fgures also for the Khovd-sum. However, a return to Mongolia proved equally diffcult and ended again two years later. It was an option only for those who had either left livestock

A portrait of Khovd-sum

37

in someone’s custody or were sure to receive suffcient support by kin and friends for a new start. For almost ten years, there was little movement in either direction except for individual cases, such as for family reunifcations or young men trying their luck. In the meantime, also the procedure in Qazaqstan had been formalised. A quota system stipulated annual numbers of people per state of origin in order to better be able to accommodate them. The respective fgures had been rising over the years, refecting the economic boom in Qazaqstan, and so had the fnancial support for the migrants. Those who left in the 2000s reported to have received US$600 per person. In addition, the elderly were eligible for a small pension. People could enter Qazaqstan also without being included in the quota program, should they be able to prove their ethnicity, but would not get support by the state in that case. Being dispersed among a largely Russian-speaking population, many changed residence in Qazaqstan several times. And soon a process of concentration set in according to the place of origin. By the mid-2000s, people from Khovd-sum had in their great majority resettled at two spots, one in Aqsuw district of Pavlodar province, and one in and near the city of Temirtaw, in Qarağandı province in central Qazaqstan. In Aqsuw, there are villages where the absolute majority of the population is made up of migrants solely from Khovd-sum, in one case close to 200 families in just one settlement. This points to a strong sense of belonging to the place of origin and social bondage. As a negative effect, it decreases the need to engage much with the rest of the population. Many of those who moved in later years have barely learned more than a few words of Russian, still very much the lingua franca in northern Qazaqstan (Finke 2013). But such hesitation does not make them look any better in the eyes also of local Qazaqs who are, on the contrary, often annoyed by the migrants’ claims of being preservers of genuine traditional culture. Qazaqstan became an attractive destination again only with the incipient economic boom after the turn of the century. Especially between 2003 and 2007, once more hundreds of families sold their property and left the Khovd-sum for good. This second wave ended around 2010 when the government in Qazaqstan suspended its fnancial support program for the integration of qandas. Luckily, the stop of monetary support coincided with a gradual economic recovery in Mongolia. Still, people were aware that the future is anything but certain and that one has to take into account the requisites for a possible life in Qazaqstan. The option of moving remained a dominant topic of conversation during all those years. By 2018, the situation had changed again. Signs of a new wave of moving emerged and this time it was the young generation. A new program set up by the government of Qazaqstan was to attract students from among the diasporas by granting them to study for free during a preparatory year and then receive a stipend should they pass the university entry exams. As the educational system in Mongolia does not provide any grants, this is very tempting. In summer 2018, out of 42 children graduating from high school in Khovd-sum, 40 decided to go to Qazaqstan to enrol for the preparatory year. Needless to say that this new

38

A portrait of Khovd-sum

scheme, partly replacing the waived quota system, is at the same time a move by the government to integrate the young arrivals better into the national labour market, should they decide to stay. These latest developments have not yet had an infuence on offcial population fgures in Khovd-sum yet. Children who move to Qazaqstan for university are still counted as members of their respective parental household. And many of them returned during the Corona Pandemic where they felt less safe in Qazaqstan. As of today, an estimated 60 per cent of the former Qazaq community has left and the total population of Khovd-sum has dropped by almost 50 per cent since the beginning of the 1990s. The most severe decline was right in the beginning. Between 1991 and 1993, it decreased from 5,715 to 3,650. Due to the re-migration and natural growth rates, population fgures gradually recovered until the mid-2000s, with a peak of 4,917 in 2005, before a new decline set in. The all-time low so far was in 2013 when there were only 3,092 people left. Since then, a consolidation took place and as of 2020 the sum hosts 3,701 individuals (cf. Chart 2.1). Once a rather densely populated district – for Mongolian standards – it is now down to slightly more than one inhabitant per km2. For Qazaqs, the option of migrating also replaced the trend to move to the urban centres within Mongolia (Bruun & Narangoa 2006; Kelley 2019). There are a few families who resettled to Ulaanbaatar, mostly during the 1990s, and there are others who chose to live in the provincial centre in Khovd. But compared to Mongol herders, this was a far less attractive option, and social and economic ties with the national capital are not as intensive. Somewhat surprisingly, the large-scale migration has not yet changed the ethnic composition of the district. In fact, the percentage of Qazaqs has even increased (cf. Chart 2.2). One reason is that population growth continues to be higher among Qazaqs. In addition, some Qazaq families came from neighbouring districts such as Erdenebüren. But more important, the number of Mongols 7000 6000

5715 5371

5212 4750

5000 4000

4443 3975 75 3650

4917 4598 4617

4172 3701 3469 3629 3189 3092 3343

3000 2000 1000 0 1990 1992 1994 1996 1998 2000 2002 2004 2006 2008 2010 2012 2014 2016 2018 2020

Chart 2.1 Demographic changes in Khovd-sum

A portrait of Khovd-sum  39

6

1995

2017

0.4

0.4

5.3

4.2

3.6

88.3

Qazaqs

Mongols

Uygurs

91.8 Dungans

Qazaqs

Mongols

Uygurs

Dungans

Chart 2.2 Ethnic groups in Khovd-sum

– at least those who settle permanently in Khovd-sum – has not increased during the last 20 years. Quite the opposite is true. One reason is that Mongol pastoralists from outside hesitate to join Qazaq-dominated areas such as Khovd-sum. And due to the heavy losses of livestock during the recent jüt, there was also less demand for finding new pastures. At the same time, the attraction to leave the cities has vanished so that the overall number of pastoralists has not been growing anymore. And, finally, those who had come during the early 1990s, with little experience in pastoral management, were particularly affected by livestock losses, and many of them moved back to the city. So did some of the Mongol families who had lived in Khovd-sum all their life, which has reduced the overall number of those officially registered down to around 40 families. There was also no increase in the percentage of Uygurs as they too, alongside with some of the Dungans, joined in the migration to Qazaqstan. In fact, the proportion of Uygurs even shrunk in comparison to Qazaqs, which would indicate that they were indeed overrepresented among those who left the country.

Local Ecology The ethnic and demographic situation just described mirrors the one in many parts of western Mongolia. The same is true for its ecology and landscape, which combines high mountain pastures and lowland desert-steppes, also promoting a very specific type of pastoral mobility. The western parts are occupied by the mentioned Khökh-Serkhiyn Range. Its upper levels have been turned into a national reserve that harbours populations of snow leopards, mountain goats, and the Marco-Polo Sheep. Apart from the peaks, the high altitudes, 2,000 m and

40

A portrait of Khovd-sum

above, are mostly wide and gentle as they have been covered by glaciers in the past. In summer, they provide excellent grazing, dotted with fowers and small streams for focks to drink from, while the lower parts of the same valleys – where water supply is less secure – are often used in winter when there is suffcient snow. Moving downhill the landscape becomes craggier before it gives way to open steppes and semi-desert in the central part of the sum. Most of these are on altitudes of 1,300–1,600 m and serve primarily as spring pastures. The dry lowlands to the north-east, fnally – still at around 1,100–1,200 m – are used primarily in autumn, some also as combined winter-spring campsites. Nearby are the most important agricultural areas, along the lower course of the Buyant River. Besides the Khovd and the Buyant, there is only one more river within the sum territory deserving such a label, namely the Dund-Us (or Sarı-Bulaq in Qazaq3), which collects much of the waters foating down from the mountains before it runs dry east of the district centre named for it. Other than that, there are springs and rivulets, some of which only carry water during spring and summer. At this time of the year, they occasionally overfow their banks after heavy rainfall, sometimes causing the drowning of animals. In the mountain areas, there are also a couple of freshwater lakes while those in the plains usually contain high levels of salt. For much of the central and lowland pastures, wells are therefore the only source of water. In winter, those families staying in the mountains mostly rely on snow while further downhill wells or rivers have to be broken up as they all freeze for nearly half of the year, from December until April. Weather conditions in Mongolia are harsh, even compared to other parts of Central Asia. Characterised by a continental climate with cold winters, mild summers, and short transitional seasons, they pose great challenges for human adaptation. This is true also for the western areas, although Khovd has somewhat milder winters than other locations. Still, the annual mean temperature is around zero in the plains, and in January may reach −40°C and below. In summer, they can reach similar fgures on the positive. To make things worse, great fuctuations and high seasonal as well as daily amplitudes are constant features of the climate. On any given day, temperatures may rise or fall by 20° and more (Murzaev 1954). Climate data from the local and national administrations indicate a gradual increase in temperatures over the years. While a report from the 1980s asserts a long-term annual average of −0.2°C for the city of Khovd, more recent fgures fuctuate between 0.2°C in 2011 and 3.4°C in 2017, with more or less regular ups and downs (Kh.A.U.A.E. 1987; MSY 2020: 286). Temperatures peak in July, which shows an average of 18.9° over the years, while the corresponding fgure for January, the coldest month, is −25.2° (cf. Chart 2.3). This is true in a similar way for precipitation. The recorded long-term rates for Khovd are around 120 mm per year and even the highest peaks of the Mongolian Altay receive little more than 300  mm on average. This seems not to have changed much over time (Kh.A.U.A.E. 1987; MSY 2004: 289).4 Annual fuctuations, however, are high. The lowest amount during the last ten years is reported for 2017 with merely 74 mm precipitation while in 2013 it was 175 mm (MSY 2020: 287). Low amounts are coupled with regional and local variations, making

A portrait of Khovd-sum

41

40 30 20 10

be r

em

be r

ec

D

ov em

ob er

N

ct

be r

O

m

Se

pt e

ug us t A

Ju ly

Ju ne

ay M

pr il A

y

ch ar

M

br ua r

Fe

Ja

nu ar

y

0 -10 -20

Precipitation (mm)

Temperatures (Celsius)

-30

Chart 2.3 Average temperatures and precipitation in Khovd city

things even less predictable. Most of the rain falls from June to August, and then often in the form of storms so that a major part of the annual precipitation may concentrate on a few days. Winters in the lowlands see very little snowfall in average years, which is very important for pastoral management, as will be shown in Chapter 5. Crucial, in fact, is spring. While winters pose challenges due to cold temperatures, occasional blizzards, and lack of new pasturage, the most diffcult period occurs a few months later when the young animals are born. At this time, the herds are already weakened and more vulnerable to the frequent storms and the continuing lack of fresh grass. Solid shelters for the animals for the night and during bad weather conditions are essential now. Even more dangerous is rapid changes in temperatures, which happen frequently. Often, the frst warm days cause the bit of snow to melt but can quickly be followed by frost again, which turns the water into ice covers on the grass, in the worst case making it impossible even for horses to destroy. Spring is also when humidity drops lowest and may go down to 20 per cent (Ündesniy Atlas 1990: 69ff.). Beginning in May, the steppes and deserts turn green awhile before the plants start to dry up again in autumn, remaining as standing fodder throughout the cold seasons. What is positive, compared to other steppe regions in Central Asia, is that due to the altitude and low temperatures the rate of evaporation is also less.

42

A portrait of Khovd-sum

Summer is a period of abundance in the mountains, but there is little to enjoy in the lower lying areas. The plains are then not only very hot but also plagued by myriads of mosquitoes so that most families, even those practising agriculture, move uphill where temperatures are moderate and vegetation plentiful. The green pastures in most years provide ample fodder for the herds and water sources are usually nearby. In the alpine regions, however, snow may occasionally fall until mid-June and start again in mid-August. When this happens, people start to return to the lowlands where they spend their autumn. This is a period of warm and pleasant climate, called altin namar (“golden autumn”) in Mongolian. Temperatures are mild, precipitation is little, and, in contrast to spring, storms are rare. The sky is very clear and at night covered with stars, also due to the distance to larger settlements. On a full moon, one can walk in the open without additional forms of light due to the lack of artifcial illumination. By November the latest, things begin to change again and the frst days of freezing signal the arrival of winter. During this season, average temperatures settle between −20° and −25°. Blue sky and the lack of severe winds or storms, however, make life bearable for humans and animals. In spite of the temperatures, the soil usually does not freeze due to the aridity. Characteristic for winter are inversions where temperatures drop the lowest in open basins while the mountain valleys provide better conditions for men and animals (Murzaev 1954). This is important for the annual grazing cycles as will be described later. Refecting the climatic conditions, vegetation is scarce. Most of it is feather grass (stipa), occupying up to 80 per cent of the rangelands in the region. In-between there grow various herbs, which give the pastures a unique smell, especially after rainfalls. Types and densities vary across the territory with the mountain areas being praised for the superior quality of their pastures. But grasslands used in spring or autumn have their own virtues with the advantage of being free of snow for most of the year. Herders thus take advantage not only of climate conditions in different altitudes throughout the year but also the variations in vegetation. Some of these are species-bounded, like the alpine region above 2,500 m used by yaks throughout the year, while others are seasonal and can be grazed by all types of livestock (Ündesniy Atlas 1990: 171). As is true for most parts of Mongolia, there are hardly any trees. The main exception is along the lower course of the river Khovd, which is covered by riverside woodland, mostly willows. Moreover, there are small groves or individual larch trees scattered throughout the landscape, but nowhere do they form a characteristic feature of the landscape. In the eastern lowlands, there are extended areas covered with khargana bushes (Caragana sp.), where camels and goats feed. Khargana, or qarağan, as it is called in Qazaq, is also used for cooking and as fuel in winter. These ecological circumstances have always put pastoralists, but also farmers, at high risk due to fuctuations, culminating in the mentioned natural calamities. Herders distinguish different types of jüt, due to either low temperatures, extreme aridity, or exceptional quantities of snowfall that prevent animals from fnding fodder (Murphy 2011). Typically, jüt happen every few years and to deal

A portrait of Khovd-sum

43

with them is part of any good pastoral management to keep the losses in reasonable numbers. One is the preparation of hay reserves, but this is suffcient only for emergencies due to a limited labour force and vegetation. As mentioned, recent years saw a conspicuous accumulation of jüt within a short period of time, which made people afraid of a more fundamental change in nature. Particularly diffcult were three consecutive winters from 1999 to 2002 and, most severe, the one in 2009/2010. Some were preceded by poor summer conditions when low levels of rainfall caused a lack of suffcient pastures. Winter set in early, by the beginning of November, and with unusual amounts of snow. In combination with low temperatures, this created a permanent barrier for animals to reach the grass. Temperatures also dropped to extraordinary lows of −45°, which further weakened livestock to the degree that they often were not able to graze anymore. Perishing set in very quickly at this stage and some herders lost half of their livestock in a matter of days. Others were luckier, which seems to have been related to sometimes subtle differences in local climates and landscape, or closeness to the market to sell one’s animals in time, even if prices were rather low due to oversupply at that time. The sum hosts small populations of game, which are protected by means of the mentioned Khökh-Serkhiyn national park. The snow leopard as well as the wild goat and sheep species (called yangir and argal’ in Mongolian) are all severely endangered and hunting is strictly forbidden. In all the years I have visited the area, I never heard or have seen any signs of this rule being disregarded. What is hunted are wolves, foxes, rabbits, and marmots. As for wolves, they pose a threat to the herds and are thus seen as enemies. However, systematic hunting no longer exists as it used to during socialist times, and consequently their number has since increased. Some herders also claim that wolves perform an important function as they kill the weak and potentially ill animals. The same is true, to some degree, for foxes that are, however, hunted primarily for their fur. Nowadays, very few people use trained eagles for this purpose, a tradition that was much more widespread 20 years ago, and still is in neighbouring Bayan-Ölgiy where it became a major tourist attraction. Rabbits and marmots are also consumed, the latter, however, rarely by Qazaqs as their meat is forbidden according to Muslim food taboos. Still, some people eat them and they are very popular among Mongols. People also hunt marmots for their fur, which is traded to Russia.5 Swans and geese populate some of the rivers and lakes but are rarely used for human consumption as is the case with fsh, traditionally not part of the diet of both Qazaqs and Mongols.

Settlements, administration, and infrastructure These ecological features have engrained themselves in very unique ways not only in the natural but also in the social environment. Flying over Mongolia, the frst thing one sees, in addition to endless seas of grass and sands, are small white spots dotted across the landscapes. This is the traditional homestead of the nomads, the yurt. Warm in winter and pleasantly cool in summer, it is maybe one of the

44

A portrait of Khovd-sum

greatest architectural achievements of mankind, perfectly adapted to local conditions. Based on a wooden frame and covered with layers of felt, it is easy to erect and dismantle within an hour or two. The yurt, called ger in Mongolian and üy (or kiygiz üy) in Qazaq, is the very basis of the needed mobility, combined with a reasonable degree of comfort. As other districts, Khovd-sum is internally divided into bag, the brigades of socialist times (cf. Table 2.1). These are distinguished primarily by profession and location, and numbered from outside towards inside. Bag 1, 2, and 3 refer to the pastoral lands of the district, with the third one taking up the central parts while the others form the outer edges. The fourth bag is equivalent to the agricultural land along the River Buyant and the ffth identical to the sum-centre (cf. Map 1.1). Each bag also has a name, although more often they are referred to by their respective numbers. Equally, the central village is never addressed as Dund-Us, but people go to the sum, as they go to the aymag or “the city”, when referring to Khovd or the capital of Ulaanbaatar, respectively. Boundaries between the bag are of limited meaning and have been agreed upon internally. Their prime function is to give justice to the need for seasonal pastures throughout the year and thus include mountainous territories as well as lowlands. But in some cases, they do so only imperfectly, and territories may be used jointly or in exchange. Since the 1990s, some boundaries have changed consequently. Most signifcantly, the territory of the third bag, which used to be short of adequate summer pastures, was extended westward to include some high-altitude areas to account for the fact that its herders have accumulated more and more small stock over the years. There is, however, no strict enforcement, and especially members of the fourth or ffth bag may settle on territories of other units throughout the year. Equally, pastoralists may permanently move into the agricultural areas or settle down in the district centre without necessarily changing their administrative affliation. Others have seasonal campsites in different bag. Internally, the three pastoral bag were earlier sub-divided into two sections or kheseg each, but these have no meaning today.

Table 2.1 Administrative structure of Khovd-sum bag

Mongol name

Qazaq name

English equivalent

1 2 3 4 5

Bayan-Bulag Tsagaan-Burgast Baruun-Salaaa Ulaan-Buraa Dund-Us

Bayan-Bulaq Aq-Tal Baruun-Salaa Qızıl-Tal Sarı-Bulaq

Rich spring White willow Western branch Red willow Middle Water (Yellow Spring in Qazaq)

a Until 1995, the third bag was called Ulaan-Khargana (Qızıl Qarağan), named after the dominating landscape in its lowland part. Baruun-Salaa, by contrast, refers to one of the larger mountain valleys in the bag. This change is signifcant insofar as the lowlands of the bag are in winter of a mixed population, harbouring most of the Mongol camps in Khovd-sum. BaruunSalaa, by contrast, is very Qazaq, at least during winter.

A portrait of Khovd-sum

45

Larger human settlements are rare and permanent ones are even less common. Within the Khovd-sum there is only one noteworthy, namely the district centre, a village of nowadays some 1,000 inhabitants. Dund-Us is located at 1,750 m, and some 30 km, or a one-hour drive, from the provincial capital. Founded only after the sum had come into existence, it harbours the school and a small hospital, the local administration, a number of shops, and one recently opened restaurant – with some rooms for overnight stays in the same building that I have never seen occupied. There is also a kindergarten, a police station, a bank, and a post offce as well as a, not too frequently visited, mosque in the settlement. In the fnal days of socialism, a huge cultural centre was built but never properly put into use. A few rooms host the local library while others are utilised for special events and ceremonies. There is one petrol station, a rather fancy new one built in 2018, a public bath, and on the edge of the settlement a stadium used for wrestling competitions and award ceremonies at weddings or the Qazaq New Year celebrations of nawrız (cf. Illustration 2.1). Outside of Dund-Us, there are two more fxed settlements in the pastoral regions, namely the centres of the frst and second bag, Bayan-Bulag and Tsagaan-Burgast. They are each located close to the bag’s spring pastures, as this is the most critical period of the year. Both have very few families residing there and even fewer doing so throughout the year. The third bag has its administrative building in Dund-Us after its former centre in Ulaan-Khargana had been abandoned sometime during the 1990s. The settlements in the agricultural area are larger and more permanent, although even here many families leave them for the summer when high temperatures and mosquitoes make these places unbearable. Men then will have to go back and forth to occasionally water the felds and make sure no trespassing takes place. The largest of these settlements, the bag-centre

Illustration 2.1 A view of the district centre Dund-Us (Peter Finke 2014)

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A portrait of Khovd-sum

of Naymin, is seasonally composed of up to 20 households. These numbers vary and during autumn also many pastoralists settle in its vicinity. The sum administration is headed by a governor. He is elected every four years out of the sum council, consisting of 20 representatives, and approved by the provincial governor.6 Each of the fve bag is headed by a chairman who is equally elected by the corresponding council. The last elections brought the Democratic Party (ardchilsan nam) back into power but since 1991 there has been a constant switch back and forth with the former communist party, now relabelled as the People’s Party (ardiyn nam). Apart from this, the administrative body consists of around 20 permanently employed people, including two police offcers on duty. Since the 1990s, fnances have become more and more decentralised in Mongolia, and many of the responsibilities have been delegated to the district level. In addition, Khovd-sum had in recent years a development fund of 250 million tögrög, or around US$100,000 per year, which the central government distributes to local authorities to run its affairs and invest in new services. This was, amongst others, used for maintenance purposes, installing an internet café, and constructing a sidewalk in the centre of the settlement. There are also a few trees planted near the wells to utilise the run-off water. A new sports arena and school building have been planned but both projects have not realised yet. There is also a small heating station powered by coal that supplies public buildings and a few private houses. The school in Khovd-sum was founded in 1947 and originally located about ten kilometres east, in the valley of Zam-Khudag. During the early years, instruction took place in three yurts. The current building was opened in 1985 and today hosts around 500 school children taught by some 30 teachers. This is far less than its capacities would allow due to the out-migration and the fact that many children, among them all those from Mongol families and many Qazaqs of the frst bag, get their primary education in Khovd city. Others prefer the school in neighbouring Buyant-sum, as it is closer to the agricultural felds. In Dund-Us, instruction is in Qazaq for the frst years. From the ffth grade onwards it switches to Mongolian, except for classes in Qazaq language and literature. As everyone in the room uses the latter as their mother tongue, the effectiveness of this rule may vary. But on average, or so they claim, Qazaqs from Khovd speak Mongolian better than those from Bayan-Ölgiy. Language policies in education are not very lamented by people, although it is clearly a disadvantage for later migration to Qazaqstan. Russian and English are taught as foreign languages, but few people can speak either of them fuently. Upon graduation, students have to take an entrance exam that will allow them to enrol at a university. Dropout rates are low these days, after a peak in the 1990s (Finke 2004) because people have come to see a beneft in education again, as they say. Children of rural families stay during class times either with relatives in Dund-Us or in the dormitory located on the school compound. The dormitory is for free, and hosts close to 200 students who also receive meals out of the state budget. This was not the case during most of the 1990s. Back then, families had to deliver two small stock as food contribution for each child in the dormitory. As a supplement, the

A portrait of Khovd-sum

47

sum administration donated a certain number of animals each year. It also allocated fuel for heating out of its tight budget. As this was not suffcient, teachers were responsible for growing some potatoes and vegetables, and each autumn before classes had to take a few days off to collect khargana to heat the school building and the dormitory, just as they had done during the early socialist days (Finke 2004). The sum-centre also harbours a small hospital, offcially called a health centre, with some 25 physicians and nurses. For those in need, there are a few beds to stay overnight. Besides that, each of the fve bag has a physician who occasionally visits patients at home. If more serious treatment is needed, people will be transferred either to Khovd or directly to Ulaanbaatar. Usually, this has to be organised by the patients and their families, as the hospital lacks the necessary facilities to do so. There is public health insurance to which people have to contribute half of the fees (the rest being paid by the state or the employer) and then receive, at least ideally, treatment and medication for free. Besides human medicine, Dund-Us also provides basic veterinarian services. This, however, is not done as systematically and comprehensively as it used to be during socialist times. Nowadays there are only three veterinarians left who receive a small salary from the state to be increased by fees when they travel the countryside more or less regularly for vaccination and other services, including certifcates to enable herders to sell their animals for slaughter. What has developed in recent years is a private transportation system. Six mornings a week, drivers congregate on the central hill, next to the mosque, to wait for customers. Whereas in the 1990s, Russian jeeps were the only type of car around, Korean and Japanese sedans have gradually taken over as they are more economical. Most of them are used cars and have been bought recently, so one has to wait how well they survive the rough regime of western Mongolian steppes. The only regular destination to go to is the market in Khovd and the return is accordingly terminated for the afternoon when shops begin to close. There are no itineraries to Bayan-Ölgiy nor to Qazaqstan from the sum-centre, which have to be organised individually usually from Khovd city. Of course, people also make private arrangements for other occasions, such as when going to a wedding party or moving their yurt to a new seasonal camp. Ulaanbaatar can be reached from Khovd either by airplane or busses that used to make the trip in two to three days and nights on bumpy steppe roads. Since most of the so-called “Millennium Road” connecting the capital with the western provinces has been fnalised, travel time has been cut down to little more than 24 hours. Electricity was a major issue in the 1990s, especially when there was no money to buy fuel for the generator. At times, it was only operating for two hours every weekday afternoon, as a side-effect of a highly popular Venezuelan soap opera, and later other TV highlights broadcasted. This was also the time of the day to get water from the two electric wells in the village. Plans to link the western provinces to the power supply of Siberia have existed for many years and were fnally realised in the early 2000s. Today, electricity is around more or less permanent except during the annual maintenance period sometime in early

48

A portrait of Khovd-sum

autumn or when bills have not been paid in time. This has also changed the furnishing and equipment in the houses, which now often include refrigerators, washing machines, or TV sets. Equally, cooking is often done with electric ovens today rather than on an open fre. In the centre of the settlement, satellites have been put up to receive broadcasts from Ulaanbaatar as well as from Qazaqstan and eventually Xinjiang. Out in the countryside, all yurts have small solar power stations to provide them with basic electricity. These arrived sometime during the early 2000s and allow people to use a light bulb, power a TV set, or recharge their mobile phone. The new consumption patterns also show the frst signs of waste management, or rather the lack of it. Until recently, the amount of garbage was very limited as agricultural and livestock products are easy to dispose of. With ready-made packages of noodles, beer bottles without deposit, and more technical stuff from China, which breaks down quickly, this is becoming a problem. A larger garbage dump is developing a few kilometres to the north of the settlement. But many people simply burn waste in a corner of their courtyard or out in the steppes when leaving a seasonal camp, which may lead to ecological hazards in the near future.

Patterns of social organisation The state and its levels of administrative incarnations are one framework within which people’s life takes place. Another one is the local social fabric and its larger embedding. This distinction is not identical to the one between formal and informal institutions, as both contain aspects of either organisational framework and are often intimately interwoven. At the same time, as bargaining theory would predict, different types and levels of institutions can complement as well as contradict each other, especially in situations of rapid change when their legitimacy is challenged. Individual actors are then expected to try to utilise opportunities and constraints strategically to help them achieve their aims (North 1990; Ensminger 1992). During socialism, as asserted earlier, state-backed regulations clearly became more dominant at the expense of – and partly as a result of concerted attacks on – traditional institutions, in particular those related to kinship, religion, and aristocratic leadership. In the ethnographic literature, Qazaq – as well as Mongol – social organisation is traditionally described as a classic type of lineage system (Hudson 1938; Krader 1963). Each individual, male and female, is a member of a hierarchy of named groups that are genealogically linked by descent in the paternal line. This way all members of society are conceptualised as being ultimately related to each other and their mutual relationship becomes defned by the position they have in this system, that is, the genealogical distance towards each other (Hudson 1938; Finke 2004; Yessenova 2009). At the top of this hierarchy are the three hordes, as they are commonly called in the literature, namely the Bigger Horde (Ulı Jüz), the Middle Horde (Orta Jüz), and the Smaller Horde (Kiši Jüz), each made up of numerous levels of sub-divisions. It is debated whether these formed for any longer period a joint statehood or should better be understood as confederations

A portrait of Khovd-sum  49 of flexibly arranged tribal segments and clans (Olcott 1987; Martin 2001; Finke 2018). The Qazaqs in Mongolia all belong to the Orta Jüz and within that to the clans of Kerey and Nayman.7 Kerey form, with approximately 90 per cent, the overwhelming majority and in some earlier travelogues the Qazaqs in Mongolia have been referred to by that name (Pozdneyev 1893; Iwanowski 1895; Carruthers 1913). Therefore, Nayman – although with more than two million individuals possibly the largest Qazaq clan worldwide – are in the local context usually addressed only by the overarching term and its composing lineages are of limited meaning. In contrast, Kerey as a term is of little relevance, as it does not help much to differentiate people. Instead, people are defined by their membership in one of the twelve maximal lineages, the oneki kerey, not all of which are present in Khovd-sum.8 The largest ones are Šerüwši in the northern parts of Bayan-Ölgiy and Jantekey in its southern regions as well as in Khovd-aymag. Each of these divides into numerous sub-lineages, in the case of Jantekey several hundreds (Altay 1981: 5ff.). Within Khovd-sum, the largest groups are Jantekey and Molqı, although the latter has lost ground as proportionally more of its members moved to Qazaqstan. During the same time, Qaraqas, Jädik, and Nayman increased in size (cf. Chart 2.4). What is also peculiar is that Qazaqs in Khovd-sum do not have an established tribal leadership. Apparently, there were no members of the hereditary aristocracy, the aq süyek (“white bones”), or they did not survive the purges of the 1930s. Rather, the small local groups that arrived had elders, or biy, who took care of internal affairs or the settling of disputes on pastureland. Biy, however, were not hereditary and more resembled types of charismatic leaders (Radloff 1884: 409; Hudson 1938: 60ff.; Krader 1963: 208f.; Martin 2001). With the 1996 2017 350 300

294 297

250

210 181

200 150

5 4

2 0

Chart 2.4 Number of Qazaq families in Khovd-sum by linage affiliation

61

Nayman

14 13

Könsadaq

38

22 24

Sarbas

52

Šıbır-Ayğır

38

Šerüwši

57 55

Jädik

Molqı

0

Jantekey

50

79

Qaraqas

59

Iteli

100

50

A portrait of Khovd-sum

rise of the socialist state, they seem to have lost their role in the community and today no traces of traditional systems of leadership exist. Kinship terminology refects the patrilineal orientation by representing a case of an Omaha system (Krader 1963). Siblings are distinguished by relative age, creating independent terms for elder and younger brothers or sisters, which in fact designate all kinds of kin with the respective age relations. Thus, the term ağa stands for elder brother as well as for younger brother of one’s father, and by extension also any (patrilineal) cousin of the same age relationship. It is also used as a respectful address for elder males who are not related. As will be shown in Chapter 6, this does refect social relationships and mutual obligations to some degree, although in practice people clearly differentiate between biological brothers, and others who are not. Marriage usually takes place during the early twenties for both male and female. Girls may marry as early as 18 or below, but this is a rare case. To what degree that is a socialist legacy is diffcult to establish as there is no data available for earlier periods. In any case, there has been no signifcant decrease since the 1990s, and parents like to see their children fnish school and, eventually, university before. As far as I could observe, spouses fnd each other on their own, sometimes against their parent’s wish, and this equally has not changed during the last 30 years. Throughout my research, I have not heard of any forms of pre-arranged marriages. Polygyny, although permitted by customary as well as Sharia law, has always been rare. To the best of my knowledge, there is no case among persons alive but there have been a few such constellations in earlier decades. Today, it is not only illegal but also conceived as inappropriate socially. Divorce, by contrast, is legal but happens very rarely in rural areas. In the cases I know, usually the wife moved away with the children. Relevant to marriage is the concept of jeti ata, or seven ancestors, the number of forefathers one should know for exogamous purposes. In practice, however, genealogical knowledge is limited and few Qazaqs can trace their ancestry without gaps down to the demanded seventh generation. This is not really a problem because the locally used minimal lineage will do just as well when it comes to marriage rules or kin solidarity. Indeed, for most cases, the restrictions go even beyond the smallest possible unit and take the commonly used category as the reference. Thus, a Molqı would not marry another Molqı. This effectively prevents marriages within 10 or 15 generations in the male line for most of the lineages. Some people claimed that it is possible to marry within the Jantekey, as long as it applies to separate sub-divisions, such as Botaqara and Taylaq, but I never came across such a case. It is equally rare that Nayman marry among each other, although this would be permissible – and is very common in Qazaqstan and Xinjiang. In this case, the common patrilineal ancestor is probably several dozens of generations away. But with some 30 or 40 families, it makes for a locally meaningful exogamous unit, as it seems. Apart from lineage exogamy, other cross and parallel cousins of frst degree are also avoided for marriage. Patrilineal descent and exogamous marriages are combined with ultimogeniture. Elder sons receive their part of the inheritance at the time of marriage,

A portrait of Khovd-sum

51

which is also when they set up an independent household, while the youngest one is supposed to stay and take care of his parents upon reaching age. In return, he will receive a larger part of the family property, including the yurt or house as well as the right to the winter and spring campsites, which are in fact the most precious assets in a pastoral economy. The paternal yurt is referred to as the qara šanğıraq, literally the “black (or original) roof wheel”, and represents the continuation of the household. Other property is inherited more equally among male descendants and each son will get a share to build up his own herd upon marriage. There is thus no more property passed to children at the time of death, except for unmarried sons and daughters who will continue the household with their mother if still alive. The concrete division is the discretion of the parents who may have incentives to keep more for the youngest, as this will also make their own late years more comfortable. But, as a common saying goes, differences should not be too big if one wants to count on the continuous support of elder sons. Daughters usually do not receive a sizeable share of the herd, although they get some animals and other property as dowry. Close patrilineal kin are expected to cooperate and interact on a daily basis, but the family is of the nucleus type in most cases. Upon marriage, all elder sons are supposed to move out of the parental home as soon as conditions allow and to found separate households. They will, in turn, form extended households only after the marriage of their sons, with the youngest one, the kenje, staying. As the heir of the parental yurt, he also represents the continuation of the household. Depending on circumstances, this may also be one of the elder brothers who happens to live in town or holds a better relationship with his parents, but this is considered a deviation, taken up in Chapter 6 again. Besides patrilineal relationships, Qazaqs place great importance on the role of matrilateral kin as well. In practice, however, interaction is rather limited and for many of the families I lived with, in all those years I have never seen them visiting or being visited by their nağašı, as matrilateral kin are collectively referred to. There are exceptions to this, especially when people lack patrilineal kin for one or the other reason. But this is rare and sometimes criticised. The limited meaning of nağašı may be a local phenomenon distinct from other Qazaq-populated areas. When the elder generations arrived in Mongolia, they came mostly in small groups of several brothers at the most. If they had any matrilateral kin around, it was more of a coincidence. Therefore, other categories were more useful to take over these functions and create alliances. This is frst and foremost affnes who are highly important. There are different kinds of affnes, which are also terminologically distinguished. Qayın are those with whom a relationship exists by way of one’s own marriage, such as a fatherin-law (qayın ata). The house of one’s parents-in-law, the qayın jurt, has to be treated with great respect. Especially shortly after the marriage, young men are expected to show up regularly and give hands in case of need. But there is no general hierarchy between “wife-givers” and “wife-takers”, to use a somewhat dated expression, inherent here. Rather, respect and superiority are based on age. Therefore, a brother-in-law will be a person to look up to if he is older, in fact if

52

A portrait of Khovd-sum

he is older than one’s wife, in which case he will be addressed as qayın ağa. By contrast, the husband of a younger sister or cousin is called küyew bala, a son-inlaw, and is also socially in a junior position. Other affne relationships also stress age differences. The younger brother or sister of one’s wife is called baldız (and calls the counterpart jezde). This implies a close relationship but also one where authority rests with seniority rather than patrilineality. A very particular type of relationship through marriage is described by the term baja, which is used by men who have married sisters (or any kind of close patrilineally related females) to address each other. In spite of potential age differences, this is usually a relationship lacking hierarchical elements but one of friendship and mutual support. Baja may also go for drinking parties and make jokes about each other, which would be highly inappropriate towards an elder brother or a father-in-law. This is very different from the equivalents on the female side, the abısın, or wives of several brothers, as their relationship is constrained by potential inheritance disputes. The second type of affnes is quda, which refers to those related to oneself via the marriage of a close kin. Prototypical quda are families whose children have married each other. By extension, quda may also designate any person related with the spouse of one’s patrilineal cousin, uncle, or niece of various genealogical distances. This may include a rather large number of individuals, not all of which are close to each other. But in principle, quda is a relationship of great respect. Especially in the early years of a marriage, mutual visits are frequent and convoyed by the exchange of gifts and generous hospitality. With time – and new quda relations emerging for both parties – these links become less important for practical matters. Qazaqs form the clear majority in Khovd-sum, but they are not alone. Offcially, around 50 Uygur families, implying that the male household head is of that ethnicity, still live here, although many of them have also joined the migration to Qazaqstan. Uygurs have, as mentioned, by and large assimilated into Qazaq society and only few understand or speak their native tongue, which is nowhere used in Mongolia. Marriages are usually also inter-ethnic, except for rare cases. Qazaqs often call Uygurs collectively by the term Sart, which is also used for Uzbeks and other sedentary Central Asian groups. But it does not have the same pejorative meaning as reported for Qazaqstan and Xinjiang (Benson & Svanberg 1988).9 There are none of the Dungan families in the patrilineal line left. While in other regions kinship patterns differ greatly from Qazaqs, this is not the case for the Uygurs in Khovd-sum. Most striking in this regard is the development of a kind of lineage system, which divides the community into Qashgarlıq, Hotanlıq, and Turpanlıq, all terms deriving from the original places that people came from within contemporary Xinjiang. But also kin terms, family structures, and inheritance rules have been adopted from the Qazaqs and do not differ in any signifcant respect. It would, in fact, be surprising if otherwise given the fact that for several generations, most marriages took place with Qazaqs. At the same time, relations with Uygurs in Xinjiang have been effectively interrupted. It was only after 1991 that trips reoccurred. Interestingly enough, this soon abated and

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53

today’s interaction is not very intensive, as is true also for Qazaqs with kin relations across the border. Mongols have different ideas and practices when it comes to social relations. According to the classic literature, the fundamental principles should be very similar to the Qazaqs, except for the greater role of aristocracy in everyday life (Vreeland 1953; Krader 1963). More recently, Sneath (2007) has challenged this view claiming that Mongols (and other Central Asians by inference) never had a descent-based kinship system, and certainly not of a segmentary type, but that the driving mechanism was rather hereditary hierarchies. While I am not in a position to judge the accuracy of his historical reconstructions (or deconstructions) and very much doubt his extensions to non-Mongolian parts of Central Asia, the data from Khovd-sum indeed provides some support to his hypothesis, at least when it comes to present days. Upon inquiry, I was told a few lineage names among the local Ööld, and they were also attached to specifc individuals. But these seemed to have no meaning in everyday life. They would never be mentioned in conversations and even within the small community of 50 households, people did not necessarily know the affliation of each other – which is the case for most of the 3,000 Qazaqs in the region.10 What also differs is family composition and networks. Although youngest sons should also look for their parents upon age in the case of Mongol families, they usually establish separate households after marriage and form merely a more or less permanent herding unit with their fathers. Thus, many households consist only of elderly couple, or indeed of single men or women, while their sons may

Illustration 2.2 A mixed Qazaq-Uygur family near their summer pastures (Peter Finke 1995)

54

A portrait of Khovd-sum

live nearby or not. Also, kinship plays less of a role than in Qazaq ones, and the composition of camps is more fragile throughout the year (cf. Chapter 6). At the same time, it is also more varied with less of a focus on patrilineals. In particular, matrilateral kin seemed to be more prominent. This may be a local peculiarity for demographic reasons. There are so few Mongol families left in the countryside that it would not make much sense to search for excluding criteria for joint residence and cooperation.

Pastoral portraits In the following section, I will introduce some of the main characters in this book, by way of brief ethnographic accounts or condensed portraits of extended families. Each of them represents a particular type of engagement with pastoralism and its combination with other means of livelihood. These, in turn, also have impacts on the way seasonal mobility or social networks are organised. It is obviously not a prerequisite to learning these portraits by heart to follow the general storyline of the book. And, equally obvious, the units of today are not identical to the ones in the early 1990s. In many cases, my initial acquaintances are no longer alive, and a new generation has taken over, most of whom I had earlier known as children or young adults. And among Qazaqs and Uygurs, all families have seen some of their members migrating to Qazaqstan. But taken together, the 13 portraits provide an overall image of the types of pastoral households as well as showing the great variety of circumstances, chances, and adaptation. Admittedly, the naming of the protagonists is rather male-centred – as local convention implicates. Households are, with rare exceptions, named after the oldest man alive. Widows become effective heads after the death of their husbands, who will, however, often continue to be the name-givers until the frst son comes of age. To avoid easy recognition, I have noted the ethnicity of the families but not their lineage affliation, which would not change anything to the respective case. There is no systematic distinction by profession, wealth, or settlement patterns along kinship lines. All these families are or have been members of the third bag, the main research area. Over the years, the offcial size of the bag oscillated between 150 and 170 households. This was, however, never identical to the number of actual economic or residential units. On the one hand, many families exist only on paper and, in fact, are part of a larger household inhabiting one yurt. On the other hand, the registered households were equally never identical to the ones settling in the territory of the bag. People often remain registered in the countryside after a move to town or the sum-centre, while others settle here without becoming a formal member. The effective size of the bag was in most years little more than 100 households plus a few seasonal visitors. The major distinction when it comes to patterns of pastoral management is that between former large and small stock herders, one of the legacies of the socialist period. In the fnal days of the negdel, around 50 households in the third bag were in charge of its sheep and goat population. Another 20 herders took care of cattle, horses, and camels, while up to fve were responsible for yaks,

A portrait of Khovd-sum

55

which defned yet again a different type of seasonal migration, to be described in Chapter 5. The rest of the bag members were administrative personnel, veterinarians, and a few farmers who formed a joint camp with a herding household. At the same time, there were also some herders as well as farmers who settled on the territory of the bag without being offcially registered here. But their number was very low in those days. The great majority of small stock herders was Qazaqs. By the end of the 1980s, this was some 40 households. Most of them have, in the meantime, migrated to Qazaqstan but there are still around 15 of the original households or their descendants who stayed. One of them is Joldas (#1). Already his father had been a shepherd for the negdel, and he had taken over his fock with privatisation when he was in his mid-twenties. One elder brother was also looking after small stock while the youngest went to college and later worked in the local administration. All these families do little agriculture and each of them settles on its own. They follow a rather classic type of moving between mountain areas in winter and summer, midlands in spring, and the plains in autumn. Joldas today belongs to the wealthier pastoralists in the sum but has seen turbulent times with severe ups and downs. Both he and his elder brother had plans to move to Qazaqstan during the early 1990s but eventually decided to stay. Today, the family is one of the least affected by out-migration and only one of four sisters has left Mongolia. Among the second type, large stock herders, Qazaqs made up roughly half of the 20 households in the third bag, or brigade as it was called by then. Most of them had been responsible for cattle but there were also three who had been specialising in horses, and another three in camels. In contrast to sheep and goat herders, they all settled in the lowlands for most of the year and moved uphill only for summer. Today, only a few of the original households are left, although some more have joined from outside the bag. One of the families that have always been around is that of Idırıs (#2). He had been looking after large stock for decades, a job that was also continued by his third son, Äwes, who is now in his early sixties. Seven more brothers took up agriculture or moved to the sum- or aymag-centre. Besides Äwes, only the youngest brother, as tradition demands, also stayed in pastoralism. The family of Idırıs never belonged to the rich herders but made a decent living particularly out of cattle and horses, supplemented by agriculture. Few members of the family, including one of the younger sons and Idırıs’ only brother, have migrated to Qazaqstan. Specialised yak herders formed the third type of livestock management and corresponding seasonal mobility. Within Khovd-sum, all of these were Qazaqs. Most belonged to the second bag plus a few individual families in the third. Yaks demand yet another cycle and prefer mountain pastures throughout the year. Mobility is thus comparatively low. The overall number of yaks has been constantly decreasing, and today Sapar (#3) is one of the few specialised families in the third bag. In fact, his family had been formerly a member of the second bag but due to a re-allocation of pasture areas transferred, or rather were transferred, some ten years ago. Some members of the extended family reside in the sumcentre Dund-Us, while a few others practise agriculture. But this is secondary,

56

A portrait of Khovd-sum

and the family owes its prosperity to their animals, although having lost many during the jüt years. In their case, none of the male members of the family have left for Qazaqstan but some of the sisters and daughters as well as other paternal kin have. Negdel herders had always added their own private animals as well as that of friends and kin to the assigned fock and managed them jointly. But it was only with the transformation that herding other people’s animals developed into a business of its own, and a distinctive type of pastoral engagement. Today, around half a dozen herders in the third bag, Qazaqs and Mongols alike, make a signifcant part of their income by looking for the livestock of other households. In terms of mobility, they resemble that of Joldas because herding is mostly about small stock. One who did so for many years is Azat (#4), now in his late ffties. His father had already been a shepherd to the negdel and had passed over livestock and campsite to him as the only son remaining in pastoralism. His younger and elder brothers have moved to town or taken up agriculture. The family has never been a particularly prosperous one and started with a rather modest number of livestock into the new era. In spite of this, Azat is considered a good herder, and many have entrusted him with their animals over the years. All his brothers are still in Mongolia, but several of the sisters have moved to Qazaqstan with their husbands’ families. Another effect of de-collectivisation was the move of sedentary households to pastoral areas, a type of re-nomadisation, so to speak. This happened also during socialist times when, for example, retired teachers or administrators would seek for an additional income. With the economic crisis in the early 1990s hitting urban areas in particular, such a move became an alternative for many families struck by unemployment and impoverishment. Some would later leave again but others stayed around. Today, some 15 formerly sedentary Qazaq households live in the third bag. Most of them had come from the sum-centre. Their pattern of movement depends on the dominant species in the herd, resembling those of type 1 and 2, but tends to be of shorter distances and lower frequency. One of them is Temir (#5), introduced in the vignette at the beginning of this book. Three of his elder brothers had been pastoralists all their lives while others worked as teachers, drivers, or for the administration of the negdel. Temir himself had been employed at the hay producing enterprise in the province. He entered herding after de-collectivisation when he was in his mid-forties, settling in the vicinity of his elder brothers. As a former state employee, he did not receive livestock during privatisation and it took him a while to catch up. Today, with around 500 animals, most of them goats, he is part of the pastoral upper middle class, even though he lost substantially during the jüt years. None of the family is much involved in agriculture. While Temir himself has not considered migrating seriously, his eldest son lives in Qazaqstan as do many of his siblings and their descendants. Other families have made the opposite move, namely leaving the countryside and becoming sedentary. Most of them lost close links to pastoralism, even if they still own a few animals herded by relatives. There are, however, exceptions

A portrait of Khovd-sum

57

to that. In Dund-Us, around ten families had been herders of the third bag in the past and still have livestock as an essential part of their subsistence basis. One of these is Azamat, the youngest son of Särsenbay (#6). The latter had been a shepherd all his life. When privatisation started, they were settling in one camp with the second brother of three who died some years later. The eldest had moved away many years earlier. After Särsenbay’s death, Azamat gave up pastoralism and today lives in the sum-centre, sustaining on occasional jobs, such as transporting people. He still owns some livestock and takes care to have it herded properly but does not spend much time on it himself. He has not considered moving to Qazaqstan so far, where, however, siblings of his father reside. Settling down is one way of leaving the pastoral sector. Becoming a farmer is another one. This does not have to be a fnal decision and, as will be described later, many families move back and forth between different livelihood activities. But in either case, it impacts their mode of seasonal mobility and economic strategies. Even if the well-being of livestock is still a concern, farming households move less frequently and less distant over the course of a year, often staying at one site for extended periods. Today, there are approximately 15 families – all of them Qazaqs – associated with the third bag, who make their living mainly by agriculture. One is the family of Oktyabr or rather his descendants (#7). Oktyabr had been herding small stock for the negdel and in its aftermath became a moderately successful pastoralist who could support a family, without ever accumulating a number of animals that would make him prosperous. Already in the 1990s, he had been trying to engage in agriculture as a subsidiary activity but had to give up again because his sons were yet too young to be of much help. After Oktyabr’s death in the mid-2000s, the family gradually moved into farming. They still own a few hundred animals together and are doing well these days. None of the sons has left for Qazaqstan where, however, Oktyabr’s younger brother lives. He used to be a little bit better off in terms of livestock numbers but following the last jüt decided to migrate with his family rather than putting his faith in agriculture. Two more types to be introduced represent families that at some point during the last 30 years moved to Qazaqstan. As mentioned, many of those who left during the frst wave faced diffculties in their new home and decided to return to Mongolia. And a few of them became pastoralists again. Today, there are three extended families in the third bag who have spent some years in-between in Qazaqstan. They all rely on small stock as their main subsistence and have taken up a corresponding seasonal cycle, although often lacking appropriate campsites for all seasons. One is the family of Moldabay who is now in his ffties (#8). As Joldas and Azat, he had been a shepherd for the negdel but left during the early 1990s. By that time, I knew him only by name. He turned up again some fve years later and from then on has been steadily expanding a small pastoral enterprise, together with four married sons who all settle with him in one camp. This also allows the family to have one son to focus on agriculture, which, in fact, makes up the bulk of the income of the extended family. As of today, Moldabay has no plans to migrate to Qazaqstan again.

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On the other hand, there are those who left never to come back. For obvious reasons, these families are not in the focus of this book, but their case still deserves attention both for their motives to leave as well as for the impact this had on those who stayed. Over the course of time, almost half of the former residents in the third bag made such a move, so that several dozen families and their descendants nowadays live in Qazaqstan. The case to be introduced is that of Äygerim (#9), the only female-headed household in the sample. With her husband Jampeys, she had been herding cattle and horses during socialist times and for that reason the family wintered in the lowlands of Ulaan-Khargana. By the time I frst met them in 1991, they shared camp with the families of her and his younger brothers, the former being primarily engaged in agriculture. After Jampeys’s death, Äygerim tried to keep the family together. But as the sons were still of young age, this proved a diffcult business. They lost most of their wealth in the years to come and left one by one. Today, only one of Äygerim’s daughters is still in Mongolia. In principle, the same types of pastoral management apply to members of other ethnic groups as well. Differences occur, however, for demographic reasons, historical trajectories, and mutual relationships. Traditionally, Uygurs as well as Dungans had been engaged predominantly in agriculture. During negdel times, a few households turned to pastoralism, some specialising in large stock, others in sheep and goats. Consequently, they also practised different types of seasonal migration. One of three extended families in the third bag is that of Ibragim (#10). His ancestors had come from Xinjiang during the turmoil of the 1940s but left Mongolia again with collectivisation in the early 1960s. Then a young man, Ibragim decided to stay and became a large stock herder. He settled among a majority of Qazaq and Mongol neighbours in the lowland for much of the year. Similar to Idırıs, the family of Ibragim has never been particularly rich in animals but is of moderate wealth due to the diversifcation of economic activities. Today, the eldest son, Saylaw, now in his early sixties, continues the pastoral business of his father. Most of his brothers have moved to the aymag-centre or practice agriculture, as do the sons of Saylaw. A few family members have also migrated to Qazaqstan. The distinction between large and small stock herders is relevant among Mongol pastoralists as well, but there are differences in detail. Among sheep and goat herders, they constituted only a minority of some ten households. And most of them adapted their annual cycle in such a way that they could spend much of the year within the Mongol community in the lowlands. This meant, however, that one or two men of a camp had seasonally to separate and take sheep and goats to the mountain zone. Tsedensüren and his brother Erdenebaatar (#11), today both in their sixties, are one such case. Except for seasonal splits, they have been settling next to each other for many years, sometimes joined by former city-dwellers distantly related to them. Both brothers are considered good herders and have always belonged to the wealthiest in the district. None of them is engaged in agriculture for lack of manpower. They are supported each by one of their sons, while the others have moved to Khovd city. As Azat, the younger

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brother Erdenebaatar has for many years been in high demand as a hired shepherd by Mongols and Qazaqs alike due to his skills and reliability. Another ten Mongol families were herding large stock for the negdel. As their Qazaq and Uygur counterparts, they settled in the lowlands in and around Ulaan-Khargana for most of the year and do so until today. A typical example of this is the family of Nergüy (#12). Himself born in the 1940s, Nergüy had been herding large stock for the negdel all his life. With privatisation, however, the family acquired also greater numbers of sheep and goats, which forced them to adapt to the needs of multi-species herding. They have been moderately successful over the years but lost many animals during the jüt periods, in spite of Nergüy being considered a skilful herder. It is also the only Mongol family who practised agriculture for some years, thanks to the fact that they had several grown-up yet unmarried sons. Later, they had to give up on that after most of the sons moved to Khovd or Ulaanbaatar. As is true for most locals, Nergüy has no close kin living in Khovd-sum but spends most of the year in the vicinity of other Mongols. Finally, there are those Mongol pastoralists who had come from the city of Khovd after de-collectivisation in search of a new subsistence basis. This was at some point in the 1990s, a rather large category of some 20 households, but also one of great fuctuation. As most of them had only few animals, they changed campsites less often and for most of the year followed a similar cycle as former large stock herders like Nergüy. After the latest jüt, the majority gave up and moved back to town. Gankhüü (#13) is one of those who stayed. He had been a teacher in Khovd until his retirement in the early 1990s. Like most former citydwellers, he and his wife lived in the countryside alone while their grown-up children stayed in town. This also did not allow them to do any agriculture. Because they had been state employees, they also did not participate in the privatisation of animals and lived on a rather small herd. For most of the year, they settled among the established Mongol herders, seasonally forming a joint camp with one of them. Following the death of his wife and his own deteriorating health, Gankhüü eventually moved back to Khovd a few years ago.

Notes 1 For population fgures and national statistics, see https://www.en.nso.mn/. 2 For a detailed description of the various Oyrat groups in Mongolia and their areas of settlement, see Nyambuu (1992: 112ff.). 3 Geographical names in Khovd-sum are usually in Mongolian. Some have been translated into Qazaq but in many cases only the pronunciation has been adapted. Thus, Khökh-Ders – named after a high grass common in semi-deserts – becomes Kök-Ders, rather than Kök-Shiy, as the plant would be called in Qazaq (with khöhk and kök denoting blue in both languages). In the mountainous areas, landscapes are usually named after a dominating range or a river that runs through. Contiguous valleys may then be differentiated by size, such as Ikh (great) or Baga (small), or by cardinal direction, e.g., Baruun-Salaa (“western branch”) or Khoyton-Salaa (“northern branch”). Lowlands are often termed for the prevalent vegetation, such as Kök-Ders, Ulaan-Khargana (“red Qarağan”), or Gants-Mod (“single tree”).

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4 See also https://en.climate-data.org/asia/mongolia/khovd/khovd-31008/. 5 Every few years, outbreaks of bubonic plague are reported for Mongolia, and often this refers to the western aymag. The last such case was in 2019, when two people died after having eaten meat from marmots in Bayan-Ölgiy-aymag. 6 All governors in Khovd-sum so far have been male and the same is true for most other positions in the local administration. 7 I have occasionally heard that there are also a few members of the Waq clan in Mongolia but never encountered one personally. 8 In reference to common anthropological terminology, I use lineage for those descent lines people can actually describe, whereas clans are named after remote or mystical ancestors to whom no direct link is traced. Obviously, this distinction is not as precise as it sounds and may change from individual to individual. 9 Uygurs also live in the provincial centre of Khovd where traditionally one street within the Qazaq quarter is named after them as Chantuugiyn gudamj. Analogous to the term Sart, Chantuu is the collective label used by Mongols to refer to Uygurs and Uzbeks alike (Nyambuu 1992). 10 I was reported the following lineages among the Ööld in Khovd-sum: Tsagaan Tug, Baylgas, Khar Khon’t, Tul’ton Buruut, Khar Borgoot, Tayj, Ötgös, Chayves, and Khoton.

Bibliography Altay, Halife. 1981. Anayurttan Anadolu´ya. Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Yayınlari. Bawden, Charles R. 1989 [1968]. The Modern History of Mongolia. London and New York: Kegan Paul International. Benson, Linda, and Ingvar Svanberg. 1988. “The Kazaks in Xinjiang.” In The Kazaks in China: Essays on an Ethnic Minority, edited by Linda Benson and Ingvar Svanberg, 1–106. Uppsala: Uppsala University. BNMAU. 1990. Bügd nayramdakh mongol ard ulsyn niygem, ediyn zasgiyn khögjil 1989 ond: Statistikiyn emkhtgel [Development of society and economy in the People’s Republic of Mongolia: A statistic summary]. Ulaanbaatar: National Statistics Offce of Mongolia. Bruun, Ole, and Li Narangoa. 2006. Mongols from Country to City: Floating Boundaries, Pastoralism and City Life in the Mongol Lands. Copenhagen: NIAS Press. Carruthers, Douglas A. M. 1913. Unknown Mongolia: A Record of Travel and Exploration in North-West Mongolia and Dzungaria. London: Hutchinson & Co. Diener, Alexander C. 2009. One Homeland or Two? The Nationalization and Transnationalization of Mongolia’s Kazakhs. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Ensminger, Jean. 1992. Making a Market: The Institutional Transformation of an African Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Finke, Peter. 1999. “The Kazaks of Western Mongolia.” In Contemporary Kazaks: Cultural and Social Perspectives, edited by Ingvar Svanberg, 103–139. London: Routledge. Finke, Peter. 2004. Nomaden im Transformationsprozess: Kasachen in der postsozialistischen Mongolei. Münster: Lit-Verlag. Finke, Peter. 2013. “Historical Homelands and Transnational Ties: The Case of the Kazak Oralman.” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie (Special Issue on Mobility and Identity in Central Asia) 138 (2): 175–194.

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Finke, Peter. 2018. Ethnicity of Turkic Central Asia. The Oxford Research Encyclopedia of Asian History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Finke, Peter, and Meltem Sancak. 2005. “Migration and Risk-Taking. A Case Study from Kazakstan.” In Migration and Economy: Global and Local Dynamics (Society for Economic Anthropology Monograph Series Vol. 22), edited by Lilian Trager, 127– 161. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press. Genina, Anna. 2015. Claiming Ancestral Homelands: Mongolian Kazakh Migration in Inner Asia. Phd thesis, University of Michigan. Grumm-Grzhimaylo, Grigoriy. 1914/1930. Zapadnaya Mongoliya i Uryankhayskiy kray [Western Mongolia and the Uryankhay District] (3 volumes). St. Peterburg/ Leningrad: Gosudarstvennoye russkoye geografcheskoye obchestvo. Halkovic, Stephen A. 1985. The Mongols of the West (Indiana University Uralic and Altaic Series Vol. 148). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Hudson, Alfred E. 1938. Kazak Social Structure. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Iwanowski, Alexis. 1895. Die Mongolei: Ethnographische Skizze. PhD diss., University of Leipzig. Kelley, Linda R. 2019. Fleeting Hooves? Coping with Uncertainty in Times of Economic Boom and Bust in Contemporary Western Mongolia. PhD diss., University of Zurich. Kh.A.U.A.E. 1987. Khovd aymgiyn uur am’sgalyn emkhtgel [Overview of the climate in Khovd-aymag]. Khovd: Statistical Offce of Khovd-aymag. Kh.S.T. 1980. Khovd-sumin “Taryalan” negdliyn tovč tüükh [Short history of the negdel Taryalan in Khovd-sum]. Khovd: Khödölmör soniny üyldvert khevlel. Kirchner, Mark. 1992. Phonologie des Kasachischen. Untersuchungen anhand von Sprachaufnahmen aus der kasachischen Exilgruppe in Istanbul (Teil 1). Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Kirchner, Mark. 1998. “Kazakh and Karakalpak.” In The Turkic Languages, edited by Lars Johanson and É. Á. Csató, 318–332. London: Routledge. Krader, Lawrence. 1963. Social Organization of the Mongol-Turkic Pastoral Nomads. The Hague: Mouton. Kuscu, Isik. 2008. Kazakhstan’s Oralman Project: A Remedy for Ambiguous Identity? PhD diss., Indiana University. Kuscu, Isik. 2012. “Constructing the Homeland: Kazakhstan’s Discourse and Policies Surrounding its Ethnic Return-Migration Policy.” Central Asian Survey 1 (31): 31–44. Martin, Virginia. 2001. Law and Custom in the Steppe: The Kazakhs of the Middle Horde and Russian Colonialism in the Nineteenth Century. London: Routledge. MSY. 2004. Mongol ulsyn statistikiyn emkhtgel [Mongolian statistical yearbook]. Ulaanbaatar: National Statistical Offce of Mongolia. MSY. 2020. Mongol ulsyn statistikiyn emkhtgel [Mongolian statistical yearbook]. Ulaanbaatar: National Statistical Offce of Mongolia. Müller, Franz-Volker. 1995. “New Nomads and Old Customs: General Effects of Privatisation in Rural Mongolia.” Nomadic Peoples 36/37: 175–194. Munkh-Erdene, Lhamsuren. 2013. “Writing Mongolia Ethnologically: From Ethnological to Ethnic.” Presented at the Conference The Visible and the Invisible: Institutions and Identities in Contemporary Central Asia”. Zurich, Halle: CASCA (Centre for the Anthropological Study of Central Asia), University of Zurich, Max Plank Institute for Social Anthropology.

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Murphy, Daniel J. 2011. Going on Otor: Disaster, Mobility, and the Political Ecology of Vulnerability in Uguumur, Mongolia. PhD diss., University of Kentucky. Murzaev, E. M. 1954. Die Mongolische Volksrepublik: Physisch-geographische Beschreibung. Gotha: VEB Geographisch-Kartographische Anstalt. North, Douglass C. 1990. Institutions, Institutional Change and Economic Performance. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nyambuu, X. 1992. Mongolyn ugsaatny züy: Udirtgal [Ethnography of the Mongols: An introduction]. Ulaanbaatar: Mongolian Academy of Sciences. Olcott, Martha Brill. 1987. The Kazakhs. Stanford, CA: Hoover Institution Press. Pozdneyev, Aleksei. M. 1971 [1893]. Mongolia and the Mongols (Indiana University Uralic and Alraic Series Vol. 1). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Radloff, Wilhelm. 1884. Aus Sibirien: Lose Blätter aus dem Tagebuch eines reisenden Linguisten. Leipzig: Weigel. Rinchen, B. 1979. Mongol ard ulsyn ugsaatny sudlal, khelniy shinjleliyn atlas [Ethnographic and linguistic atlas of the Mongol people]. Ulaanbaatar: Academy of Sciences of the Mongolian People’s Republic. Sanders, Alan J. K. 1987. Mongolia: Politics, Economics and Society. London and Boulder, CO: Frances Pinter, Lynne Rienner Publishers. Schorkowitz, Dittmar. 1992. Die soziale und politische Organisation bei den Kalmücken (Oiraten) und Prozesse der Akkulturation vom 17. Jahrhundert bis zur Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts. Frankfurt/Main: Peter Lang. Sneath, David. 2007. The Headless State: Aristocratic Orders, Kinship Society, and Misrepresentations of Nomadic Inner Asia. New York: University of Columbia Press. Svanberg, Ingvar (ed.). 1999. Contemporary Kazaks: Cultural and Social Perspectives. London: Routledge. Szynkiewicz, Slawoj. 1987. “Ethnic Boundaries in Western Mongolia. A Case Study of a Somon in the Mongol Altai Region.” Journal of the Anglo-Mongolian Society 10 (1): 11–16. Taube. 1996. “Zur gegenwärtigen Situation der Tuwiner im westmongolischen Altai”. In Symbolae Turcologicae. Studies in Honour of Lars Johanson on his Sixtieth Birthday 8 March 1996, edited by Berta, Árpád, Brent Brendemoen, and Claus Schönig, 213–225. Stockholm: Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, Transactions, Vol. 6. Ündesniy Atlas. 1990. Bügd Nayramdakh Mongol Ard Uls: Ündesniy Atlas [Mongolian People’s Republic: National atlas]. Ulaanbaatar, Moskau: Mongolian Academy of Sciences and Academy of Sciences of the U.S.S.R. Vreeland, Herbert H. 1953. Mongol Community and Kinship Structure. New Haven, CT: Human Relations Area Files. Yessenova, Saulesh B. 2009. The Politics and Poetics of the Nation: Urban Narratives of Kazakh Identity. Saarbrücken: Lambert Academic Publishing (LAP).

3

Changing regimes of production and exchange

Introduction It was summer 1996 when I met Tursunbek one day on the market in Khovd. He was a rather poor herder and had heard a few days before that prices for hides had been rising. It took him some time to arrange things before setting forth. Finally, when he arrived in the city, prices had dropped again by 30 per cent. Nobody could tell him why or whether there was a chance for a new rise in the near future. He now had to decide either to take his hides back home and wait for another chance, to hand them over to people in town that would trade them for him (being unable to assess the share they would keep for themselves), or to sell for the lower price of the day. Tursunbek decided on the latter but was deeply unhappy about the deal. Rather than the hoped-for 5,000, he received only 3,000 tögrög (or about eight dollars at that time). This is one of many stories that describe the life of pastoralists in the early days of post-socialism, hampered by unpredictable political circumstances and a dramatic downturn in the national economy. It was a situation that forced people to seek ways to deal with a new scale of risk and uncertainty. Of course, the need to adapt is a constant feature of pastoral livelihoods, strongly dependent on ecological conditions, and very much exposed to seasonal fuctuations. But the diffculties were amplifed by the radical transformation people went through during those days and by extraordinarily high transaction costs due to legal uncertainties and a breakdown of infrastructure. With these challenges, also the corresponding strategies of individual households have changed over time. A key factor was the privatisation process, which included the transfer not only of the means but also of the risks of production from the state to the individual household. In large parts of the former socialist world, this was a period aptly described as one of “muddling through” (Seeth et al. 1998). It forced people to adopt ad hoc strategies that facilitate fexibility and diversifcation but also to act cautiously in view of the new market circumstances. Consequently, the early years saw a partial retreat from trade. With time, however, people gradually adjusted to the idea of the market and developed new entrepreneurial skills on their way.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692-3

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This chapter describes the changes in the institutional confgurations of regimes of production and exchange. It begins with the establishment of a planned economy in early socialist times. Arguably, the grandest experiment in human history of a top-down approach to social engineering, this had tremendous impacts on economic and social organisation. Socialism also brought about a very peculiar structure of incentives, which in the long run proved a heavy burden on effciency. The end to this came with the privatisation process in the early 1990s, which gave rise to a long and painful period of trial and error. It also created winners and losers on the way, partly grounded in the way the means of production were distributed and partly due to the diffculties in developing new channels for trade. Today, the market is the core institution in the national and local economy, and most people try to make the best out of the new opportunities it offers. But in-between, roughly half of the families in Khovd-sum voted for a migration out of the local system for an equally uncertain future in Qazaqstan. The motives and procedures for that have changed over time, as have the impacts a population loss of such size had on the strategies and opportunities, for better or worse, of those who stayed.

Meat and potatoes The range of economic opportunities is limited in Mongolia, and this is equally true for the Khovd-sum. As described in the ecology section, landscape and climate make this a place ideal for extensive pastoralism but allows few other activities. More than 90 per cent of the district is made up of grass and bushlands, which can be utilised at least seasonally. Only the uppermost mountain peaks are covered with rock formations that make grazing impossible. By contrast, the amount of arable land is little more than 1,000 hectares, or some 0.03 per cent of the total territory. Nevertheless, agriculture, trade, and other activities play a greater role than in many of the neighbouring sum, and have done so for some time. And they have gained even more importance in recent decades due to the precarious nature of livestock rearing in times of climate change and the increasing demand for agricultural products, in particular potatoes, on the national market. Pastoralists in Central Asia traditionally rear fve species of livestock, or tavan khoshuu mal, as it is called in Mongolian. These are sheep, goats, cattle, horses, and camels, the latter in the two-humped Bactrian version.1 All are well adapted to the local climate and in particular to the harsh winters. Over the centuries, humans have constantly changed the genetic design of the species by selecting animals for reproduction and still do so today. Considerations of higher yields of milk or wool thereby have to be balanced with the constraints of ecological conditions, demanding sturdiness rather than productivity. And it is also attempted to exchange reproductive animals within and beyond district boundaries to prevent in-breeding. All animals have adapted to an existence guided by humans and, with the possible exception of camels, yaks, and horses, would hardly be able to survive for long without protection. Especially sheep and goats left on their own fall easy prey to predators or get lost on their way.

Changing regimes of production and exchange 65 Livestock numbers show great fuctuations since the early 1990s. In contrast to the general trend in Mongolia, which experienced rising numbers at that time, the fgures for Khovd-sum at frst showed a sharp decline. This was due to the fact that those who left for Qazaqstan usually sold their animals to outsiders because the majority of people considered migrating as well. Only some Mongols and even fewer Qazaq households acquired livestock in greater numbers at that time, as can be seen by the moderate increase in herd sizes in the years to follow (cf. Chart 3.1.). Most were sold to the nearby provincial capital where fgures almost sextupled from less than 20,000 in 1989 to 110,000 animals in 1995.2 People in Khovd city thus were able to build up herds for rather little money. At the height of the frst migration wave, sheep were reportedly often traded for a bottle of vodka (back then the price of one dollar). After a period of recovery, other severe losses happened again with the series of jüt in the early and late 2000s. Livestock numbers dropped to new lows, also because the weakened animals hardly reproduced at all.3 This caused new waves of migration to town, in the case of Mongol herders, or to Qazaqstan. But as the means of production it is, livestock quickly regains in numbers and may double easily within a period of three or four years, especially when the focus is shifted to small stock. This is what happened after the last jüt when overall numbers had dropped down to 75,000 in 2010. Already by 2014, however, the sum again harboured close to 140,000 livestock, the long-time average, and by 2017 this fgure had climbed to almost 200,000 animals. Since then, numbers have slightly decreased. Similar developments happened in other districts of the region (Kelley 2019). Noteworthy is also the change in the overall composition. Sheep, and to a lesser degree goats, have always been the mainstay of Mongolian pastoralism and today together make up roughly 85 per cent of the national herd, some fve 200000 180000 160000 140000 120000 100000 80000 60000 40000 0

1989 1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

20000

sheep

goats

cattle

horses

camels

Chart 3.1 Development of livestock in Khovd-sum by species

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per cent more than at the end of the negdel period (MSY 2020: 702). A similar development is true for the western region, including the Khovd-sum where small stock climbed from 85 to 90 per cent during the same period. Herd compositions differ by wealth, preference, and fortune. Almost half of all households, and the great majority of the less than well-off, have herds where sheep and goats make up more than 95 per cent of the total number of livestock. Some of the poorer households in fact maintain only small stock. To convert those into a few individual cattle or horses would pose a threat to survival in case of sickness or theft. For wealthy herd owners, risk reduction works the other way round. They have, with few exceptions, a more diversifed herd composition and transfer a surplus into large stock, which serves better in case of natural calamities and is easier to care for with limited labour force. Also, the proportion of goats was always higher in Khovd-sum than in other parts of the country and already in 1989 almost matched those of sheep. At that time, 40 per cent of all livestock were goats, twice the national average. After de-collectivisation, they became even more important for the pastoral economy, due to the reliance on the sale of cashmere as the main cash crop. The climax had been in the mid-2000s, when goats accounted for two-thirds of the total fock. Since then, their percentage has slightly decreased, partly because they had been more affected by the jüt. Today, goats constitute close to 60 per cent of the total herds in Khovd-sum.

Illustration 3.1 Herd of horses in the lower summer pastures (Peter Finke 2014)

Changing regimes of production and exchange 67 Among large stock, cattle and horses are grossly equal in numbers, whereas there have always been rather few camels, which applies to most of the mountainous regions in Central Asia. Since the end of socialism, camels have almost disappeared, with their overall percentage dropping from 1.3 to 0.3, although one may occasionally still see herds roaming the lower-lying desert-steppes. Camels are diffcult to maintain and promise little economic benefts at a time when pastoral mobility is decreasing. During the same period, cattle and horses also declined from around seven to three or four per cent of the overall livestock numbers. Roughly, one-third of the cattle have traditionally been yaks but their numbers decreased sharply in the 2000s. Now, a few households start to build up yak herds again, but it is doubtful whether their numbers will fully recover because they seem less proftable on the market and are more capricious to handle.4 There are variations to this general trend. Large and small stock are, to a certain degree, still distributed along the lines set by the negdel administration. Herders like Idırıs (#2), Ibragim (#10), or Nergüy (#12) still own sizeable numbers of cattle and horses, more so, proportionally, as do families who had been shepherds during socialist times. Also, not everyone participated in the rush towards goats and especially among the very rich herders some still own more sheep. Tsedensüren (#11) is one such case, as are the descendants of Temir’s elder brothers (#5). They had all been specialised in sheep already during negdel times and have since worked hard to increase their herds, giving preference to safety and prestige, rather than short-term proft. By contrast, many of those who had been farmers or came from the city, like Gankhüü (#13) or Temir himself, put all their fate on goats for the opposite reason. So is the case with most of the poorer herders, including the descendants of Särsenbay (#6) and Äygerim (#9), before they left for Qazaqstan. At the same time, none of these changes are solely due to natural conditions, to which people respond in different ways. Thus, for example, yaks indeed suffered more from heavy snowfall in the mountains than other cattle because this is their typical habitat throughout the year. At the same time, people apparently cared less about them or gave greater attention to saving their sheep and goats. Economic strategies show a complex mixture of maximising and risk-avoiding motives that depend on both the overall circumstances in a given time and the wealth of the respective household. During the 1990s, to increase herd sizes was believed to be the prime tool to make one ft for the future and to deal with the high uncertainties of an emerging capitalist economy. But it demanded a certain minimum endowment to start with, as will be shown in Chapter 4. Agriculture is the second pillar of the sum’s economy and has become ever more important over the years, at least when it comes to Qazaqs. Almost all is done by way of irrigation. Only the additional hay felds scattered within the grazing areas feed on rainfalls. The main areas for cultivation are located in the plains along the lower course of the Buyant River and are criss-crossed by countless channels (arıq). There is also a small agricultural area approximately fve kilometres east of the sum-centre, along the lower course of the Dund-Us,

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and another near the bag-centre of Bayan-Bulag, along the middle course of the Buyant some 30 km upstream of Khovd city. The former area is used by 15–20 families, who grow potatoes on some eight hectares, while the second one is smaller in size. Within the territory of the second bag, most distant from the rest of the arable lands, one single family had been growing potatoes for almost 20 years near the centre Tsagaan-Burgast. Cultivation has some history in the area and one can see remnants of earlier channels, which have been abandoned, presumably due to a change in the river fow. Since the 19th century, the felds along the Buyant were systematically developed to provide the nearby Chinese garrison in the city of Khovd with grain, fruits, and vegetables. For this, mostly Uygur and Dungan farmers from Xinjiang were recruited and settled in ten spots, which for convenience were named as such. Today, the settlements One to Six belong to Buyant-sum while Seven to Ten are located in Khovd-sum, forming the fourth bag with its administrative centre Naymin (“Eight”). They are all surrounded by semidesert pasture areas and the transition between both is often very abrupt but also temporary, depending on the amount of water in a given year. By the early 1990s, roughly one-quarter of the farmers were still Uygurs, but by 2017 their number had dropped to merely 15 per cent, with many of them having migrated to Qazaqstan. But the annual size of land under cultivation differs not only for ecological reasons. During the early 1990s, only a fraction was actually used, in some years merely half of the long-term average of 1,000 hectares. This was due primarily to the large exodus among farmers. Other families moved in, but they were usually less experienced and worked smaller pieces of land. This changed gradually and by 2011, right after the last jüt, all arable land was under cultivation again, with a peak in 2013 when more than 1,200 hectares were farmed. Roughly one-third of the arable land is in fact used for hay production and thus more of an asset for the pastoral economy. Aside from this, the main agricultural products include potatoes, vegetables, and fruits, in particular melons. For each of these, the area belongs to the most important spots in Mongolia (MSY 2020: 719–720). There is no grain cultivation and little fodder production in the sum or anywhere nearby (cf. Chart 3.2). The total harvest of potatoes in the sum has been reported as 4,463 tons in 2016. That would make for an average yield of a little more than 13 tons for each of the 340 hectares cultivated. Obviously, soil fertility and water availability vary, as do the skills of individual farmers. I am also not able to say whether all domestically consumed or traded potatoes fnd their way into the offcial statistics. The same is true for vegetables, of which carrots, cabbage, onions, and manjin, a type of rutabaga, are the most important. All these are used for both domestic usage and trade. A small amount of tomatoes, cucumber, and garlic are also grown but hardly ever consumed locally. The total harvest of vegetables and fruits is said to be 3,827 tons on 364 hectares. Almost half of these are manjin and carrots, where the average yield is around 10–11 tons per hectare. Melons make up for most of the rest and provide farmers with some 12–13 tons per hectare. But only

Changing regimes of production and exchange 69 1400 1200 1000 800 600 400 200 0

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

2017

hay

potatoes

cabbage

rutabaga

carrots

onions

garlic

cucumber tomatoes

melons

2018

2019

Chart 3.2 Used areas per agricultural product (2010–2019)

a minority grows melons, which demand particular skills, lots of water, and better soils. Trade has always been an important part of pastoral livelihoods in Central Asia. Due to the rather specialised production system, people need to acquire agricultural goods such as grain as well as household utensils from elsewhere. In western Mongolia, the city of Khovd had been an important centre of exchange since its very existence and its market has been vividly described by travellers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries (Carruthers 1913; Consten 1919/1920). Traders tended to be Chinese by that time and were blamed for exploiting local families, pushing them into permanent indebtedness (Pozdneyev 1893). Today, the market provides a source of income both for agricultural and pastoral producers and for a small group of households specialising in trade. A few families from Khovd-sum have in recent years settled down in town selling four, metals, or other consumer goods as professional merchants. Some have done so temporarily before moving back into pastoralism, as was the case with Saylaw (#10), while others have kin in town serving as middlemen (cf. Chapter 4). Other professions are rare. Some people hunt for wolves, foxes, or marmots, but this is no regular source of income or subsistence.5 Handicraft is insignifcant and mostly stays within the household or becomes part of the dowry. This is the case, for example, for the colourful felt carpets and wall hangings in Qazaq yurts. Households also produce their own lassos and bags out of leather as well as the felt for the yurt cover. However, much of the interior furniture is ready-bought from the market. Even in nearby Khovd city, there is little manufacturing of agricultural products, which have to be transported to Ulaanbaatar or abroad to be processed. There is thus little division of labour outside of the sum-centre

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where some 100 people work in the local school and kindergarten, the small hospital, administration, or the bank. Some years ago, a sewing manufactory and a boot repair room were set up, but neither of them works today. Luckily, one may say, the Khovd-sum has been little affected by another modern plague that has swept Mongolia since the 2000s, namely gold mining. Much of this is going on semi-legal and largely out of the control of the authorities, with all the unpleasant side-effects of alcohol consumption, petty crimes, and prostitution this may have. Within Khovd-sum, two areas attract illegal digging on a rather low level, the desert-steppes of Shanzan and Sört in the central part of the sum. The gold reserves here are, apparently, also not signifcant enough to persuade local pastoralists to join in and thereby contribute to the destruction of grazing land, as happened in many other parts of Mongolia (High 2017).

Socialist organisation of production and exchange Unfortunately, there is little data available for the pre-socialist period when it comes to local forms of economic organisation and distribution of means of production. By all accounts, contemporary society was characterised by pronounced inequalities. Among Mongols, the indigenous aristocracy as well as the Buddhist monasteries owned much of the livestock and had it herded by ordinary families, often in serf-like relationships, although no detailed information is available for the western region (Moses 1977). This was different for the Qazaqs in this area who lacked a frmly established stratum of hereditary leaders or religious estate. Details on resource distribution, however, do not exist and it may only be assumed that differences in herd sizes resulted in some type of patronage system of institutionalised inequality, as is reported for other parts of Central Asia (Hudson 1938; Krader 1963; Khazanov 1984). As mentioned, the frst attempt at collectivisation in Mongolia during the late 1920s and early 1930s largely failed, except for the confscation of the aristocratic and monasterial property. But it led to the founding of the frst small collectives, often consisting of only a few households, mostly of poor background. The frst negdel in contemporary Khovd-sum was established in 1938 with the name Gerel (“Light”) and in the beginning had – so a local history booklet – seven members who in total owned six animals and nine tögrög, of the newly introduced national currency. All of the members were Mongols who settled along the northern border with Erdenebüren. During the 1940s and 1950s, another four negdel were created, Ikh Ekhlelt (“Great Beginning”), Mayn Negen (“First of May”), Zaluu Üye (“New Age”), and Bayan-Bulag, which survived as the name of a later brigade. Some of these were composed of herding families, others of farmers. All four were dominantly Qazaq in their membership. Most of them were equally poor and made their living by collecting hay and fuel to sell to rich herders or to the city (Kh.S.T.1980: 9ff.). When collectivisation was resumed during the second half of the 1950s, it was combined with granting privileges for those who joined, including tax benefts and infrastructural support. Until 1960, most herding households now

Changing regimes of production and exchange 71 entered the negdel voluntarily or left the countryside altogether. This happened, as mentioned, with a majority of the local Mongols as well as Uygurs, who left for the city of Khovd or Xinjiang, respectively. As a consequence, the majority of members in the new negdel, since 1959 united under one name as Taryalan, were now Qazaqs. Most of them became engaged as pastoralists and many had taken over the herds of their former Mongol neighbours and employers. According to a local ethnographer, those Ööld who stayed in the countryside had been rather poor and a collectivised pastoral business promised them a better living than before. By contrast, the former rich ones all left for the city.6 Taryalan, literally “agriculture”, now became an economic entity corresponding to the district. Like all over Mongolia, the sum-negdel – as it was often called – was an administrative, an economic as well as a social and political unit. It would for decades represent the relevant framework for people’s life, with a parallel organisation of the communist party controlling all levels of the hierarchy. This way, also the sum-centre turned into the headquarter of the negdel more than anything else. Indeed, the chair of the negdel was in later years in personal union also the sum governor. And the smaller units, the brigades (brigad) – the bag of today – were strictly speaking divisions of the negdel, not the sum. State employees were thus technically speaking not part of the brigade they lived in, which united only the workers and administrators of the negdel. In total, state employees made up around 15 per cent of the population in 1990. Even in the sum-centre, the majority of households worked as drivers, construction workers, accountants, and technical staff for the negdel (Finke 2004). Khovd-sum was indeed, as the name of the negdel implies, a regional stronghold of agricultural production, although the majority of the population was still engaged in animal husbandry. Both sectors were frmly embedded into a chain of command economy from the capital Ulaanbaatar down to the individual household, producing for the negdel. This also entailed a strict specialisation of job assignments for the families. One was either a pastoralist, an agricultural worker, a driver, or an accountant. But things did not stop here. Herds were distributed according to species, age, and sex so that households were responsible, e.g., for full-grown horses, milking cows or castrated male goats and sheep. In principle, people were said to be free to decide which species to look after, but in most cases the job, and eventually the herd, was inherited from parents to son, as it also determined the location of winter and spring campsites. Others also had highly specifc tasks such as distributing newspapers among the nomads or leading herds of animals once a year on hoof to the slaughterhouses in Siberia. While there were certain extended families specialising in particular economic sectors that were the exception rather than the rule. In this respect, socialism was indeed able to do away with clear-cut and hereditary distinctions. The diversity of jobs is, of course, dependent on the size of the family. But in almost all cases, at least one brother, and usually some of the sisters, left the pastoral sector to work as drivers, nurses, or engage in agriculture. More often, only one or two sons became herders while the others moved to the sum-centre or the city. A typical case is the family of Idırıs (#2). He himself had been a large stock herder

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settling in Ulaan-Khargana for all his life. The same profession was later practised by his third-born, Äwes. Seven more sons have pursued other career paths. The two eldest moved to the aymag- and sum-centre, respectively, the latter serving as a physician at the local hospital. Of the younger brothers several have switched to agriculture, one would become a teacher in Khovd-sum, while the youngest inherited the yurt of his father, continuing in pastoralism. One more brother returned to livestock raising a few years ago after having spent most of his adult life in agriculture, fnally to migrate to Qazaqstan in 2022. The family never belonged to the richest but still owns substantial numbers of animals, in particular large stock, although they lost many during the jüt years. The situation was very much the same for Mongol families. The difference here was only the direction of diversifcation. As the sum and the negdel were dominantly Qazaq, there was little space for Mongols to take up work in the centre. The only Mongol family residing in Dund-Us during the later negdel period was its former director, a non-local Khalkha who had been appointed from outside. Children of Mongol herder families directly moved to town if they did not continue their parents’ business, which seems to have been the norm rather than the exception. In fact, there was hardly any case where more than one brother stayed in the countryside. The most notable exception was Tsedensüren and Erdenebaatar (#11). The two had one younger brother who worked in the city of Khovd as a craftsman but died many years ago. The case of Uygurs is again different as they were overwhelmingly employed in the agricultural sector. Only a few families worked as pastoralists or took up a job in the sum-centre. In socialist times, it was strictly speaking only two extended families in the third bag (and one more in the second) who did so. One of them, the family of Ibragim (#10), had been herding large stock with his frstborn Saylaw, while Dawlet and his son Mawsımhan made their living by looking after sheep and goats. This was also the case with the few Dungan households in Khovd-sum by that time. Negdel herds were of similar size and calculated according to the capability to manage them. For small stock, the ideal number was between 500 and 700, as otherwise the animals at the end of a fock would have trouble fnding suffcient grazing. As there was a lack of labour force in the pastoral sector, teachers or drivers were allowed to earn additional income by becoming a negdel herder after retirement. Herds were distributed by sex, age, and reproductive function. After their frst winter, the newborns were separated and one year later again divided into male and female for easier maintenance. At age two, the male animals would be driven to the slaughterhouses in Siberia and herders received a new fock out of last year’s newborns. Each year Taryalan negdel had between 15,000 and 20,000 small stock exported to Russia (Finke 2004). With large stock, the situation was different. There were each three herders responsible for the horses and camels in the sum, all members of the third brigade. In their case, the number was around 200 animals and the composition was more versatile as they graze on their own for most of the year. Therefore, horse herders could also settle together in one camp with households being

Changing regimes of production and exchange 73 responsible for cattle or camel. As geldings were distributed as riding animals, the proportion of females in the negdel herds was higher in the case of horses. A similar situation was with camels. Both species split into smaller units around one stallion. Several uncastrated males in one fock would cause fghting during rutting season and were therefore avoided. In particular, camel stallions become very aggressive at that time and pose a danger not only for each other but also for humans approaching them. For this reason, there were always very few of them. In the case of cattle, crucial was the number of cows one household could milk per day, which was set at 15 animals per female workforce. Most cattle herders were in charge of some 40–50 animals that included primarily milk cows and their offspring. A few families took care of the younger males before they accompanied the sheep and goats on their way to Siberia. In total, there were some 15 households responsible for cattle in the third brigade, half of whom were Mongols. I feel unable to say whether large stock herders presented something like an aristocracy in the pastoral negdel economy. Some of them had inherited this job from their fathers. And, as mentioned, many of them belonged to the Mongol minority. As the job was restricted to households wintering in the lowlands, it tended to cluster in particular extended families, also due to the fact that different species could be managed together. For example, when Ibragim took responsibility for horses, his son Saylaw did the same for camels. Everyday labour, at least for the male part of the family, was less than that with small stock, which has to be taken care of constantly. And especially horses and camels are clearly more prestigious to deal with. On the other hand, neither among Qazaqs nor among Mongols were large stock herders necessarily more prosperous than other households, and in fact, with few exceptions the very rich ones upon entering the capitalist era had been sheep herding all their life. A focus on large stock occasionally allowed even larger camp aggregations. Still widely reported is the case of Jampeys (#9). For many years, the family had been horse breeders for the negdel. During the same time period, Jampey’s patrilineal cousin had been herding one of the few camel focks of the negdel. And in addition to that, another co-resident, Luvsan, was in charge of one of the cattle herds in the bag. This was, to my knowledge, the only long-term residential unit including Qazaq and Mongol households. It was facilitated by the fact that different species of large stock do not interfere with each other’s grazing cycle. The joint winter camp of the three families was deep in the bushland of UlaanKhargana, with some Qazaq and Uygur, and many more Mongol neighbours nearby. All are still on good terms, or rather had been until the migration of Jampeys’s descendants to Qazaqstan in recent years. For each animal assigned, herders had to deliver a pre-determined amount of produce, be that newborns, milk, or wool. The complete offspring had to be handed over to the negdel each year and was, depending on local and annual circumstances, set at around 90 out of 100 females for small stock, 75–80 for cattle, 65–70 for horses, and 35–40 for camels, which give birth only every second year (Finke 2004). All milk from negdel cows had to be delivered to one

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of the so-called ferm. In the case of horse mares, the quota was 60 litres per year – in fermented form as qımız or ayrag as called by Qazaqs and Mongols, respectively – while camels were usually not milked in Khovd-sum. In addition, most of the wool and hairs of the different species, including cashmere, had to be handed into the negdel. Hides were not delivered separately as animals were transported to Russia alive. In turn, herders were provided with hay, veterinary services, and free transport to the seasonal campsites. They also received a monthly salary according to the number of animals herded and the amount of products delivered that was said to be suffcient to feed a family (cf. also Goldstein & Beall 1994: 89). As documented for other socialist societies, sanctions for failure as well as rewards for over-fulflment were comparatively light and did not create much incentive to increase effciency. Apparently, the bestowal of medals and titles, such as the famous “hero of socialist labour” (khödölmöriyn baatar), was not suffcient to prompt people to invest time and effort beyond the necessary. Similar to the negdel as a collective enterprise, individual households could not go bankrupt within the system and, in case of loss, would be re-endowed accordingly. Thus, even in case of negligence or personal fault, herders were ultimately allocated a new fock. In addition to the assigned animals, each household was allowed to own a restricted number privately. These were eight for state employees and 16 for farmers as well as for technical and administrative personnel of the collective. Pastoral households could own as many as 75 animals in the western and southern provinces. Out of these, 50 were to be small stock.7 Because three-generation households were counted as separate units, they might legally own as many as 150 animals. Families were entitled to use their private animals for subsistence needs upon their discretion but, offcially at least, had to sell any produce via the negdel, that is to say for state-set prices. They were thus not private property in the strict sense but rather individually owned animals with restricted use rights (Finke 2012). When de-collectivisation began in 1991, the majority of households had less than the number of private animals they were entitled to, while a few had holdings far beyond that. In fact, in the third brigade almost half of all herders, 70 out of 160, owned less than 50 animals (cf. Chart 3.3). This is commonly explained by different skills and work attitudes. Many people were fne with what they had, as it assured a decent living, and bothered little to increase their private herds. Yes, that is true. Many had less than 75 animals. They didn’t need it, they thought. There is too much work involved, and then we had everything from the negdel. Salaries were enough to buy everything you need. So, many had fewer animals because they did not want to work hard. (Tlewbek, 38-year-old Qazaq herder, in 1994) This probably also indicates that few expected that they would have to rely on private livestock again in the future. Those who tried to build up larger herds

Changing regimes of production and exchange 75 45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0 0-25

26-50

51-75

76-100

101-125

126-150

151-200

201-

Chart 3.3 Private livestock holdings per family in the third brigade in 1990 (n = 160)

had to hide additional animals, transcribe them to other households, or bribe the accountants. All of these practices, to the best of my knowledge, existed alongside and were, as I was told, one of the reasons why people working in administration often had larger private herds than pastoralists when de-collectivisation set in. Many of the specialised negdel herders were not as fortunate. The case of Azat (#4) is an illustrative one. Already his father had been a shepherd and passed over the job to his son. Although both were considered good herders, during socialist times they were unable to accumulate a larger number of animals or did not feel the need to do so. By the time of privatisation, together with the family of a second brother they owned little more than one hundred animals, less than half of what they would have been entitled to as three offcial households, and for many years to come were struggling to lift this number to a size, which is perceived suffcient for a decent living. What seems to have been a restraining factor in their case was the unfavourable location of the family’s winter campsite (cf. Chapter 5). Institutionally speaking, people were thus not free to decide what to trade and with whom; they were equally restricted in what to consume for subsistence needs, except for the products of their private herds. The negdel was responsible for all formal transactions of herders, farmers, and townpeople alike. It also ran the shops in the sum-centre where people purchased much of their daily needs. Households did, however, barter agricultural and pastoral products among themselves, which was understood as gift exchange rather than trade. But restrictions of control on property were true not only for individual households and their livestock. It was equally the case for the state regarding the utilisation of assigned means of production. Technically, the negdel was the owner of the herds

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in custodian for its members or the congregated working class of Mongolia. In everyday life, there was comparatively little supervision, which was diffcult to implement due to terrain and distances (Finke 2012). Reasons for the failure of socialism in Mongolia were similar to those in other regions. The centrally planned economy created a system based on the redistribution of goods and resources by governmental authorities, rather than by mechanisms of demand and supply. The problem with this was, as has been aptly described by Kornai (1992), that central planners usually lacked reliable information to do their job properly because to provide them with such would have been detrimental to the interests of those responsible on the ground. As there were comparatively few rewards for any over-fulflment, the dominant strategy was rather misreporting and the hoarding of means of production because an effcient usage would not have been gratifed (Verdery 1996). In other words, there were, on the part of the government, relatively high information costs that made planning not an easy game. At the same time, the appropriation of communal or state property by individual households or local authorities was, as shown, widespread and hardly ever sanctioned. This created a situation where individual and social interests systematically opposed each other, usually to the detriment of the latter. In everyday practice, this facilitated a particular type of incentive structure that abetted free riding on the common good, even more so since the detriments of doing so were, at least subjectively speaking, not affecting those neighbours or superiors able to detect any wrongdoing. Fraudulent behaviour occurred in several ways. One issue was the transfer between private and collective herds whereby people replaced their own animals that had perished with ones belonging to the negdel, claiming their natural death. In particular, this happened for newborn animals, as can be inferred also from offcial statistics. So, while countrywide 100 privately owned cows had 84 calves, the number was only 62 for negdel animals in 1989. For mares, the respective fgures were 76 versus 59 while the difference for other species was less pronounced (BNMAU 1990: 45f.). Apart from outright fraud, this probably also refected better care for one’s own animals. Illegal appropriation of collective or state property also occurred regarding the use of fuel and transport for personal activities or the allocation of winter hay to private animals. This was pretty much common knowledge but as nobody felt personally harmed by such practices, it went by largely unsanctioned, as is reported for other socialist states as well (Humphrey 1983; Sancak 2013). Relative equality is one of the reasons why many people still have a positive memory of the socialist period. More important, however, is the security and moderate prosperity it gave. The fact that one received a regular salary that was suffcient to make a decent living was highly appreciated. Especially for the formerly poor and middle-class families, living standards had increased enormously. This is frequently contrasted with a present that is insecure and risky, plagued by constant changes – in terms of climate, market prices, or national politics – which makes long-term planning very diffcult. At the same time, all the

Changing regimes of production and exchange 77 services that made life easier, including free health care and education, are a thing of the past, which puts an additional burden on household budgets. This points to the role of the state in everyday life. During socialism, its power was omnipresent. Not only were citizens with few exceptions in one way or another formally employed and made their livelihood by pursuing prescribed activities. State authorities were also responsible for organising trade, providing people with needed goods and infrastructure, and taking care of the education of their children, in a way far more comprehensive than in other types of society. And the state came to be seen also as the prime mechanism for establishing and maintaining social order, something that should have a lasting impact until today. The fact that property rights in means of production were not with the individual producers may have been regretted by some but was by and large accepted as a matter of fact. As refected in the rather low numbers of private animals, it did not bother people all too much.

Transformation sets in This was all to change with the decision by the Mongolian government for a quick and radical switch to a market economy. The privatisation of the means of production seemed the key to a successful transition, essential for setting incentives the way they should according to standard economic textbook advice. In practice, things proved much more complicated and, as with any institutional change, peppered with unforeseen obstacles and collateral damages. Like in all of the socialist world, debates on whether and how to do that were ferce, as any chosen path would determine the distribution of property and the respective fate of households for many years to come, creating new inequalities along the way. As described in Chapter 1, the Mongolian privatisation law had originally proposed that each individual citizen should receive vouchers of 3,000 tögrög value during the frst phase and 7,000 tögrög during the second. However, things looked different in practice because the negdel association successfully insisted on procedures to be agreed upon locally. In Khovd-sum, it was decided on an allocation scheme that incorporated family size and the number of years people had worked for the negdel. For that matter, the total value of property was calculated at around one million tögrög or US$25,000. Most of this was livestock. Because animals were few, compared to other districts, it was decided to distribute 70 per cent, rather than the designated 30 per cent, already during the frst phase, which became the de facto big privatisation. That way, families should receive enough animals to start a new existence. In addition to that, other property was also distributed, including buildings, trucks, and other machinery. All means of transportation were usually transferred to the person who last used it as part of his job – as drivers were inevitably male – while most buildings belonging to the negdel were soon left to decay. The permanent facilities and shelters in the winter and spring camps, called khashaa in Mongolian and qaša in Qazaq, were usually assigned to those herders currently using them.

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During this frst privatisation, families received vouchers worth between 2,190 tögrög per person for those with less than a year work experience and ended with 8,630 tögrög – or some US$200 – for those who had served for 32 years, that is to say since its foundation in 1959. The price of animals was calculated according to the market value of that time and began with 200 tögrög for a young lamb to 3,600 for a camel stallion. A person who had worked for the negdel for 20 years would, for example, be able to acquire either 2.5 cows, 3 horses, or 15 mother sheep. This was hoped to endow households with the necessary means of production. It did so for some, but less for others. Senior households with several adult members received 80 animals and more, equivalent to a total value of 30,000 tögrög, and if several generations lived in one yurt, this number could climb up to 50,000 tögrög. At the other end of the scale were newly married couples, some of whom got as little as 7,000–8,000 tögrög in vouchers, or around 15 animals of different species. In the second phase, conducted in early 1993, age and years of work did not play a role anymore and every member of the negdel received an equal share of 10,000 tögrög, then equivalent to around 65 dollars. These suffced to buy two to three large stock, 12 sheep, or up to 20 goats. That in the end, the number of animals received per family during the second round was roughly the same as in the frst was due to lower prices and the fact that by then almost half of the Qazaq population had already gone (Finke 2004). Now, larger households received up to a hundred animals and more, while those with only one or two eligible members got ten or twenty sheep and goats, and maybe one milking cow. The total number depended, of course, on the proportion between small and large stock, but most households aimed at securing a herd of mixed species. Those who had already owned the maximal allowed number of private animals in the past were then usually on a good track. Others had to struggle and saw themselves confronted with a herd not suffcient to make ends meet. All negdel members were reckoned the same way, irrespective of whether they had been pastoralists, farmers, or drivers. Relevant was only the number of years worked and the size of the family. And included were only those who lived and worked for the negdel at the time when the distribution was fxed. People who died the year before or had just moved to Qazaqstan were not taken into account. The same applied to those who came from the city. Privatisation in Mongolia also did not include any aspect of restitution. Apart from the fact that this would have been diffcult to implement with livestock confscated several decades ago, there was also a strong sense of justice in the levelling of inequality that collectivisation had achieved. Still, some of the Mongols – especially those who had returned from the city – complained that this way the animals of their ancestors had become Qazaq property while leaving them empty-handed. This was our livestock before it was given to the Qazaqs during collectivisation. And now they have allocated it to themselves during privatisation, and we got nothing. But this was our livestock. (Enebish, 44-year-old Mongol herder from the aymag-centre, 1995)

Changing regimes of production and exchange 79 Dissatisfaction did not stop here but included other aspects of the distribution process, although it did not lead to any concerted action of protest or resistance. The main complaint among negdel members was how animals were actually allocated. As soon as the formula had been decided on, the authorities stepped back. Instead, people were informed about the number of animals they were entitled to and then told to get them by themselves from the herders in charge. Upon arriving, some were told that the animals had perished due to climate conditions or had been eaten by wolves. Many returned empty-handed, as they explained, and never received the animals they were assigned to. They told us, go to Halel and get your three cattle, go to Näsiphan to pick ten sheep and ask Dönenbay for 20 goats, which are yours. But when we arrived, they would say, oh I’m sorry but those all perished. I have no negdel animals anymore. (Ömirzaq, 48-year-old Qazaq herder, in 1996) This was particularly true for small stock. As it is more diffcult to cheat with cattle or horses, which are branded and known throughout the sum, those specialised in large stock were thus at a disadvantage. As this included most of the Mongols in the sum, grievance towards the procedure was therefore particularly pronounced among them. But their bargaining position was weak as they were a minority group whose collateral, namely cattle and horses, was less easy to cheat with. Negatively affected were also the farmers who had nothing at all as equivalent. Some of them complained to have been deceived, e.g., by being allocated yaks, that had little chance to survive in the lowlands along the Buyant. Others had to recognise that the particular animals they got were weak or barren. In spite of this, there was no ethnically motivated grievance noticeable while I did research. The fact that Mongols were at a drawback because most of them had been large stock herders appeared to be a matter of bad luck. Who would have expected its relevance only fve years earlier? Mongols were, however, also at a disadvantage by the decision to take family size into account, as on average they had fewer children than Qazaqs. This was, as I could recall, subject of some dispute but did not harm relations on the ground. Anger was primarily directed against those in charge of running the distribution process, which were indeed overwhelmingly Qazaqs, but was not extended to the ethnicity as such. Rather, accusations against the former sum government could be heard from both groups, and deceit was understood as favouring individuals and their kin. All those bosses back then were thugs. They took away for themselves and their own kin what they could get. Me, I didn’t get anything until today. This is true for many. Not only Mongols but also many Qazaqs. (Luvsan, 66-year-old Mongol herder, in 1996)

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But by and large, local Mongols were hesitant in their complaints, possibly because they had an incentive to maintain good relations with the Qazaq majority – and presumably because out-migration allowed them to increase their livestock at a rather cheap rate, starting on average with larger herds into the privatised future. Opportunity costs, or the potential beneft to take action against being discriminated, were thus comparatively low. By contrast, for the specialised farmers not much changed when it came to the allocation of property rights as there was no privatisation of land. They did receive animals as well but could not rely on needed inputs for working the felds anymore. Land rights seemed also less safe. While pastures are jointly used and there are no exclusionary mechanisms, agricultural felds could be re-allocated at the discretion of local authorities, although this has not happened very often until today, to the best of my knowledge. But as a consequence of general impoverishment and uncertainty, a high proportion of them participated in the migration to Qazaqstan. Most disadvantaged, however, were town-dwellers or, more generally, people who had been working in industry or other state-funded jobs. This included mostly families in the sum and aymag-centres. By law, those not members of any negdel received vouchers to purchase shares of industrial enterprises and other state property, which proved to be of little value due to the economic decay in those sectors. Many state employees were among the new poor due to the end of regular salaries by the state. At that time, they rather bitterly complained against their exclusion, pointing to the long years of support they had given to the community in educating its children, taking care of the sick, and running the system. But as a refection of their comparatively small number and the ongoing frst wave of migration towards Qazaqstan, such arguments were apparently not strong enough. The situation did not promote much concession on the part of the majority of negdel members who had little to share in their perspective. The position of state employees was thus, very much in line with the theoretical arguments outlined in the introduction, one of poor bargaining power (Finke 2000). This was true for Qazaqs from the sum-centre, as well as for Mongols who came from the city of Khovd. The family of Gankhüü (#13) is one such case. As they had not been members of the negdel in Khovd-sum, or indeed not of any collective enterprise, they did not receive livestock during privatisation. Having been state employees, they also did not own many private animals and started with a rather small herd into the future. But they were able to gradually build up a moderate herd that suffced to survive. By 1995, they owned some 50 goats and a few other livestock, while 20 years later this would have risen to 200 animals of different kinds. On the contrary, beginning with a large fock did not necessarily lead to greater prosperity. Särsenbay (#6) had been herding sheep for the negdel, but owned rather few private animals by the side. During de-collectivisation, the extended family – with three sons already married – were assigned vouchers equivalent to more than 200 animals. They thus entered the new era from a rather favourable position and prospered for a while. But due to bad luck, and possibly

Changing regimes of production and exchange 81 lack of skills, the family went into crisis and over time lost most of their livestock. After their father’s and the middle brother’s death, the two remaining sons left the pastoral sector after the frst series of jüt because their decimated herds did not make such engagement promising anymore. They now subsist largely on informal work in the settlement, although they have been able to recover some of their previous wealth in livestock. Disagreements with such processes do not necessarily imply that people were unhappy about privatisation per se. In this regard, opinions varied a lot, from individual to individual as well as from year to year. By and large, herders liked the idea of livestock ownership being transferred into private hands. The same was true for trucks and other machinery, although only a limited number of individuals benefted from this. It was also appreciated that the qaša became permanent possession of families. People did not expect any new confscation by the state as the privatisation procedure itself seemed irreversible, as can be inferred from the fact that households invested a lot to make their herds increase rapidly (cf. Chapter 4). Very different was the attitude towards the dissolution of the negdel. This has for many years been an issue of complaint, as it bereaved people of a – from their perspective – relatively low-cost and reliable tool to trade their products. It may have been diffcult to imagine how to proceed as a collective enterprise without the socialist framework, but the great majority believed that the vanishing of the negdel was a fundamental mistake. As a kind of a replacement, three so-called kampan were established, one each for pastoralists, farmers, and people in the sumcentre. On paper, all former negdel members became attached to their respective kampan. But due to a lack of funding and infrastructure, these were neither in a position to take over the same functions satisfactorily nor to offer reasonable prices to the producers, now that they had to work with market mechanisms. Opinions on the transformation in general varied. Not surprisingly, well-off people had a more positive attitude than poor families, and more often young people thought of the market as an opportunity than did the elder generations. But there were exceptions to that. Muqıt had never been a prosperous herder and neither did he become one with privatisation. He started off with a bit more than one hundred small stock and a few cattle and horses but considered this to be suffcient for the time being, when I talked with him back in 1996. Very different was the attitude of his younger brother, Aqan, who, indeed, owned even fewer animals. Belonging to the poor, he strongly condemned the new market era and was looking back with wistfulness to the socialist period. Both would struggle in the years to come and eventually left for Qazaqstan. On the other hand, some of the wealthy herders did not approve highly of the market either. Sılam was one such case. He had been a driver for the negdel before he switched to sheep herding sometime in the 1980s, which he considered a more pleasant work to do. Rather successful also after the end of socialist provisioning, he complained, however, about the lack of provision with hay, transport, and the like. Others added the security and equality that had eased the social fabric and, by and large, prevented tensions. On the other hand, so Bazıl, a former

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head of the trade department of the negdel, privatisation as such is good for pastoralist households. It allows to accumulate wealth and sell the surplus free on the market. Due to the possibly quick increase in livestock as a means of production this is of great value. Others held similar views and appreciated the freedom to trade one’s products wherever prices are higher. And, so Äbdkärim, it rewards the hard-working and penalises the lazy ones. Maybe not as straightforward, local Mongols usually had a less favourable idea about the market than Qazaqs, for reasons I was not able to fgure out. This was an attitude shared across all levels of income and prosperity. Equally, Mongols were less enthusiastic about the democratisation process, and the party promoting it. In fact, during the early years, the new Democratic Union had within Khovdsum only Qazaq members (although some Mongols may have voted for them). Finally, the approval of the transformation also changed with the years, as people contrasted it relatively with their previous situation. Somewhat simplifed one could say that the more devastating the current situation appeared, the better the image of the past. These ups and downs were – for the rural population – for many years closely linked to the market of the one product they could make money out of, namely cashmere. High prices prompted people to have more hope in an economic recovery and thus a better opinion about the transformation process as such (Finke 2004). A major source of complaints was the insuffcient supply of commodities, be that via the kampan or on the market in Khovd, referred to as the bazar in Qazaq (or dzakh in Mongolian). At that time, this was of a rather poor appearance, and did not offer many of the goods people needed or wanted. Equally despised was the quality of the products on display, which back then – and still so today – originated mostly from China. A pair of boots, so a common saying, may last for a month at best, while the former Soviet produce could be worn for years and years. Flour was said to be of bad quality, lacking taste, and being potentially dangerous for one’s health. The same idea was held about Chinese sweets. Imports from Russia, however, had become irregular and were unaffordable for most. Besides that, the decay of public infrastructure and in particular education and health care were much bemoaned. Some institutions had to close altogether like the kindergarten that re-opened only during the mid-2000s. Others suffered from a poor supply of books or medicine. Salaries for teachers and doctors were considered too low to provide much incentive to do one’s job properly and everyone had to look for additional sources of income (Finke 2004). Still, the situation was far better for the rural population than for city-dwellers where jobs hardly existed anymore. Transformation was a challenging process across the region, but there were differences in detail. It begins with a decision for either a radical shock therapy, as applied in Mongolia, or a more gradual change that will leave much of the institutional infrastructure alive for some time. None of these have proven to be easy to implement (Finke 2018). The switch from a centrally planned economy to one driven by market mechanisms is a complex process of interlinked adaptations, of which the privatisation of the means of production and the liberalisation of

Changing regimes of production and exchange 83 market activities are just the two most prominent ones. And as has been shown above, especially the redistribution of property is shaped by path dependencies and power relations that hardly will lead to equitable results. At the same time, a sudden and fundamental rupture in society inevitably causes stress for stability, social cohesion, and mutual trust, to be taken up in Chapter 6. Now, 30 years later, many of the issues of the 1990s have calmed down. The socialist period is still an important point of reference and, for the elder generation, remembered as an era of moderate affuence and security. But in everyday life its relevance is fading, and people do not compare their current situation with that particular past anymore. Nevertheless, the market is, for good reasons, still perceived as risky and as raising social inequality, something many disapprove of. At the same time, it is experienced as a matter of fact and people try to make the best out of it. The overall assessment has been greatly improved by the recent economic recovery that has spread also to the rural areas in the west. With rising incomes, higher prices for agricultural products and lower taxes most families have fared comparatively well in the last ten years or so. The Qazaqs in Khovdsum have profted from this moderate boom in particular ways, as will be shown in the following.

Adapting to the market But this would take a while. The early days of post-socialism were shaped by insecurity and confusion on the part of herders, farmers, and town-dwellers alike. People had the feeling they were exposed to fundamentally new rules, but no one bothered to explain them. And the learning processes were even more of a frustration due to the constantly changing circumstances and political guidelines, or their non-existence. In addition to that, the socialist ideology of trade as evil and a way for some to make a proft out of other people’s labour did not help much in smoothing the transition period. While some appreciated the new opportunities and welcomed the self-responsibility that came along with it, others were suspicious if not outright hostile. The fact that one had to pay different prices from day to day and from location to location, if the good at hand is the same, was perceived as a case of injustice. And some already feared, rightly so as it turned out, the re-appearance of social distinctions and stratifcations as in prerevolutionary societies. As a consequence, the early traders were met with lots of distrust and seen as potential cheaters (which some of them were). This was another reason why the dissolution of the negdel was lamented upon. The shops in the sum-centre, run by the kampan, were expensive compared to the market in Khovd. People therefore used them only for urgent needs when no other option was available. But especially for the less well-off, going to town made sense only in case of larger expenses such as preparing for a wedding ceremony. Those families settling in remote areas often had little choice. As most of them lacked their own means of transportation, they were dependent on itinerary traders who came by once in a while.

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I recall one typical encounter when I was visiting the household of Tsedensüren (#11) one morning in June 1995. We were sitting outside, chatting and watching the herds disappear for their daily grazing, when, pretty much out of the blue, a truck approached the camp. It was a Mongol merchant who had no relationship with anyone residing here. As the sound of a truck can easily be heard from afar, everyone was prepared when it fnally arrived and stopped. Within a few minutes, everyone congregated in front of the cargo area to inspect what was on sale. The truck had turned into a small department store for clothing, materials, shoes as well as sweets, and household utensils. Soon, the men went back to their work, after they had expressed their wants and opinions, and it was the women of the camp responsible for realising the exchange of goods. Some of this happened with money but for more expensive commodities cashmere, wool, and hides were traded in. Oyuunaa, the wife of Tsedensüren, purchased a pair of boots for her youngest daughter, aged fve, in exchange for a lamb, her sister-in-law gave away part of the cashmere harvest for winter clothing. There was surprisingly little bargaining involved as the merchants seemed not inclined for any concessions. There were plenty of other potential customers nearby, so they said, and who knows when the next truck with goods needed would come by. The dependency on few marketing spots and itinerary merchants caused terms of trade to be extremely unfavourable. As if things were not diffcult enough, this was aggravated by the lack of domestic production in Mongolia and the diffculties in external trade with Russia and China. Thus, products already arrived in the country more expensive than anywhere else, which partly explains the ostensibly extortive prices at that time. To be fair, while many traders certainly took advantage of an oligopoly, they also faced great uncertainties on their own part. There existed no functioning banking system, many people had no cash, and infation rates were rocketing. On the other hand, goods exchanged in kind had to be traded back again, thus further increasing transaction costs, although many of the traders, in fact, preferred cashmere to money as it seemed less exposed to infation. Some also accepted wool, hides, or shimiyn arkhi, a self-distilled liquor produced out of milk in the case of Mongol herders. As merchants were not willing to grant credit, agrarian products were often bartered for rather low prices out of season. Unfortunate terms of trade were one part of the story; uncertainty and constant fuctuations in prices were another one. The transfer of risks from the state to the individual producer was nowhere more obvious than here. Low prices for one’s own products were disappointing enough but what contributed even more to desperation was the diffculty to make reasonable calculations. This is particularly challenging in a pastoral economy where people have long ways to go and, back then, hardly any reliable communication channels to acquire information on the situation. For reasons unknown to the producers, prices for pastoral and agricultural goods changed by the day, which – in the days before cellular phones – often led to poor outcomes, as illustrated in the vignette at the beginning of this chapter. Of course, they also fuctuated seasonally, which was easier to foresee but not necessarily to avoid in its disadvantages. In autumn,

Changing regimes of production and exchange 85 when prices for pastoral products such as cashmere were the highest, especially the poor had already sold most of it to purchase needed goods or pay off their debts (Murphy 2019). Even international trade was a bit self-made, and little organised those days. Each month, around a dozen trucks from Khovd-sum, as from other districts in the region, set off for the hubs right across the border in China. For the western provinces, there was one checkpoint in Khovd and another one in Bayan-Ölgiy, each opened April to December for 15 days per month. These trips were not only for purchasing the bulk of the commodities, mainly clothing and food, which was then resold in shops or on the market in Khovd. The trips also allowed pastoralists to sell some of their surplus for better prices than at home. Main goods on offer were wool and hides while the export of cashmere was, and still is, illegal. This did not prevent some from smuggling but caused prices to be lower than they would have been in a free market exchange. As borders were only designed for bilateral access, and the surrounding areas were under strict surveillances, it was unfortunately not possible to accompany people on their business trips. The kampan participated in the monthly visits to China pretty much the way everyone else did, selling hides and sheep wool, as well as buying materials, foodstuff, and, less popular but cheap, sweets, tobacco, and alcohol. And they were particularly unpopular, although the people running them insisted that without the kampan things would look even grimmer. Yes, they all complain about us. They say the kampan are useless because we pay them less than they could get on the market and cannot provide them with goods as they were used to during socialist times. But at least we do care for our members. Over there in Tolbo or Delüün-sum in Bayan-Ölgiy there are no kampan anymore and people can hardly buy any four. (Rım, 58-year-old accountant of the Sarı-Bulag-kampan, in 1995) Competing with the kampan were a handful of private traders who ran their business more successfully. By the early 2000s, all three kampan had disappeared with nothing resuming their functions. Some neighbouring sum were, as Seyt noted, more successful in establishing grass-root organisations, called khorshoo in Mongolian, for trade and other cooperative activities. None of that happened in Khovd-sum. Seyt: Of course, it would be proftable to organise trade jointly. You save on transportation and time if you don’t go yourself. But this will never happen because people don’t trust each other and prefer to carry their milk churns or potato sacks to the market themselves. Peter: So, this has not really changed. People do not trust each other. Seyt: No, this has not changed. Peter: Does this have anything to do with the migration to Qazaqstan? After all, you don’t really know who will be still around by tomorrow.

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Seyt: Yes, of course, it is related with that. And in neighbouring Mongol districts, it works. They do have their khorshoo. In that case, there is another reason. Khorshoo work better in places, which are far away from the bazaar because people are more dependent on them. (Seyt, 34-year-old member of the local administration, in 2011) A logical result, as predicted by transaction cost theory, was a partial retreat from the market, and a switch towards subsistence production and barter. This was truer for some producers, and for some products, than for others. If anything lucky happened to pastoralists in Mongolia in those days, it was – and still is – the high demand for cashmere on the world market, represented primarily by China for that matter. This is fortunate also for the fact that cashmere is not important in domestic consumption and can be easily stored and transported. Other pastoral products, such as milk, were hardly traded at all, for pretty much the opposite reason. Milk is needed in the domestic sphere, it spoils quickly, and it is relatively voluminous and heavy compared to its price on the market. Livestock was also in little demand, as most people even in neighbouring Khovd city had animals of their own and transport to Ulaanbaatar was too expensive. To my knowledge, there was back in the 1990s only one wealthy merchant in the bazaar, an Ööld originally from Khovd-sum, who occasionally transported sheep and some cattle by truck to Ulaanbaatar for slaughter in early winter. Investing in livestock and building up large herds of mixed species was one way to deal with the new uncertainties. Most of the Mongols, including Tsedensüren (#11) and Nergüy (#12), had this as their preferred strategy, even though the results may not have always been satisfactory. But also many Qazaqs placed all their hope on pastoralism, as the examples of Joldas (#1) or Temir (#5) illustrate. Others may have had the same idea but were less successful in implementing it. Särsenbay (#6) and Äygerim (#9) saw their wealth continuously shrinking until their sons fnally gave up, settling in the sum-centre or migrating to Qazaqstan, respectively. The families of Azat (#4) and Oktyabr (#7) are particularly illustrative for those with less luck. Both had not been among the prosperous herders in socialist times and struggled for many years to come. They managed to secure suffcient produce and income to feed their families but never made it beyond the threshold, which would allow a herd to fourish. Each of them, fnally, managed to diversify successfully. Azat would become a highly sought-after hired herder for other households, while Oktyabr’s family would build up a new existence as farmers with a sizeable herd as a secondary pillar. Barter was a convenient way to exchange needed goods within the sum. It was particularly important between families predominantly engaged in pastoralism and those who worked in agriculture. Much happened between kin, neighbours, or friends and was conceived of as mutual gift exchange rather than a type of trade. A common expectation was, for example, to take along melons to be consumed on the spot when visiting one another (Finke 2003). This could imply that a large part of the harvest had to be given away for free. Other types of bartering existed in forms of direct reciprocity. Several Qazaq and Uygur households regularly

Changing regimes of production and exchange 87 exchanged a surplus in potatoes or vegetables for livestock with neighbouring Mongols who did not engage in agriculture. They did so primarily to build up their herds or in case of unexpected expenditures, such as a stay in the hospital. For bartering, the exchange values were usually not precisely calculated but fxed, e.g., one sheep or goat for a sack of potatoes. Large stock were often obtained in exchange for a freight of hay. Producing hay for households with many animals but few labour forces was, in fact, a welcomed opportunity for poorer herders to earn money, or eventually livestock. It was common, in particular among Qazaqs settling in UlaanKhargana, because the size of the camps usually allowed for such extra work, and because they lived in close neighbourhood to Mongol herders who were mostly in need of hay. Some of the early return migrants from Qazaqstan made much of their living by producing hay storages for wealthier households. One such case was Bawırjan, a cousin of Jampeys (#9). Bawırjan had left Mongolia in 1992 together with his two elder brothers but was back only two years later due to the diffculties encountered at their new home. He tried hard for several years and put all his efforts into rebuilding a pastoral livelihood. As he had no livestock of his own left, the animals he got in exchange were only suffcient to feed his family over the winter but not enough to accumulate them for reproductive purposes. His kids were still young and of little help for the heavy workload in haymaking. Finally, he gave up and moved back to Qazaqstan during the early 2000s. When I came back 15 years later, the situation of trade had changed fundamentally. The market had fnally arrived and is now frmly established. More important than that, it has proven to be advantageous. Gone are the days of extremely unfavourable terms of trade and a lack of supply with needed goods. Shops and the bazaar now provide people with foodstuff, clothing, and other commodities in suffcient quantities and varieties. In addition, one can fnd goods like leather boots, furniture, saddles, or traditional costumes, which were hardly available at all in the 1990s. Important here is that not only prices are lower in relation to one’s own products but, comparatively speaking, they are also more predictable and easier to fnd information on. China is still the major supplier of commodities, especially for clothing, although there exists widespread scepticism regarding their quality and healthiness. Increasingly, products from other Asian provenances as well as from Russia and Europe are also on offer. And more and more, one can also fnd goods produced in Mongolia. Since the country became self-suffcient in grain production, this is also no longer imported from China, as is the case for sweets or alcohol. Most trade is still organised privately. And the market in Khovd city is still the frst choice. As mentioned, it is open six days a week, with peaks on the weekend. But even on Monday, when offcially closed, some stalls are opened and serve their customers. Once a dreary courtyard with little more than a dozen stalls selling bits and pieces of clothing and everyday consumption goods – where one could virtually see everyone present from the moment of entry – this is now a thriving place and a labyrinth of alleys. Hundreds of small shops line up with merchants offering products from all over the world. Many of these operate out

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of a container. Vegetables and livestock are sold outside the main bazaar but have equally grown in scale and variety. Meat is traded piecemeal only in small quantities but usually purchased alive. What has changed is not only the nature of trade but also the people involved. In the 1990s, much was of an opportunistic nature, including laid-off workers and pensioners, such as Gankhüü (#13), who tried to supplement their meagre incomes as intermediaries in the countryside. This has more and more given way to professional merchants and a corresponding market organisation controlled by the local government. Most traders on the bazaar are Mongols, except for the sections for four and vegetables, which are dominated by Qazaqs and Uygurs. As in many parts of the world, shops tend to cluster according to the products sold but this is not a strict regulation. There is also limited bargaining going on these days. Especially agricultural products, if not consumed or bartered, are traded in the bazaar in Khovd. This is due primarily to the closeness of the felds along the Buyant River, which are connected to the city by an asphalt road. By contrast, the sum-centre is further away and a much less attractive place because of fewer customers. Some sell potatoes, vegetables, and melons themselves, while others entrust them to kin or friends who live in town. There are also a few professional traders who buy vegetables and fruits to resell. This will, of course, decrease the price producers get but also reduce the risk and the dependency to

Illustration 3.2 On the market in Khovd (Peter Finke 2013)

Changing regimes of production and exchange 89 sell on the very same day. Sometimes people drive to Bayan-Ölgiy, which has few arable lands and where prices for agricultural products are usually higher. But this also implies a risk when the beneft does not match the additional expenses. Therefore, most products stay within the aymag consumed by city-dwellers and people from neighbouring sum without agricultural areas. Prices for commodities are generally higher in the sum-centre. Here a sort of concentration has set in. By 2014, there were a dozen shops in Dund-Us. Four years later, almost half of them had closed. Some shops are just one room at the entrance to a private courtyard where one typically has to shout to be served. The ones in the centre of the settlement are separate buildings with fxed opening hours. The goods offered are very similar, including basic foodstuff, soft as well as alcoholic beverages, cigarettes, and sweets. A few shops have some cheap clothing and shoes on offer. Others also sell books and stationery for school children as well as toys, batteries, and the like. What has also become an important business are SIM cards and their charging. Flour, by contrast, is diffcult to fnd and expensive. It is usually bought from the bazaar in town every other month or so. One of these shops has been able to gain a predominant position in the last years. It is the one run by Hurmetbek in the centre of the settlement, opposite the gas station. Hurmetbek started as a small entrepreneur like the others but due to the favourable location, where people necessarily walk by for most destinations during the day, and due to the fact that he was responsible for selling petrol before the new station opened in 2017, his shop soon attracted more visitors than others. What makes it particularly attractive is the selling of alcohol during evening hours but also being the only spot in the village where four, as well as melons or some vegetables, is occasionally to be found. Soon Hurmetbek’s became one of the richer families in the sum and he acquired the frst van with more than the regular fve seats for passengers. Since then, he occasionally makes the trip to Khovd city to bring people to the market, which constitutes an additional source of income. In the future, this may strip others of the same opportunity, as he will be able to do so for a lower price (although he has not done so yet). Barter is still an option for people and is used between kin, friends, and neighbours, should they have mutually needed goods. In particular, the exchange of livestock and agricultural products as well as services, such as moving someone’s camp or accommodating school children, is often reciprocated this way. Mongols are in greater need as few of them cultivate land, while Qazaqs in most cases have kin or friends to exchange for hay or livestock products. However, engagement in barter and local trade is not restricted to any ethnic boundaries, although it has become less common a way of exchanging goods as it had been. This is probably best explained by the increase in opportunity costs. Back in the 1990s, when trade was laborious and risky, the alternative path to give a surplus to neighbours, friends, or kin for another needed good or service had a lot to be said for. Nowadays, people usually prefer the freedom to deal with whomever and whenever they think to be most proftable.

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Opinions on such developments naturally vary but already in the 2000s and increasingly so during the 2010s, a majority rated them as by and large positive. Primarily responsible for this are the opportunities the market offers and the decrease in transaction costs due to slowly developing infrastructure and better legal protection. This would also result in less fuctuation in market prices. Most herders and urban dwellers I spoke with over the years expressed optimism and appreciated the opportunities trade now provided them. This was true not only for wealthy households but also for much of the pastoral middle class. “By now, we have learned how to deal with the market; and it is actually not that bad. If you work hard, you will make your way.”, as Temir put it. Others were less enthusiastic and bemoaned the lack of support by the state and the fact that prices for commodities to purchase were constantly on the rise. Compared to the negdel period, so Azat, it is all very insecure and miserable. What was, and still is also deplored, is the growing social stratifcation. After decades of state-imposed egalitarianism, this is seen not only in ideological terms as regrettable but also as posing potential threats to living together in the future. The frst signs of permanent distinctions visualised in consumption patterns and education strategies for the next generation have emerged and will undoubtedly continue to do. It has, however, so far not happened to the degree that many may have expected. One reason surely is the volatile nature of pastoralism that is often detrimental to a steady increase in wealth.

Migrating out of the system But of equal signifcance is the ongoing migration to Qazaqstan, which has been an enduring option for different segments of society while at the same time reducing the pressure on scarce resources for those who stay. It is obviously not an option for everyone and thus also changed the distribution of opportunities along ethnic lines. The standing invitation by the government in Astana allowed Qazaqs, and by extension Uygurs and Dungans, to move out of the local system and seek a new future outside of Mongolia as one particular type of adapting. A number of factors come into play, and while the migration closely followed the economic ups and downs in both countries, there was more involved besides pure utilitarian motives. The impacts are equally complex and infuence social relationships within the Qazaq community as well as encounters with Mongols that in turn also feed back into patterns of economic interactions. Leaving one’s home is not an easy move, and all those I met before or after expressed deep sorrow and some sort of nostalgia for their place of birth. But motives and procedures have also changed over the course of time. During the frst wave in the early 1990s, there appeared to be little point in investigating because the attractiveness of Qazaqstan was all too obvious. An additional factor was that people believed to go to a place that is similar to home (Finke 2022). As described earlier, even those who stayed had not bought animals, although prices were very low by that time. Neither did they build or renovate houses or sent their children to a Mongolian university. During much of the 1990s and early

Changing regimes of production and exchange 91 2000s, even the national language had not been considered an important asset to master anymore. The more attractive destinations for students had become universities in Qazaqstan or Turkey. “Everyone thought, Mongolia is fnished”, to use the words of Mäńdibay. There was comparatively little calculation but more of a rush, seemingly violating the general risk-aversion inherent to human decision-making (Donahoe 2009). But this turned out to be just a snapshot in time. Soon, the diffculties encountered at their new homes made people return, and those in Mongolia to stay. Moldabay (#8) had been among the frst families to go. He left Khovd in early 1992 with a larger group of households who all ended up in the northern province of Kökšetaw, dominantly populated by Russians. Several of them migrated back to Mongolia within a year or two, and many more changed their residence within Qazaqstan to more appealing destinations. Moldabay remained in Kökšetaw for more than fve years and tried hard to adapt. In the end, he gave up as well. He returned to Khovd during the late 1990s and has stayed ever since, doing comparatively well. When I talked with him in 2014, he showed no regrets, neither for leaving nor for returning. It had been worth a try, so a common view, but an equally respectable decision to come back. For many years to come, the situation was then one of hesitating and postponing. There seemed too many variables involved in either staying or leaving to come to a reasonable decision, this time not so much due to a lack of information but the inability to properly evaluate it (Finke 2022). A second wave emerged only following the jüt of the early 2000s and the concurrent economic boom in Qazaqstan, although at a lower scale and stretched over years. By that time, the stories told by relatives who had moved earlier gradually improved and gave signs of hope. And now, it was not only the less well-off who decided to go but also many of the wealthy families who believed it was the right time to build up a new life in prospering Qazaqstan. By contrast, for many of the poor, it seemed too risky a move to do, and opportunities in Mongolia were at least suffcient to survive. Around this time also Nigmet decided to go. He had been a teacher in the sum, and briefy a member of the local government, while his wife Märiyam had been working as a nurse. Now, upon their retirement, it seemed the right moment. Of their three sons, the middle one had moved 15 years earlier and was working in a factory in Pavlodar. The eldest son had studied in Ulaanbaatar and just entered an administrative career in the sum, while the youngest one was a police offcer in the aymag-centre. Two of their six daughters had earlier left for Qazaqstan where they settled in different parts of the country. Especially, the two sons might later join, so the idea, but as they were both in well-paid jobs this was rather a long-term strategy. Therefore, Nigmet and Märiyam keep on commuting between both places every year. Around the turn of the next decade, the movement stopped again, a trend accelerated by the decision of the government in Qazaqstan to suspend the quota program. More and more families again sent their children to Ulaanbaatar or other places for higher education, to prepare them for a future in Mongolia.

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Several young men and women I knew, who had done their undergraduate study in Ölgiy where teaching is in Qazaq, moved on to pursue a master’s degree in Ulaanbaatar. You know, now we have made a decision. We have been thinking of moving for twenty years and didn’t know what to do. So, we have not done anything. Now that we have decided to stay, we build new houses or renovate the old ones, we send the kids to Ulaanbaatar for university as we want them to learn Mongolian properly. (Qalqaman, 35-year-old accountant in the sum administration, in 2013) As mentioned, this was to change again only a few years later. Already by the mid2010s, a few families set off again. Some of them belonged to the wealthy ones who believed they could start a new existence with the savings brought along. Then, in 2018, the Qazaqstanian government initiated the mentioned new grant programmes and people started to engage more actively again with the idea of migrating. By now, there seems to exist a better idea which variables are important and how best to time the moment to go. Information is readily available and planning one’s future has become a manageable task (Finke 2022). It seemed also clear to most of the parents that their children will probably not come back, which was also recognised as the beginning of migration for the rest of the family. “Bala biledi”, “the children know”, as Quat put it when asked about the option of a move to Qazaqstan. Even those who had always dismissed the idea acknowledged that the day may come. If the new grant scheme continues, this would also allow the poor to join who had shied away from migrating during the second wave due to a lack of educational background for fnding a proper job in Qazaqstan. This may set in motion a third wave of migration in the near future, which could put an end to the Qazaq minority in Mongolia. So far, however, the rigid lockdowns during the Corona Pandemic and the subsequent war in Ukraine have effectively deterred people from leaving for Qazaqstan. Individual motives for migrating, of course, vary and change over the years but have been overwhelmingly of an economic nature. To a certain degree, the waves and directions of movement corresponded with the economic ups and downs in both countries. People give reference to the fact that Qazaqstan is their ethnic homeland and has invited them to help build up the new nation-state, but the arguments run more along a line of individual future perspectives for oneself and one’s kids. And while the very frst wave was obviously driven by a sudden and not well-planned impulse, accelerated by the desperate situation in Mongolia, in the following periods people had much better sources of information for their decisions. Still, deciding to move is not easy for anyone and often takes years to fnalise. I had countless discussions with people of all ages, classes, and gender whether Qazaqstan is a place to go. With many of them, the topic popped up again and again. And so did the changing arguments against or in favour of such a move.

Changing regimes of production and exchange 93 People who had fnally decided to go were well aware of the diffculties ahead. “We will miss it here. This is the place of our childhood, the place where our ancestors are buried. Of course, it will be diffcult over there”, were the words of Rustam a few days before he left for Temirtaw in 2004. Aged 38 at the time, he has not been back since and, in fact, seemed happy in his new home when I visited him a few years later. But many had more doubts than him. I really don’t know. There in Qazaqstan it is diffcult to fnd work. For the young, it is good. They will fnd their way, although it is diffcult for those without a proper job. For the old ones, it is also okay. They get a pension from the government. Not a lot but with two calving cows and ten or twenty sheep you can have a decent living. But for those in-between the situation is diffcult. There are no jobs. Not only for those without a diploma. They will also not give jobs to us. So, I will wait for my retirement, and maybe go then. (Baybek, 44-year-old teacher in Khovd-sum, in 2018) The situation is clearly even more diffcult for families in the pastoral or agricultural business. As Temir (#5) put it, “There are no jobs in Qazaqstan for people like us. Our sons didn’t learn anything proper. What should we do there?” Almost the identical phrase I had heard from his brother Joltay some ten years earlier. But, in contrast to Temir, Joltay had in the end decided to go, very much pressured by his sons, even though they seemed disadvantaged when it came to fnding work there. Others of the extended family, both those with and without diplomas, had left Mongolia as well. For Temir, migrating was still not an option in 2018, although his eldest son had done so in the meantime. Also, not everyone has the same voice in decision-making. Women do have a saying and were especially in the early period often the ones in favour of migrating, as female domestic work is less exhaustive in Qazaqstan due to the availability of electricity and heating in the house. But once a decision is taken on the family level, it usually implies that younger females have to accompany the extended family of their husbands while their own parents and siblings may stay behind, or the other way round. This frequently causes frustration and bitterness among family members who end up alone. Jumagül was a child when her parents decided to move to Qazaqstan in the early 1990s. She spent almost ten years there, completing most of her schooling, before the family resettled to Khovd as they could not adapt properly. By that time Jumagül was 16 and, as is commonly expected, married a few years later after graduating, soon to have her frst child born. Then, in 2005, her parents decided to leave Mongolia again. As her husband and his family show no signs of migrating, Jumagül is stuck and deeply unhappy with being there all alone, as she put it. The same happened with Amangül, the second-youngest daughter of Äygerim (#9), who had to stay in Mongolia as her family-in-law did not want to leave. Her continuous urges towards her husband have so far been unsuccessful.

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Changing regimes of production and exchange Of course, I want to go. You know why. Everyone is there, my mother and all brothers and sisters. Here, there is only Nurbolat and me left. And he is going to move as well later this year. I’m the only one left. I tell Baqit every day we should go, but he doesn’t listen. His mother does not want us to leave. There is nothing I can do. (Amangül, 29-year-old farmer near Khovd city, in 2014)

This is not to say that close kin, or sets of brothers, necessarily moved together. In almost all families, there were one or two brothers who decided for various reasons to stay or, vice versa, left on their own while the bulk of the family remained in Mongolia. As shown, daughters who are already married do not take part prominently in this decision-making but have to wait for the one going on in their husbands’ families. This is why today virtually everyone has at least one female member of the nuclear family on the other side of the border. Many also have grown-up sons who decided to move on their own or go to check out for the rest of the family. Some of them commute back and forth but the majority have at some point decided to stay in Qazaqstan for good. While the combination of motives has not changed much since, the respective benefts that people envision to have. Everyone is aware that Qazaqstan does have great potential and has already turned into the most prosperous state in the larger region. It is also evident, however, that this does not necessarily result in better lives for migrants in remote villages in the northern parts of the country. And the arguments against Qazaqstan are also still the same, namely unfavourable ecological conditions, poor social relations, and a lack of freedom. Here in Mongolia, according to common credo, you can do whatever you want and will always fnd a way to make ends meet. People are good and there is peace, also between the ethnic groups. But even for those who plan to stay this is conditioned on the decisions of others. No, we do not want to go to Qazaqstan. You know, the air is bad there. And so is the water. It is not healthy, and the meat has no taste. Here, you will always fnd something to make a living. You are free. And life is peaceful. But, of course, if everyone else goes, then we will have to as well. If they all go there will be no Khovd-sum anymore, and there will be no school here anymore to work at. (Mäńdibay, 58-year-old schoolteacher, in 2018) The lack of bureaucracy and state intervention in everyday affairs is esteemed very highly and so is the degree of democracy. Even those who left perceive Mongolian politics as more democratic and fairer (Finke 2013). But there are other reasons to stay, and these have become more prominent over the years. One is that the incentives to migrate have decreased since Qazaqstan stopped the quota system. Even those still playing with the idea of migrating agree to wait for its reintroduction, which is, however, uncertain. Equally important have been the recent booms in Mongolia, while the subsequent crises have been paralleled

Changing regimes of production and exchange 95 by similar downturns in Qazaqstan. Average salaries have been rising signifcantly since the 1990s. In fact, those who have jobs earn not that much less than in Qazaqstan, and those who do not, have many more options. Not to mention, because so many left, those who stayed have, on average, twice as much land at their disposal – pasturage as well as agricultural felds. Land is not much of an issue also due to the fact that Mongols from neighbouring sum hesitate to move into Qazaq-dominated territory. This will, however, hold true only as long as out-migration pauses or continues on a low level. Should the number of Qazaqs fall below a certain threshold, the expectation is that the sum will be dissolved and merged with another one, as Mäńdibay explains, making not only teachers and administrators jobless but presumably also resulting in an infux of pastoralists from outside. Still, life in Qazaqstan, especially for those without higher education, is diffcult and people are well aware of that. And, indeed, reports of migrants who were not able to fnd a job abound, although success stories equally fnd their way. One who stayed for such reasons is Qanat, now in his late ffties. His elder and younger brothers moved to Qazaqstan during the 2000s. Following the traditional norm, the youngest had inherited the pastoral job and fock from their father who had died long before. The eldest brother had been a driver to the negdel while Qanat was working as a mechanic. He became unemployed with the dissolution of the negdel but managed to survive. Over the years, Qanat has been able to achieve some decent prosperity. Today he is working at the bazaar in Khovd, selling four and spare parts while their small herd is looked after by his sister’s family in the countryside. His children all fnished school and are now to enter university or the job market. Therefore, the consideration to move is back again. But so far, he felt comfortable and safe in Mongolia. “We will have to see”, as he explained in 2018. “Now that the kids start their own lives, it is the time to stay or go. I don’t know for sure what to do. But if we wait for any longer and the kids start to marry and settle down, it is too late”. This is a situation very typical for families living in the aymag-centre where contact with Mongols is intensive. Sultan is a 60-year-old Uygur, who had moved to town as a young man where he married Almagül. Ever since, he has been working in the construction sector and today belongs to the urban middle class. Back in 1991, so he said, he wanted to go. “But then I understood how deep this would hurt my father, so I stayed”. Since then, their family has well adapted within a predominantly Mongolian neighbourhood. “Now there is no chance to go. The kids have their friends, they speak mostly Mongolian, and they have no intention to move to Qazaqstan”. Almagül said when I asked her about their plans. This was very much the same situation with her sister Dayanhan, married to another Uygur in town. In their case, one of the two sons had even made it to Ulaanbaatar where he works as a physician. They have equally no plans to resettle to Qazaqstan anytime soon where, however, most of Almagül and Dayanhan’s kin already live. As became evident, timing is an important factor in this. After the experience of the frst wave, people shied away from making hasty decisions (Finke 2022).

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Especially, the older generation preferred to stay with what is familiar and hesitated to take new risks. In fact, many wait until having reached retirement age. For the younger, by contrast, delaying a move might also be detrimental, as all the others, who go before, take the few jobs available. Other time factors include education. People have realised that children who enter the school system in Qazaqstan at a relatively late age, that is, above fourth grade, have a diffcult time integrating due to their lack of Russian and Qazaq literary language skills. It is better to go either when they are still very young or have already graduated. But as most families have at least three children of different ages, fnding the right moment can be diffcult. The paramount role of the state, or indeed two states in this case, is obvious. A possible reintroduction of the annual quota is a major theme in discussions today and it would most likely kick off a new wave of migration. It would be an asset in particular for poor families who do not have the resources to start a new existence. This is, however, not to be expected in the near future for reasons that have probably less to do with a few Mongolian Qazaqs who took advantage by receiving fnancial support more than ones, but rather the larger geo-political setting. It seems that the government in Astana is careful not to irritate Russian sentiments that might see the continuing infux of migrants into Qazaqstan as an assault on its own diaspora there (Finke 2013). As mentioned, this does not prevent migrants from coming and settling down, whether they do so by their own means or via a grant scheme for their children. At the same time, the state of Mongolia does not prevent them from leaving, commuting, or coming back permanently. If it exerts infuence on migration decisions, it is rather in more indirect ways. It has been mentioned that in everyday life ethnic tensions have been growing over the years. So have the diffculties Qazaqs face when trying to get a job in public administration or in private business. These days it is hard to get a job as a Qazaq. In the administration but also in private business, they will always hire another Mongol. It was not like this before. But for our kids it will be virtually impossible. They will not give them a job. That is why we will have to migrate one day. There is no future for us here. (Olšas, 35-year-old Qazaq living in Khovd city, in 2018) Many of the arguments in favour of Qazaqstan are also still the same as they used to be. A superior infrastructure, children growing up in a state where the national language is their mother tongue and, most of all, the promises of seemingly indefinite mineral reserves. But so are the dangers of such a move. Indeed, the major argument has come down to the fact that most of one’s kin have already left. Push factors, that is to say, disappointments with Mongolia play less of a role today, except for the growing discrimination as members of a minority in the urban job market. Still, the decision to migrate has not become easier over the years. And the longer one waits, the more diffcult it becomes as children establish their own

Changing regimes of production and exchange 97 networks, marry locally or graduate from a Mongolian university. People are, one might say, actively waiting for a new window of opportunity to open up that will allow them to migrate and set up a new life in Qazaqstan under conditions deemed favourable.

Conclusion Things have changed a lot since the 1990s. At the beginning was the transfer of the means of production, in particular livestock, from collective or state ownership into private hands. The new form of property rights was readily accepted, even though the procedure of implementation was distorted by a number of faws and fraudulent acts, shaped by unequal bargaining power. In retrospect, the respective ways of allocating means of production, namely private ownership of livestock versus lease contracts for agricultural land, seem to have rather little impact on economic strategies and performance. Today, either arrangement is viewed as more or less secure, a crucial precondition for sustainable investments if we follow standard economic theory. The early days of transformation were nevertheless a period of great stress and uncertainty, due mainly to a mismatch between the existing institutional setting and the requirements of a new economic system. With the dismantling of the socialist collectives, an existing channel for trade had vanished, and nothing was there to replace it. At the same time, Mongolia was going through a severe crisis. Terms of trade were unfavourable, to say the least, and rural households in particular suffered from high transaction costs due to legal insecurities, lack of transport facilities, and seemingly random fuctuations of prices for products to buy and sell. As a consequence, many households retreated to a mixture of barter and subsistence production, counterbalanced only by the sale of cashmere as the prime cash crop available to them. Flexibility and diversifcation of livelihood strategies were the main tools, back then frst of all as coping mechanisms to secure the survival of a household. Things started to change by the turn of the century, and today, most families in Khovd-sum are far better off than they were 30 years ago. This has various reasons, among which a gradual learning of market mechanisms as well as a moderate recovery of the Mongolian national economy rank highest. The market is now very much institutionalised and also eased by advancements in communication technology and transportation. Trade has become a more or less benefcial thing to do, and the majority is eager to make use of the new opportunities. One particular asset is, of course, the closeness to the provincial centre and its bazaar. Another factor is the growth of a domestic market for agricultural and livestock products due to the emergence of a new middle class and the increase of households living in urban centres without felds or animals of their own. There are still people who regret the fall of the old system, and this is not necessarily confned to poor families whose lives may have been better back then. But few people complain as badly as almost everyone did in the mid-1990s. Also, the little interference by the state on rural livelihoods and incomes, in form of taxes,

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is appreciated. The idea of the market is by and large accepted while its consequences in the form of growing inequality and individualistic economic strategies are taken as a matter of fact. At the same time, many people still bemoan the uncertainty that comes along with the new system, aggravated by the constant threat of a new jüt to decimate people’s herds. The government is hardly able – and also little concerned – to protect rural households from risks arising out of an environment that is hard to predict and a national economy that is highly exposed to global fuctuations. To a certain degree, there is nothing one can do about that. In the future, the creation of cooperative structures, such as grass-root organisation for trade and collective labour arrangements, may become a necessity to survive in the national market. So far this has not happened, also because the possibility to leave the country for good does not foster long-term agreements very much. A migration to Qazaqstan, how ambivalent and risk-flled it may be, provides people with a permanent fallback option should things go wrong. But it is one equally loaded with new uncertainties and downsides, for those who left as well as for those who stayed. In fact, the motives to leave have consequently changed over time and are nowadays less economic than they were in the beginning. More and more questions of re-reunifcation and proper education for one’s children have become the main arguments for staying or leaving. The future is anything but certain in this respect, which has profound impacts also on those families still in Mongolia.

Notes 1 Qazaqs speak of four types of livestock (tört tüligi mal), lumping sheep and goat into one as they are usually maintained in one fock. 2 Figures according to the Statistic Offce of Khovd-aymag, provided in 1995. 3 According to estimations, a total of eleven million livestock died countrywide during the early 2000s, while up to eight million perished just in the winter of 2009/2010, possibly the highest single case in the history of Mongolia (Murphy 2011). 4 There are only few crossbreeds between ordinary cattle and yaks, called khaynag in Mongolian, which are more favourable for the gentler highlands of central Mongolia. 5 I have once witnessed the hunt for a boar along the riverbanks of the Khovd, or rather the visible remainders out of that, but this is very rare because most Qazaqs, as well as Uygurs, refrain from eating pork. 6 Personal information by Prof. Nyamsüren, University of Khovd. 7 In the more fertile regions of central and northern Mongolia, the maximum number allowed was 50 livestock.

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Introduction When I frst met them in the autumn of 1991, Jampeys and Äygerim had just turned from negdel herders, who specialised in large stock, into a household caring solely for their now private fock. This also implied the end of a safe existence within a paternalist state structure for an insecure future where they had to build their fate on the number of animals obtained during de-collectivisation plus those they had owned personally during socialist times. Deprived of regular salaries and infrastructural support, the family was not able to maintain the same living standards and soon saw their livestock dwindling away. Not well prepared to deal with a market that was capricious, to say the least, the household turned from a rather prosperous one to one living in precarity. After Jampeys’s premature death a few years later, the family was not able to keep the property together. As of today, all their sons and most of the daughters have left for Qazaqstan, hoping for a new start for themselves and the next generation to come. The case of Jampeys and Äygerim stands for many in Khovd-sum who experienced severe decline since the beginning of transformation. Others fared better and stayed in Mongolia to take advantage of the new opportunities of a market system. In either case, this proved a diffcult path, paved with obstacles and unforeseeable twists. After decades of an all-embracing social welfare system, many households were ill equipped to deal with this new scale of uncertainty. Socialism as a system had also changed people’s perception of risk and responsibilities. All this needed to be re-considered when the “age of the market” (Marin 2008) took over in Mongolia. Suffcient and regular incomes were a thing of the past, and the future was to be built on the means of production procured during privatisation and afterwards. There is, in other words, very much at stake. To make a sustainable living is not easy, and to accumulate funds for the future, which demands the creation of suffcient surpluses, is even more of a challenge. Families deal with that with an amazing fexibility. Diversifcation became a prime strategy, initially as a risk-reducing tool, which would later turn into one of entrepreneurship. Today, with few exceptions, people are able to make ends meet and the majority manages to secure the education of their children. But it also caused social inequality to grow and become more permanent. Also, DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692-4

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unfavourable ecological conditions continue as a threat, most vividly seen in the recent jüt years, which caused tens of thousands of animals to perish. Other risks arise out of market fuctuations and hard to foresee political changes. Transaction costs are still high, also due to the sheer distances involved and the lack of reliable information on domestic and international trade opportunities. Yet other challenges are grounded in the modes of human interaction and in particular the sometimes opportunistic way of decision-making that leaves little room for coordinating strategies or pooling labour force. Collective actions of different kinds are thus a diffcult matter. This is aggravated by the ongoing migration to Qazaqstan and economic stratifcation, both lowering time horizons, or the attractiveness of investing in social relationships. This chapter looks at how people in Khovd-sum have adapted to the requirements of the market as a new institutional arrangement. Taking the individual household as the starting point, it will follow the range of strategies chosen, particularly its great diversity and fexibility. Pastoralists become farmers before moving to town, trying their luck in trade, only to take up livestock rearing again. In-between, part of the family may have spent some years in Qazaqstan before remigrating to Mongolia. This has created new uncertainties but allowed most households a growth in wealth over the years. But the same diversity has also contributed to increasing inequality when it comes to herd sizes, agricultural production, and access to jobs. And those privileged have begun to invest in new and more lasting ways to secure a better livelihood for themselves and their children outside of the pastoral sector.

Households and property At the core of economic strategising is the individual household as the basic unit of production and exchange. The diffculties begin when it is about defning a household and its boundaries. And although the situation may be not quite as fuid as in other contexts (Netting et al. 1984), there is still great variation and fexibility. Households are, legally speaking, the holders of property rights in means of production with the senior male usually listed as representative in offcial documents. This conforms with an emic understanding, according to which nuclear or extended families own and manage property jointly under the authority of the father. In practice, this is somewhat more complicated and different members may have more or less exclusive rights in animals, cars, or household utensils. As a consequence, also interests and stakes are not necessarily equal among its members but differ according to age and gender. Households are also a key institution when it comes to organising and distributing labour. Simply speaking, women – as in most pastoral societies – are largely responsible for managing the yurt, milking animals, cooking, and cleaning, as well as producing felt and other artefacts. Men are supposed to take care of the animals, organise grazing cycles, prepare hay for winter, and do other tasks around livestock management. Much of this used to be delegated to either sons or elders so that middle-aged men are less often seen as shepherds. Their

Making ends meet 103 main duties include maintaining tools and other facilities, such as animal shelters, controlling the movement of large stock distant from the campsite, and visiting other herders in search of information. To the latter is, in fact, a major part of their time devoted, especially in summer when intermediate movements happen more frequently and there is tea or qımız to be served at the places they visit. Finally, the individual household is also the major unit of consumption. While neighbours may often be kin and the exchange of goods or mutual invitations for food occurs frequently, these are clearly demarcated as such. Default is to have one’s meals as a single family or household, including guests or anthropologists who happen to be around. Brothers and sons next door will on most days eat separately, although they also get a bowl should they be around when food is served. The same holds true for other kinds of property. Lassos, saddles, or utensils of any type can easily be borrowed, but this is marked as an exchange and demanded back at some point. And such distinctions are also made clear to children of neighbouring families. As is typical for nomads, herders in western Mongolia use portable dwellings for most of the year. The yurt is, as mentioned, still the dominant appearance in the steppe and serves a majority of herding households year-round. It is nicely cool in summer and warm in winter, although then temperatures drop quickly if not permanently heated. Yurts vary in size, ranging anywhere between 20 and 40 m2, depending on the number of separable wooden screens as building material, with – on average – Qazaq ones being bigger than Mongol ones, and yurts in the plain being bigger than those in the mountains. Inside they are decorated with coloured felt mats, embroidered draperies, and other adornments. Qazaqs are very proud of the efforts spent on this, while Mongol yurts are often considered poor and dirty, even if the owners may be wealthy. The interior is completed with some furniture, kitchenware, leather bags, and other stuff needed. Today, almost all families have in addition a TV set, radio, and other electronic devices. An iron oven used for cooking as well as heating resides in the centre. Those families wintering in yurts, be that in the sum-centre or in the countryside, may lay a wooden foor inside to hold off the cold. Most families have one yurt, which is used for sleeping, cooking, hosting guests, and whatever other activities come up during the day. Some have in summer a smaller storage tent, called qoyma in Qazaq, but these are rare. The yurt itself is constructed around a wooden skeleton that is covered with one or two layers of felt, depending on season and temperature. It can easily be built and dismantled within an hour or two, making it the perfect equipment for seasonal travelling. The Qazaq yurt is, in the terminology of Róna-Tas, of a “cylindrodome-shape”, in contrast to the “cylindro-conical” of its Mongolian counterpart (1961: 79ff.). The major difference is with the poles connecting the frame and roof, which are curved for the dome type but straight in the conical case. Some Qazaqs in Khovd, especially those wintering in the plains, use the Mongol type. Which of the two can better stand against strong winds is a matter of dispute, and both may occasionally collapse in such cases. Possibly, the difference is more

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about huge amounts of snow, typical for most of Qazaqstan, for which straight poles would be a disadvantage while they serve superior in case of a storm. Only a minority of herders, and none of the Mongols, have permanent houses at their winter campsites, which are usually stable over the years and equipped with fxed facilities made of stone, wood, or khargana bushes. The houses, called tam in Qazaq, are of an adobe style, out of bricks and loam around a wooden skeleton. As there are no trees around, the material has to be brought further distances. During winter, tam preserve heat easier and thus help to save on fuel. The same type of dwelling is predominant in the sum-centre as well as in the small settlements of the fourth bag. But even most sedentary families own and regularly use a yurt. In summer, many do so as it is considered pleasant and healthier during the warm season or because they move the household to the mountain areas to take care of their animals. The usage of yurts and tam depends on economic standing, personal preferences, as well as the degree of mobility throughout the year. Therefore, the highest percentage of houses among pastoralists is with the specialised yak herders in the second bag, some of whom hardly move at all in the course of their annual cycle. Most Qazaq pastoralists in Khovd-sum, however, also spend the cold season in a yurt.1 For many years, no new tam had been built in the district. It was only recently that people started to construct houses again after a decision to stay in Mongolia had been made, as Qalqaman explained in the preceding chapter. One who did so is Joldas (#1). Close to his long-term summer campsite in Davdag, he had acquired a new winter compound from a family, who had given up herding. Located at an altitude of 2,000  m, he soon started to construct a tam, which would then also be a storage room within walking distance during summer. Even more construction activity is going on in the sum-centre these days. Increasingly, former herders have begun to settle down, leaving their fock with a son or younger brother. They gradually fll up the empty spaces in the village, which had emerged during the emigration to Qazaqs when whole streets had become deserted. So far, land is for free, and the district administration does not even need to be asked for permission. Beginning around 2012, the frst families in Dund-Us built two-storey houses in refection of their increasing wealth. This went hand in hand with greater variation in style and colour. Some of the new constructions have the bricks in red, which strongly contrasts with the grey and brownish outlook of older buildings. A few families now have houses solely made from wood, said to be better for air circulation and health. Houses and other permanent structures are in principle the property of individual families and are traded freely, although people do not own the land on which they are built. This is more complicated, as shown in the previous chapter, with ownership of animals and agricultural felds. It is also not that straightforward with the access to pastures, which will be explored in the following chapter. And property rights, according to institutional theory, are not only an issue of formal rules of ownership and possession but also include the possibility of legal or illegal encroachment by other actors. Crucial is therefore not only the rule per se but equally the likelihood of its implementation, that is to say, the existence and

Making ends meet 105 enforcement of sanctions, which infuences the economic strategies people apply to utilise and secure their property. The design of access rights, in particular to the means of production, is therefore essential in shaping economic activities and investments as they allow (or prevent) the generation of predictability on the part of the producers that is needed for developing suitable strategies. One such issue is taxation, a, by defnition, legal way of encroaching upon property rights. It is part of the overall institutional regime in that it infuences peoples’ choices and decisions. If specifc economic activities are made unattractive due to predatory taxes, they will not take place very often. To encourage particular sectors to grow, politics may be wise to put a low rate or none at all. In the case of Mongolia, and other post-socialist countries, there is an additional problem with the very concept of taxation. It could be argued that there was no such thing within the socialist system. De facto, of course, the surplus that the state retained within the production process was a form of taxation but not conceptualised as such (probably neither by the state nor by its employees). As a consequence, many people still have an understanding that taxes are an illegitimate appropriation of a state that should provide them with jobs, goods, and services, and not encroach on their incomes and property. The current government of Mongolia puts great effort at increasing livestock numbers and some ten years ago has waived taxation, which was never very high and probably barely matched the costs for levying. Back in the 1990s, the relevant unit was the bod. This is a traditional system of livestock conversion equivalent to one cattle or horse. A camel is calculated as 1.5 bod while seven sheep or ten goats make up one bod. Per family member two bod were free, and for the rest, people had to pay 50 tögrög each. A prosperous household of six family members with 500 small stock and 50 large stock had then to pay around 5,000 tögrög per year or one sheep (Finke 2004). Families of the same size with less than 100 small stock did not pay any taxes. By the early 2000s, the basis of taxation had been switched to khonin tolgoy, or “sheep head”. One goat here is equivalent to 0.9 sheep, cattle, horses, and camels to fve, six, and seven, respectively (Ündesniy Atlas 1990: 186). The allowance was now ten khonin tolgoy for each household member. For every additional unit, people had to pay 50 tögrög, which – for the described wealthy case – would amount to 37,000 tögrög, then still the equivalent to one sheep. Poorer families with 100 animals were again exempted from any taxes. Other taxes or annual fees include one for using natural resources, such as water and fresh air, of currently 4,000 tögrög per household, or roughly US$2, which applies for rural and urban households alike. In addition, people have to pay for rifes, cars, trucks, and motorbikes, and the few with offcial jobs ten per cent of their incomes. There are long-standing plans to put pastures under a lease regime, but so far, the government has been unable to implement that (cf. Chapter 5). The only existing fee is for winter and spring campsites, which amounts to 1,000 tögrög per year. This is different for agricultural land, where 8,000 tögrög have to be paid per hectare, no matter what is grown, a sum which has not increased since 2013. Agricultural land is on long-term lease contracts for

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up to 60 years, although there is still fuidity in size and locations from year to year. No fee applies for hay cut in pasture areas. Other modes of appropriation are less legal but may have similar effects on livelihood strategies in that they equally shape the path for economic activities and investments. Livestock theft has been on the rise ever since the end of socialism and caused serious resentment. Actions have, however, never been taken, even if people seem to have a rather clear idea of who is to blame (Finke 2004). I do not have data to confrm whether this has increased in recent years, but it is clearly perceived as a threat and has impacted on patterns of seasonal mobility, as will be shown in the following chapter. But the risk of rustling has not changed everyday herding management yet, and especially horses and camels are still left on their own for most of the year. To safeguard animals against theft, large stock is branded while sheep and goats get coloured pieces of fabric appended to their ears. These symbols of ownership are called tańba and eń, respectively, in Qazaq. They cannot prevent theft per se but limit its possible usage. Branded animals cannot be added to one’s herd but have to be slaughtered straight away. Most precarious is November when whole focks of cattle and horses may be driven away for the winter slaughter. Herders in Khovd-sum, and particularly those in the lowlands of the frst and third bag, are more affected than other districts due to the proximity to the provincial capital where there is high demand for meat. As with other sources of livestock losses, this was less an issue during socialist times because the negdel ultimately replaced the damage to the individual herder and prices for meat were comparatively low. Today, animal theft may have devastating consequences, especially for poor herders who cannot easily compensate for the loss of the few animals they own. Some have for this reason sold their camels and horses, or only kept a minimum number for daily needs. Not surprisingly, people demand more severe and more consequently applied punishment for the trespasser who, so a common saying, will be released quickly upon paying a bribe.

Diversifers and entrepreneurs Transformation has made life less secure than it was during socialist times. Lacking is, however, not only regular incomes, protection against livestock losses, and the ready-made organisation of trade by the state but also the continuity in terms of profession people had back then. It was possible to change jobs or livestock species, but most people stayed with one specialisation for all of their adult life. In the eyes of the central planners, this was considered a great advantage, as it made production processes more effcient and projectable (Kornai 1992). And in contrast to many capitalist societies, it was not connected with a lack of professional mobility across generations. As mentioned earlier, many children of pastoralists went to university and some even studied in the Soviet Union or other allies in the socialist world. This was all to change. With de-collectivisation, a trend towards diversifcation set in to deal with the increased risk that, in fact, more resembles traditional ways

Making ends meet 107 of pastoralism. One such strategy was the return to multi-species pastoralism, almost imposed upon due to the procedure of privatisation. Equally important was a different mixture within each fock. In particular, there was a trend for owning older animals, which are less vulnerable to diseases and sturdier during ecological hardships (Finke 2004). It was also a natural outcome of increasing herd sizes by not selling livestock, which allows herders to take optimal advantage of products such as cashmere or wool from animals alive. Needless to say that this at the same time can have detrimental effects on the sustainable use of pastures. Diversifcation came in multiple ways. One was the mutual exchange between kin and family members of livestock and agricultural products in a time when markets offered little attraction to specialise in trade. This type of barter was not only a way of reciprocal safeguarding but also involved comparatively little opportunity costs as surpluses were diffcult to sell anyway. Other families attempted to broaden their economic basis by having a son or younger brother growing potatoes while the others managed the joint fock acquired during privatisation. This strategy still continues today but has changed in scale and now rarely works beyond the immediate family. As soon as sons set up their own household, they become autonomous economic units and reciprocal barter will quickly turn into a more calculated exchange relationship, as explored in more detail below. Roughly speaking, there were three types of dealing with diversifcation. The frst was to avoid it by putting one’s fate in pastoralism, engaging in other sectors only to a limited degree. This was a strategy applied by local Mongols, such as Tsedensüren (#11) or Nergüy (#12), as well as some Qazaqs, for example, Joldas (#1), Azat (#4), or Temir (#5). The second type refers to families who deliberately combined different forms of livelihood, in particular livestock rearing and agriculture. Most prominent in this respect are Idırıs (#2), Ibragim (#10), and Moldabay (#8), the latter since his return from Qazaqstan. Finally, a third option was to leave the pastoral sector but keep some animals for subsistence purposes. This type comes in different variations. A few Qazaqs and Uygurs have basically exchanged livestock for farming over the years, including the families of Mawsımhan and Oktyabr (#7). Mongols in most cases lacked the necessary labour force to do so. Some of them have moved to town for good, which usually implies an end to pastoral activities. By contrast, taking up residence in the sumcentre – which allows continuing a supplementary existence based on livestock – was not an option for Mongol families as they had no social network there. It was a possibility, however, for Qazaqs like Särsenbay (#6). When it comes to concrete cases, things are even more complex. Temir (#5) and his brothers are illustrative for families of the frst type, although also showing some variety within the extended family. I have already referred to the different shapes that their careers had taken during socialist times. Temir himself had never been a wealthy herder but over the years was able to achieve some modest prosperity. In contrast to him, his eldest brother Tilegen had always been a shepherd. During the 1990s, he settled with his frst son, Taylaq, the only one already married by that time. Three of the younger sons decided to migrate to Qazaqstan, leaving

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their few animals with their parents, while two also became pastoralists. Today, Taylaq and Dönenbay both belong to the prosperous households in the sum and settle in the same area for most of the year but do not coordinate much of their activities. Qalqaman, the youngest and main heir to their father’s household, lost most of his animals during the last jüt and has not been able to catch up since. Somewhat different is the fate of their frst cousins, the sons of the Dosmuqan, the second-eldest brother of Temir. Dosmuqan himself had a more integrative approach during his lifetime and kept his three sons in one camp. This was also a means to address the large number of small stock they owned, as the sons could better divide tasks among themselves. During daytime, the herd had to be separated with each taking responsibility for a part. Soon after Dosmuqan’s death in the early 2000s, his eldest son decided to move to Qazaqstan. Most of the parental herd was given to the youngest brother, Aybek, who then belonged to the richest in the sum. As a truck driver, however, Aybek did not seem to have the same skills and enthusiasm for herding. He fnally sold his animals to migrate as well. Today, only the middle son Qonaqbay is left and has taken over most of the animals to become one of the wealthiest herders in the sum. In addition to that, his eldest son in turn is busy in agriculture, growing potatoes and vegetables on several hectares. Other families became even more entrepreneurial and tried out different professions, consecutively or simultaneously, as in Type 2 above. The frst to do so were former teachers, doctors, or drivers who became pastoralists again. Others invested in trade, buying a truck to go on the monthly trip to China, or by serving as middlemen in the countryside. This was popular especially among some of the “new nomads” (Müller 1995) who had arrived from the aymagcentre and tried to supplement their incomes by reselling goods to neighbouring pastoralist families. They usually had well-established relationships with the city and better access to goods and information. Some of them still have a place to stay with one of their sons or a close relative, who may also take care of children during school days. One of the most successful examples was the family of Bağdad who had moved to the countryside from the sum-centre. Right after privatisation, when most other Qazaqs shied away, they invested in livestock and soon had accumulated a herd of some 400 animals, then one of the largest focks. Like many of those who entered the pastoral sector at that time, they focused on goats and the selling of cashmere. With the money earned Bağdad started to also engage in agriculture, which was primarily done by the two younger sons, not yet married at that time. Another year or two later, the next step was to buy a truck and from then on Bağdad and his eldest son Mongolhan were regularly making the trip to China once a month. Like other drivers, they would rent out seats for companion traders and their merchandise. Finally, hoping for a better future in Qazaqstan, the family left Mongolia successively during the early 2000s when the time seemed ripe to do so. Bağdad’s was not the only household in the sum-centre to quit jobs and take up pastoralism. This was less often the case with farmers. Here, more common

Making ends meet 109 was the reverse trend, namely pastoralists turning to farming. One such case is Oktyabr (#7), or rather his descendants. Oktyabr had, as mentioned, been a moderately successful herder throughout the early 1990s that enabled him to make ends meet. But he was never a rich herder and the possibility of natural calamities always meant a threat to the family’s existence as a pastoral unit. First steps into agriculture turned out to be futile as long as there was not enough manpower. It was only after Oktyabr’s death and the maturing of four of their sons, who established independent households in the course of the 2000s, that the family fully switched to farming. Today, they grow vegetables and melons on several dozen hectares to sell at the bazaar in Khovd. While this has become the major source of income in the family, they still own some animals herded by relatives for a monthly payment. A similar development is true with some of the Uygur families engaged in pastoralism. The case of Ibragim (#10) has already been mentioned. Even more radical was the turn that happened with the family of Dawlet. During the 1990s, they subsisted primarily on small stock, as they had already done in socialist times, supported by the third son Mawsımhan. By that time, the family had an accumulated herd of 400 animals, supplemented by some agriculture, which was suffcient to make ends meet. After his father’s death, Mawsımhan fully turned to farming and had his few animals herded by a brother-in-law. The family suffered severely during the jüt and little was left of the former pastoral wealth when I met them again in 2011 when Mawsımhan formed a camp near the Buyant River with his mother and two younger unmarried brothers. The family had little more than 100 animals, which was not suffcient to move back to a pastoral living. But Mawsımhan was by then an experienced farmer and made reasonable money with that. More animals, so he said, would only complicate the matter. By this time, agriculture had gradually turned into a strategy on a par. Livestock came under pressure following the series of jüt, while at the same time prices for agricultural products began to rise in the cities. All of a sudden, potatoes in particular seemed the opportunity to invest in, and by 2011 more and more households switched to cultivation to supplement the decreasing role and reliability of pastoralism. Agriculture is also looked at as being much less impacted by sudden changes in climate, although the amount of water in the irrigation channels is, of course, also dependent on precipitation the year before as it feeds the snowmelt. The potato boom was also spurred by the growing demand in the capital of Ulaanbaatar, from where trucks would come all the way up to the felds in Khovd-sum to buy the harvest. In 2011, these traders paid farmers 250 tögrög – or twelve cents – per kilogram to resell it in the capital for double the price, as they told me. However, due to the oversupply, prices crumbled quickly as too many vendors appeared on the market. In 2012, one would only get 50 tögrög, hardly worth the effort, as Mawsımhan said. Many reportedly fed them to their animals. By 2014, after climate and vegetation had been favourable for a few years, many had switched back to pastoralism. In addition to the experience of dramatic price fuctuations with potatoes, this was also driven by the fact that especially

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Illustration 4.1 Selling potatoes to a merchant from Ulaanbaatar (Peter Finke 2011)

small stock produces high growth rates and allows a quick recovery. Within two or three years, many saw their focks double or triple, which provided the basis for a new all-time high of livestock numbers. At the same time, some households had given up after the last jüt and had moved to town or Qazaqstan. Selling their livestock locally to those who could afford and were willing to take the risk, this contributed to the concentration of livestock in the hands of few. So, while average herd sizes have been growing and the number of poor herders declined, inequalities have also increased, and a new pastoral elite has emerged (cf. Chart 4.1). The return to pastoralism was, however, not a complete one either. One reason is that potatoes and vegetables have become important parts of the diet. And over the years, it became clear that cultivation provides a rather secure source of income. A little more than one hectare allows one to achieve an annual income comparable to that of a teacher or a well-off herder, as shown below. What is striking is a social shift that had occurred. In contrast to the 1990s, when the elderly preferred to remain with the herds, it is now the son or younger brother who is delegated to take care of the animals, also because people became attracted to the idea of a sedentary way of life in the settlement. Each family has developed its individual strategies to deal with new risks that are not compensated by the state anymore. Some have fared better, and some

Making ends meet 111 250 200 150 100 50

51-100

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Chart 4.1 Livestock numbers per household in the third bag (1989–2017)

less. Some are more fexible and entrepreneurial. Others try to operate with a narrower range of activities they feel comfortable with. But all have experimented with an extension of their economic strategies in times when information was not always readily available and transaction costs were high. The boundedness of decision-making, so to say, changed not only over the years but also varied from household to household. While switching jobs happened also in the 1990s, it has since then, and particularly as a consequence of the recent jüt, reached a new quality. Over a few years, between 2011 and 2018, many families constantly rethought their way of doing business, moving in and out of different activities. The case of Ibragim (#10) is an illustrative one. He had originally been in agriculture, like the vast majority of Uygurs, but switched to livestock already in the 1960s. Out of his fve sons, two followed him in this. As they had been allocated cattle and horses in socialist times, they settled in the lowlands for most of the year. This is also rather close to the felds in Naymin and Arvin where two more sons worked. A ffth one lived in Khovd city but later migrated to Qazaqstan. So did one of the farming brothers in 2005. Nowadays, Saylaw, the eldest of the fve, is the only one left in the pastoral sector. He still maintains herds of mixed species, while his sons are all part-time engaged in agriculture. As many of those in Ulaan-Khargana, Saylaw lost a sizeable portion of his livestock during the jüt years. To make some money, he decided to switch summer pastures from 2012 onwards and spend the season near the aymag-centre in order to sell milk and qımız on a daily basis. Two years later, I met him in the city of Khovd where he had settled down to become a professional trader. But already by 2016, he had given up on that again and was back to his previous pastoral cycle after herd sizes had recovered. The story of Saylaw refects a general trend. While the early 2010s were a period of experimenting, this turned into one of consolidation in the years to come. People were building houses, continuing with agriculture and, in particular, investing in the education of their children. Whoever could afford it sent sons and

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daughters to a college or university, preferably in Khovd or Ulaanbaatar, even if that means high expenses for many years. Quite a few established herders, who themselves had never lived in town, invest to enable all their children a higher education. Some decided to keep one of their sons, usually the youngest one, at home to prepare him to take over the fock. This is the case, for example, for Joldas and Azat but also for Mongols such as Tsedensüren or Nergüy. Studying in Qazaqstan, by contrast, had become less attractive and seemed like an obstacle once people had decided to stay in Mongolia. As by that time migration plans had been forfeit, the expected utility of integrating into Mongolian society had gained ground. Experience seems to tell that the chances in Qazaqstan are not as good for the qandas, even if they graduate from a local university. As indicated, this was yet to change again just a few years later. Among farmers and people in the centre, the trend is even more to have all children get a university or college diploma as they have less reason to maintain a pastoral basis in the household. Talğat and his wife Rawšan are a typical example. They never had a large fock to call their own. For all his professional life, Talğat was primarily engaged in agriculture but – due to co-residence with his brotherin-law – was a member of the third bag. This implied that he would often spend large parts of the year commuting between the felds and the main camp, where his family lived a pastoral life. He is, by all accounts, a very skilled and successful farmer who has been able to not only feed his family and support a number of kin but also managed to send all his three children to university, one of them in Turkey. By 2018, the two sons had resettled in Qazaqstan. The daughter was just fnishing her college education in Khovd. As none of the children are married and none of them are dependent for their livelihood on land and animals in Mongolia, this seemed an ideal moment to leave. They fnally did so in autumn 2019 to live with their younger son in Pavlodar province.

Herds, felds, and economic stratifcation The basis of a pastoral household is obviously the number of animals it owns, although other means of production or sources of income may at times be equally important. Calculating the property of individual families is, however, not an easy task for a variety of reasons, as already indicated. One is the discrepancy between offcially recognised households and those existing in real life. State documents hold every married couple with or without kids as one distinct unit. Thus, all youngest sons and their parents living in one yurt offcially constitute two households. The same is true for non-married, divorced, or widowed adult persons who, in the case of Qazaqs, rarely live alone. The situation is different for local Mongols where sons leave the parental yurt soon after marriage, which means that three-generation households do not exist for long, although cooperation between father and son continues to be intensive. The next diffculty is fnding accurate numbers on people’s property. Annually the sum administration flls out huge sheets of papers, noting for each household the number of animals by species, age, and sex, as well as the reasons for

Making ends meet 113 changes since the previous year (e.g., sales and purchases, losses and newborns). Obviously, the reliability of such numbers can be doubted because people usually give only rough estimations. They do so, not to escape taxation or because they are unaware of the exact number of animals they own. As mentioned, livestock tax – in pastoral societies usually the main reason for misreporting – has always been very low and recently was waived altogether. Giving rough estimations is, as it seems, a matter of convenience and, possibly, for religious reasons, in order to not provoke any spirits that may take their share, although this is more common an idea among Mongols than Qazaqs. The other two possibilities, however, have their own faws. One is asking people themselves. But there is little reason to believe that they will provide the anthropologist with more precise data. The second is counting. Apart from the diffculties of executing this for several hundreds of households, one can never be sure if the animals that are kept together in one fock actually belong to the same person or if they form the sole livestock property of the household in question. Many have their animals herded by others, sometimes seasonally, sometimes on a permanent basis. This implies that many will have livestock belonging to other families in their focks, and vice versa. In the end, the offcial statistics seemed the best tool, cross-checked with some counting of my own. One reason is that people are usually proud of their large herds and are awarded with state medals for owning more than, e.g., 100 yaks or 1,000 animals in total. They will thus tend to report a number close to reality. Also, over the years, there has to be a certain plausibility in the ups and downs. Control sampling of a few herds was all in the range of ten per cent deviation from the offcial fgures, which sounds reasonable given the diffculties in precision for such kind of measurement. Similar results have been reported by other researchers as well (Templer et al. 1993). Herd sizes generally increased during the early 1990s, as a consequence of privatisation. But soon, poor households, at a time when terms of trade were extremely unfortunate, had to barter off animals to cover imminent household expenses. This caused many of them to fall below the poverty line, to which they responded by switching business or migrating to Qazaqstan. Among Mongols this was not an option, but other types of mobility were at hand. Most of the “new nomads”, who were particularly affected by livestock losses during the jüt periods, moved back to Khovd city or, in some cases, resettled to Ulaanbaatar. Of those who had come in the 1990s, only a few are left and still capable of continuing a pastoral existence. But also several of the established families or their children moved to the aymag-centre, which left behind a rather over-aged local population. Another diffculty in calculating wealth in animals is herd composition. Most studies on pastoralism convert individual household belongings into a standard livestock unit (LSU), with grown-up cattle usually serving as the reference (Bollig et al. 2013). I do not have detailed data to do so for individual years and households. It is also not as helpful as may seem at frst glance. One reason is that livestock equivalents cannot be easily transferred from one context to another due

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to differences in size, yields, and local values. Another is that national statistics in Mongolia typically do not convert stock numbers either so that comparisons on that level would not be possible anymore. The bod and the khonin tolgoy introduced above serve only limited purposes and are not utilised for aggregated statistics. Finally, such an admittedly more nuanced calculation would, for the great majority of cases, add only limited information also for another reason. Almost all households have sheep and goats as the basis of their herd, typically more than 80 per cent. It is only among some of the very rich that large stock constitutes a higher proportion. But they usually also hold the largest focks of small stock. By and large, the aggregated numbers therefore represent the size of a household’s sheep and goat herd, supplemented by a few cattle, horses, and – in rare cases – camels. In 2017, merely 20 families in the third bag had a proportion of sheep and goats that was less than 80 per cent, among which fve owned only cattle and horses. These, however, were all families that either constituted part of a larger household or did not live in the countryside. What is striking is the rapid economic stratifcation that set in as soon as privatisation started. Of course, pastoralists had not been equal in socialist times, but differences were moderate and not decisive for a household’s survival. This would change quickly. By 1992, the frst herders in Khovd-sum had reached the number of 1,000 animals and since then a small elite established itself at the top of the pastoral hierarchy. In 2017, there were offcially 41 households with more than 1,000 livestock, most of them in the frst and second bag. At the other end of the scale are those with fewer than 100, usually considered the minimal herd size needed for subsistence purposes. The necessary number obviously depends on family size and other sources of income, as well as the composition of the herd. But the general idea is that a pastoral household should have at least 300 animals to lead a decent life, with reasonable security for recovery also in case of a jüt. But these fgures also show a general increase in livestock holdings for average and even poorer households. During the early days of post-socialism, the vast majority owned less than 100 animals in total and only a very small pastoralist elite had more than 200 livestock. This would gradually change, and today more than half of all families have herd sizes of 200 animals and above. Exceptions were the years 2003–2004 and 2012–2013 when, in the aftermath of jüt winters, the number of families with less than 100 or no animals at all increased sharply (cf. Chart 4.1). But these were in most cases only temporary declines. The picture is thus not as bleak as it was during most of the 1990s, and most people have a much more optimistic taking on the future. Table 4.1 shows the belongings of families in Khovd-sum converted into bod for 2017, the only year for which I have a full data set for all fve bag. Not surprisingly, the very rich – those with more than 300 bod – are all to be found among herders. And even in the pastoral middle class, above 100 bod, there are very few members of the fourth and ffth bag. The opposite does not hold true. There are quite a few cases in the pastoral areas that own less than 20 bod, a

Making ends meet 115 Table 4.1 Livestock per family in bod (2017)

401– 301–400 201–300 151–200 101–150 51–100 41–50 31–40 21–30 11–20 1–10

1. bag

2. bag

3. bag

4. bag

5. bag

Total

1 8 7 17 41 10 17 16 15 15

1 2 9 10 11 36 6 13 23 16 27

1 1 4 7 14 40 5 12 15 19 14

1 1 17 12 12 22 26 15

1 10 15 6 24 29 34

2 4 23 24 43 144 48 60 100 105 105

number probably not suffcient to make an independent living. But these are, as mentioned, mostly families that have moved to the centre without changing their offcial attachment or exist only on paper as part of a three-generation household. On an individual level, such fates may take very distinct trajectories, sometimes not easy to project. Bura had been the chief of one of the brigades in the negdel before turning to livestock upon his retirement. He started off with a sizeable herd, also helped by a comparatively large number of animals obtained during privatisation. By the mid-1990s, he was one of the wealthiest herders in the sum, with some 600 animals in total. Settling with his two youngest, yet unmarried sons, he put his fate mainly on goats. His elder sons had all offcial jobs or managed their herds separately. Soon, they started to migrate to Qazaqstan one by one, as did the rest of Bura’s family a few years after his death in 2002. They had lost roughly half of their livestock during the jüt years but still were a moderately prosperous family by the time they left Mongolia. Strikingly different were the fates of Bura’s brothers and their descendants. Ikram, the eldest, had already died in the 1980s and his three sons all belonged to the very poor during the 1990s, with each less than 100 livestock. All of them migrated to Qazaqstan consecutively. The second brother of Bura, Hamit, was still alive in the mid-1990s, forming one household with his only son Jaqsılıq. The family was doing only slightly better than Ikram’s and were also reckoned among the poor. But since the early 2000s, things took a turn for the better for Jaqsılıq and today he belongs to the upper-middle class, owning some 500 animals together with his son who now constitutes one joint household with him. As so many others, he beneftted from a number of favourable years climatewise and the general recovery of the Mongolian economy that made prices for livestock products increase. Like the family of Äygerim (#9), whose story has been told in the vignette to this chapter, several others saw their luck disappearing towards the end of the 1990s. Many of them, at some point, decided to go. Serik was one such case, as

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were Quanıš and his sons. While Serik never belonged to the wealthy herd owners, Quanıš was considered well-off. He had been herding cattle for the negdel in his winter and spring camp in Ulaan-Khargana, which, however, made it diffcult to build up a sizeable fock of sheep and goats, as had been the case also with Idırıs (#2) and Ibragim (#10), both settling nearby. Although closeness to the felds allowed the family to do some supplementary agriculture, they fnally gave up and left. Re-migration from Qazaqstan, as mentioned, happened mainly during the mid-1990s, but there are also individual cases later. This has been described already for Moldabay (#8). Upon his return to Mongolia in the late 1990s, he started with a herd of fewer than 50 animals. Since then, his family has been able to constantly increase this size, rather little impacted by the series of jüt inbetween, and today owns some 600 livestock, together with four married sons who all settle in one camp. This is suffcient manpower to enable a range of economic activities. One of the sons has become a full-time farmer while several of his brothers support him during peak times. In fact, trade with potatoes and vegetables accounts for most of their income today, which is then partly re-invested into livestock. Mongols, for obvious reasons, invested in staying and many of them have been able to build up impressive livestock holdings over the years. Tsedensüren (#11) and his brother Erdenebaatar are a prime example of that. Both had started into the market era with already large herds, comparatively speaking. Tsedensüren, the older and wealthier one, owned around 600 animals by 1995, Erdenebaatar had some 400 livestock. In both cases, this also included large numbers of cattle and horses as well as a few camels. Since then, they have successfully manoeuvred their focks through the jüt years and today own almost 3,000 animals together with their now grown-up sons. Both have never been active in cultivation but some of their sons support them by means of overland trade to Ulaanbaatar. Several other Mongol families have been similarly fortunate. In fact, only a few of the established Mongol herders have not been able to expand their business. Chimegdorj and his son Khasar are one such case. Theirs has never been a poor family, but since the mid-1990s the joint fock has always oscillated around 200–300 animals. However, since the death of his father, and the maturation of his eldest son, Khasar has also been able to gradually increase his livestock, which today numbers some 500 animals. Those Mongol families who have not been able to sustain similar numbers have all but left for the city. The exception is some of the “new nomads”, who subsist until today often on rather small herds of some 50 animals. But most of them are single households or elderly couples, often receiving state pensions or other benefts. If these stories sound by and large successful, it is because there is some truth in it. By 2017, the average number of animals per person had reached 55, and thus most families have signifcantly more than the agreed-upon threshold of 100. Of course, these are distributed rather unequally and especially people living in the district centre, as well as most farmers have far fewer animals than that. But then, these families have other sources of income. Among those specialised

Making ends meet 117 in pastoralism, there is today hardly any family left with less than 300 animals. How this compares with other parts of the country can only be assumed. In socialist times, the Khovd-sum belonged, as other Qazaq-dominated areas, to the poorest districts in Mongolia when it comes to human–animal ratios, mainly due to higher population densities (Ündesniy Atlas 1990: 187). This has apparently changed but there is no data available to compare such numbers directly with a national average. The annual yearbooks of Mongolia provide statistics on individual holdings, but the categories are not clearly defned. One is “households with livestock”, including, as it seems, all families across the country who own at least one animal, no matter where they live. The other is “herder households”, a category equally vague, as shown in the pages above. Table 4.2 therefore can only give a very tentative idea of the distribution of livestock in Khovd-sum compared with a national average. Those families with no animals of their own are not included here. According to these fgures, the number of poor herders in Khovd-sum, with less than 100 animals, was in 2009 slightly above the national average (40.2 versus 37.5 per cent) as was the number of households owning at least one animal among the population at large (48.1 versus 43.6 per cent). This had changed markedly by 2017. Not only has the share of poor herders in Khovd-sum dropped from slightly over 40 to less than 20 per cent. It is by now also below the national average. Conversely, the percentage of those with 500 and more animals has more than sextupled, from 4.2 to 27.4 per cent. Here as well, the fgures for Mongolia as a whole have been surpassed. The same development is true for the more general category of households owning livestock, although the decrease of poor households is not quite as pronounced, namely from 48.1 to 30.5 per cent. But then, these households have in the case of the Khovd-sum beneftted also from the boom in potatoes and vegetables. This would indicate that, on average, people are better off than the national average. It should be stressed, however, that these fgures leave out as much as they include. They do not consider the relative proportion of large and small stock. They also do not give credit to the fact that herd sizes may vary for other reasons than wealth. Within Mongolia, numbers per family always tended to be higher in particularly volatile ecological settings, such as the southern Gobi region where large herds serve as a safety net (Ündesniy Atlas 1990: 187). This has changed in recent decades with the chances a new market economy offers to wealthy herders (Murphy 2019). Within Khovd-sum, variations are huge and not always straightforward. In particular, differences between the three herder units are pronounced. But these discrepancies have also shrunk during the reported time period. Most remarkable here is the proportion of poor herders in the third bag. While in 2009, they made up half of all households, this number was down to 19.7% in 2017. One reason may have been that the bag hosts the largest share of families who had migrated from the city and went back there after they had lost their livestock during the last jüt. Crucial for any household is the number of small stock, which are not only important for subsistence and trade purposes but also reproduce much quicker.

19.7 17.4 44.7 12.9 5.3

19.4 18.2 34.9 18.2 9.2

Source: Statistical Offce of Khovd-sum; MSY (2020: 714).

23.4 22.1 24.7 19.5 10.4

15.0 15.0 36.7 21.8 11.6

1–100 101–200 201–500 501–999 1000+

40.2 24.9 30.6 2.8 1.4

1. bag 2. bag 3. bag Herder Khovd-sum

50.0 23.3 21.9 2.7 2.1

2017

42.3 24.8 28.9 2.0 2.0

1. bag 2. bag 3. bag Herder Khovd-sum

1–100 26.9 101–200 26.9 201–500 42.3 501–999 3.8 1000+ 0.0

2009

22.4 20.2 34.0 16.8 6.6

Herder Mongolia

37.5 26.8 27.1 6.9 1.7

Herder Mongolia

Table 4.2 Distribution of livestock (in per cent) in 2009 and 2017

71.4 22.0 6.6 0.0 0.0

48.1 25.2 23.5 2.0 1.2

43.6 24.2 24.2 6.2 1.8

46.2 34.9 17.0 1.9 0.0

57.1 29.4 12.6 0.0 0.8

30.5 22.9 28.0 12.3 6.2

33.6 20.1 28.5 12.9 4.9

4. bag 5. bag Total Khovd-sum Owning livestock Mongolia

62.1 29.9 6.9 0.0 1.1

4. bag 5. bag Total Khovd-sum Owning livestock Mongolia

118 Making ends meet

Making ends meet 119 Survival is secured if supplemented with a few cows for milk production. Horses are needed for riding, as well as for meat and qımız, but are replaceable especially since modern transportation means have become more and more important. Camels have, as mentioned, lost much of their relevance. The ideal is still to have a mixture of all, but the composition differs for a variety of reasons, including personal wealth, family size, and labour force, as well as personal preferences. Some families, for example, have sold their large stock because they felt incapable of adequately protecting against theft. For rich herders, as elaborated earlier, a conversion in the opposite direction may be advisable as it is diffcult to take care of a large number of sheep and goats without suffcient labour force, which is not needed to the same degree for cattle or horses. While a majority of herders aim at a balance between small and large stock, as well as one between sheep and goats, or cattle and horses, respectively, some have a more specialised attitude. Most notable in this regard is Luvsan. Already a wealthy herder during socialist times, he put all his fate in large stock, also because he lacked the manpower to herd sheep and goats on a daily basis. By 1995, he was the frst to own more than 1,000 animals, of which 150 were horses and 250 cattle, by far the largest number in the district for each category. This did not turn him into the most liked person because people doubted that he could make proper use of all the animals. And, indeed, only a few of even his cows were milked due to a lack of labour force. They would just eat up pastures, as others complained. By contrast, many of the “new nomads” and families with small holdings put all their fate on goats, as this promises the highest returns. It also allows focks to quickly increase because of the higher fertility rate and because of the fact that for harvesting cashmere the animals do not have to be slaughtered. Differences in herd sizes are mostly explained by personal traits. Of course, as everyone will agree, good or bad luck in weather conditions, epidemics as well as unplanned larger expenses may all have an infuence, but it is generally believed that these will be outbalanced over the years. Pastoralists who are constantly in a precarious situation must then be either lazy, a drunkard, or have other bad habits to explain their lack of success. Exempted from this are serious illnesses or the death of a household head, which will have a detrimental effect on pastoral management. Lack of labour force is a major variable as well but becomes relevant only above a certain threshold. It is also agreed that the jüt could affect all herders irrespective of their skills and commitment. This was certainly the major threat to a pastoral economy in recent times, with the peaks in 2002 and 2010. Overall damages were huge. It also impacted fertility rates, as the mother animals were often too weak to reproduce. Some herders took measures to prevent them from becoming pregnant in the frst place in order to avoid losses of their fertile stock. But what is also clear from the information obtained is that livestock fatalities were highly unequal. While some households saw their herds decimated by half or more, others suffered only a little. Much of that had to do with the location of the respective campsite. Qazaq and Mongol herders wintering in Ulaan-Khargana or Qara-Suw saw their animals perish in the hundreds. Some of them, such as Nergüy (#12) or Mawsımhan, lost

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almost all their animals. The lowlands are mainly thought of as a good grazing area for cattle and camels, and it proved not a good idea to herd small stock there during the cold season. But also cattle died in large numbers, and the richest of all, Luvsan, was left with only a few dozens. Similarly affected were many herders settling in lower-lying mountain areas, such as Azat (#4) or Temir (#5) who reported to have lost half of their focks and more over the years. This was different among herders wintering in the mountains. Here the damage was not quite as severe and left most herders with suffcient numbers to quickly rebuild their focks. Some, like Tsedensüren and Erdenebaatar (#11) but also Sılam or Moldabay (#8), hardly had any losses at all. And only a few, such as Joldas (#1), had equally high fatalities, of several hundreds of sheep and goats. Also, many of the specialised yak herders lost almost all their animals, which were stuck in deep snow in the upper mountain valleys. By 2004, yaks had close to vanishing from the scene, but in 2013 one could see again individual herds with a few dozen animals. This is a sensible move, however, only for herders who are willing to spend most of the year high in the mountains, which is becoming less and less popular because of the hardships it entails. In the third bag, only Sapar (#3) with his sons started to invest in yaks again. By 2013, he had accumulated 50 animals, after numbers had plummeted from some 300 to almost nothing during the jüt. Asked for his motivation, Sapar praised the tasty meat, the highfat content of yak milk (roughly twice that of regular cows), and the sturdiness of the animals. But also for him, the raising of small stock had clearly become more important over the years. What each family tried to do is have at least one or two cows survive to secure the provision of milk and have a basis to rebuild the herd. These were also given preference when it came to using the hay storage. Some even fed them with bread to ensure survival, as I was told. With one cow and a few sheep, there is at least milk and suffcient meat to feed a family over the year, although it will need a cautious attitude not to encroach on the reproductive capital of the family. Among small stock, the jüt years also stopped the trend towards goats as these were more badly affected than sheep. As a consequence, some herders decided to go for a more balanced composition for future safety and consequently the proportion of sheep increased. Another strategy, apparently, was trying to sell off parts of the fock before the worst set in. Yes, back then it was diffcult. It was snowing for days, and the animals did not fnd any grass anymore. I lost 700 animals just in one winter. And then I bought this truck so that I can make the movements on my own and eventually also go to China to do trade. (Joldas, 45-year-old Qazaq herder, in 2011). What Joldas does not mention, or rather does so between the lines, is that he was able to sell some of his animals that were about to perish to buy a truck. Not everyone was that lucky, so it seems, but he was not the only one either. The ability to do so was dependent frst of all on one’s location at that particular

Making ends meet  121 moment, that is to say, whether a campsite was close enough to the market in Khovd and had no mountain ranges in-between that were impassable due to snow. One also needed transportation quick at hand, which was not available for everyone. As this was before he bought the truck, Joldas had to rely on friends and relatives who did not need theirs for own livestock to be transported. And finally, it was still a decision of uncertainty. Who would know for how long the snowstorms continue? Selling one’s animals, even at a rather low price, was certainly better than seeing them die. But to preserve them alive was superior to both. And hope dies last. After some years of favourable climatic conditions and sufficient plant growth, the herds have largely recovered, and most pastoralists again look more optimistic towards the future. Still, the traumatic experiences during the jüt decade have left their marks and people are more cautious than they used to be. This affects in particular the investment of profits, which are today more diversified than increasing herd sizes. People buy trucks, build houses, or save money for the education of their children. But there are also exceptions to that, in particular among Mongol herders, some of whom have bought animals from households in need for a rather low price. Chart 4.2 illustrates the fluctuations in herd sizes for the 13 households introduced earlier. Most striking is the general increase over time and particularly during the last five to ten years, at least for the majority of cases. A second major finding is the sudden ruptures that many have experienced, especially in combination with the recent jüt. But when it comes to detail, things have worked out very differently for individual households. Some of them, such as Sapar (#3) or Tsedensüren (#11), have been able to maintain large herd sizes with comparatively little losses over the years. Others, like Joldas (#1) or Nergüy (#12), have seen more turbulent times with huge losses but equally rapid recoveries. Not all of these were related to a jüt. Both Tsedensüren and Sapar had several

2500 2000 1500 1000 500

Joldas

Idırıs

Sapar

Azat

Temir

Särsenbay

Oktyabr

Moldabay

Jampeys

Ibragim

Tsedensüren

Nergüy

Gankhüü

Chart 4.2 Development of livestock for individual households

2017

2016

2013

2012

2011

2010

2009

2008

2006

2005

2004

2003

2000

1998

1995

1994

1993

1992

1991

1990

1989

0

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Making ends meet

sons marry in a short time period, which caused them to sell several hundreds of livestock, but also allowed them to quickly regain wealth once these new households became active themselves. The maturing of sons was also instrumental in the prospering of herders like Azat (#4) and Saylaw (#10), as it allows a larger herd to be looked for or eventually split. Exceptions to the general trend are the households of Särsenbay (#6) and Äygerim (#9) who both at some point gave up to settle down permanently or move to Qazaqstan. As mentioned, most Qazaq and Uygur awıl in Ulaan-Khargana have members who are dominantly engaged with growing vegetables and potatoes. The households of Oktyabr, Idırıs, and Ibragim are examples of this. For them, felds are in easy reach some dozen kilometres on fat steppe territory away from the sites of their respective winter, spring, and autumn pastures. But also several of those families wintering further uphill, such as Moldabay, Joldas, or Temir, practise at least some agriculture. Few local Mongols do so. One exception was Nergüy. With four grown-up yet unmarried sons, he could afford to grow potatoes and vegetables for some years but after three of them had moved to town, he also had to give up on this. For most Mongol pastoralists, who on average have fewer children but larger herds, this is an issue of labour force. There are, however, some families from the aymag-centre and from neighbouring Buyant or Myangad who engage in farming on Khovd-sum territory. Fields are allocated to individual families by the sum authorities. Although some change their location according to demand and climate conditions, usually, they are in possession of the same family for many years. As now most fertile land is occupied, it is diffcult to get into the business. Only at the margins some felds are available, usually of poor soil quality, stony, or with limited access to water, the main confning factor for agriculture in the region. Water use is so far for free. Quarrels over irrigation queues do occur but I have never heard of any serious fghts in this regard. It seems far less of an issue, then with pastureland, described in the following chapter. In 2016, out of a total of 659 families in the sum not less than 457 were engaged in agriculture. More than one-third used their felds only for hay production while 331 families – that is to say, half of the total population – were also growing potatoes and vegetables (cf. Table 4.3). Naturally, both fgures vary by main profession and place of residence. In the fourth bag, all families are involved in farming. They are responsible for roughly two-thirds of the agricultural produce. Noticeable is also the large number of families with leased hay lands in the second bag, which may be attributed to the fact that – in contrast to the frst and the third – they lack areas to be harvested, as their territory does not have access to the lowlands. What these fgures do not include is agricultural land utilised by members of Khovd-sum outside its territories, that is to say in neighbouring Buyant, and, vice versa, felds cultivated by families from other districts. Both numbers probably equalise each other more or less. Among the herders of the third bag, a total of 46 families have leased agricultural land. Eight of these do so only to grow hay, as it is better in quality than in the pastoral areas where most households get their winter supplies. The other 38

Making ends meet 123 Table 4.3 Families engaged in agriculture by bag (2016) bag

Potatoes and vegetables

Total

1 2 3 4 5 Total

15 16 38 204 58 331

15 118 46 204 74 457

Source: Statistical Offce of Khovd-sum.

families also grow potatoes and vegetables. Melons are a rarity because only the felds further downstream are suitable for that. In some cases, several brothers are engaged in agriculture, which is then usually the main source of income. But even when only one household of a camp is into farming, this may become the mainstay of the extended family’s economy, as described for the case of Moldabay (#8). The distribution is, however, highly unequal in ethnic terms. Since Nergüy gave up, there is now one Mongol family in the bag practising agriculture. And Tüvden is, in fact, a non-local who moved to Khovd-sum in the early 2010s. One more extended family, the one of Zorig, has felds leased for hay while all the others have none. Among Qazaqs and Uygurs, roughly two-thirds of all households have leased land and the majority do so for growing potatoes and vegetables in addition to harvesting hay. Field sizes vary. With an overall of 661 hectares used for the cultivation of potatoes and vegetables, and a total of 331 families doing so, the average is very close to two hectares. This fgure stays pretty much the same when hay felds are included, which adds up to 972 hectares cultivated by 457 families in 2016. I have no data on individual land sizes but only on the respective harvest. According to that, two farmers had total yields for potatoes and vegetables of slightly over 100 tons, indicating that they cultivated ten hectares and more. Not surprisingly, the highest yields were all to be found among members of the fourth bag who, in their great majority, harvest more than 20 tons per year (cf. Table 4.4). This is rare among pastoralists or people from the sum-centre. Many of them farm on less than one hectare. Striking is the fact that for pastoralists engaged in agriculture, potatoes seem to be much higher on the agenda than vegetables, which are only of minor importance (cf. Table 4.5). The main reason is probably that potatoes are less labour intensive, which is a great advantage for households settling afar from the felds. For some, agriculture has turned into a permanent last resort once livestock numbers had fallen beneath the necessary threshold for reproduction. The case of Oktyabr has already been outlined. Another household that did so is that of Qalmaqhan. His family had never been particularly prosperous after they had split off from the parental awıl in the early 2000s. Qalmaqhan’s father had left most

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Table 4.4 Total yields per family in tonnes (2016)

100+ 51–100 41–50 31–40 21–30 11–20 1–10

bag 1

bag 2

bag 3

bag 4

bag 5

Total

1 1 6 7

1 1 11 3

1 3 11 23

2 15 27 42 79 32 7

1 1 4 7 22 23

2 16 28 49 91 82 63

Source: Statistical Offce of Khovd-sum.

Table 4.5 Agricultural products in tonnes by bag (2016) bag

Potatoes

Vegetables

1 2 3 4 5 Total

162 205 297 3297 502 4463

50 50 117 3256 74 3547

Source: Statistical Offce of Khovd-sum.

of the animals with his youngest son, with whom he shared one household. The situation of Qalmaqhan was therefore rather precarious and he started to cultivate a piece of land, mostly for self-consumption in the beginning. With the years and the growing of his sons, this share would increase gradually. In the early 2010s, Qalmaqhan died rather unexpectedly in his mid-forties, and the family seemed in danger of slipping into poverty. Luckily, his sons were by then old enough to take over and as of today, the family can make a decent living primarily on agricultural production (cf. Table 4.6). A rapid economic stratifcation has thus set in regarding herd size and arable land. In both cases, differences may still be fuid due to the nature of the means of production as well as the type of property rights regime. But a tendency towards more durable wealth distinctions is observable. Of course, levels of income or access to means of production have never been equal. Socialist redistribution limited inequalities to a certain degree, but also created new hierarchies, based on the social and political positioning of actors or, more specifcally, their control of means of production (Verdery 1991). The new market era has seen a rapid acceleration of economic stratifcation with the state being more or less absent, both as an expediting as well as a constraining actor. It is noteworthy that pre-socialist inequalities had little impact in this regard, due to the fact that privatisation in

Making ends meet 125 Mongolia lacked any idea of restitution of property. Still, the consequences are sharp and increasingly visible. When it comes to livestock, a lack of suffcient means constitutes a double disadvantage as it forces households to cut into their reproductive force by selling or slaughtering female animals to cover basic needs. Sooner or later, this will jeopardise their existence as a pastoral household because the number of newborn animals will decrease exponentially (Murphy 2019). With agriculture, this is somewhat easier and the availability of arable land, due to the out-migration of those who tilled them in the past, has provided many with an alternative source of income and subsistence. As mentioned, there is still a bit of land left idle at the moment, although this is usually of lower quality.

Labour, subsistence, and consumption What is unique about pastoralism in Mongolia is the broad usage of all species for subsistence as well as for marketing. Maintaining mixed herds is therefore important not only for safety reasons in case of natural disasters or epidemics, but also to have a greater variety of products and thus allowing more fexibility over the course of a year. Poorer households, however, often do not have much of a choice and are unable to beneft to the same degree. Below a specifc threshold, which depends on the number of people a household has to take care of, it is diffcult to sustain a natural growth rate while at the same time harvesting suffcient amounts of animal products needed for consumption plus a surplus to trade in for needed goods. To begin with, all fve species are used for meat as well as milk. Additionally, all are also important for delivering wool, hairs, and hides. Such a diverse utilisation of animal products also implies a heavy workload throughout the year. As mentioned, the division of labour is organised by age and gender, with typically some more fexibility among the younger generation. Equally signifcant is the change of activities by season. Pastoral labour may not always be long hours, but it is mostly harsh and arduous, particularly so in winter, which does not stop dung to be collected or sheep and goats to be grazed in the open steppes during days when temperatures drop to −20°C and below. What is also specifc especially of male work duties is that many of them come up rather ad hoc. It is during the morning hours while having one’s frst cup of tea or watering animals before they are driven out to the pastures that tasks for the day are discussed and assigned. In contrast, most female labour, including milking animals, processing dairy products, or preparing meals, is not only exhausting but typically also of a more routine nature. Sons and daughters fulfl not only specifc tasks in the household but are also in different ways relevant for the diversifcation of economic activities. When a household wants to add agricultural production to its portfolio, a suffcient number of male members of working age are a prerequisite. The same is true for herds of small stock beyond a certain number. Culturally speaking, at least when it comes to Qazaqs and Uygurs, it is not considered appropriate for an unmarried

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woman to take over such activities on her own. There is thus a clear advantage for families with several grown-up sons to engage in herding and cultivating at the same time. This is, or was, the case with a few Mongols, most prominently Nergüy (#12), and many more Qazaqs and Uygurs, including Idırıs (#2), Oktyabr (#7), Moldabay (#8), and Ibragim (#10). Those lacking male labour force are at a drawback, although in some cases a son-in-law may come in as a substitute. This is not to say that daughters and wives provide less labour to the household – quite the opposite is true – but the local division of labour does not foresee them to be in charge of the means of production. Families with more daughters than sons are thus at a disadvantage, except for the herding of large stock where it matters less. This is, as mentioned, the domain of Mongol households and a few Qazaqs and Uygurs, such as Idırıs (#2), Ibragim (#10), or Jampeys (#9), before their move to Qazaqstan. The main product animals provide is, of course, more animals. Sheep and goats give birth in their second year while for large stock this happens only in their fourth or ffth year. Except for camels, with a gestation period of up to 15 months, all species ideally drop once a year, in early or mid-spring. Later-born lambs or kids would have little chance to gain suffcient weight to survive the harsh winter. In rare cases, ewes and female goats may have twins but the usual case is one birth per year. This is true for mares and cows as well, although fertility rates are somewhat lower. As it needs only a few males for reproduction, female animals constitute the majority within the herds when it comes to small stock and cattle. The rest is castrated before reaching maturity and soon either slaughtered or sold (for the same purpose), although this is less so for goats where cashmere can be harvested for several years from animals of either sex. With horses and camels, the herd composition is different because it is usually geldings that are used for riding.2 Although meat may come as the frst association, milk is possibly the more important product when it comes to domestic consumption. Cows provide by far the most, with 600–700 litres per year, according to local information. Goats may deliver up to 40–50 litres, whereas sheep are often let go because the low yields, little more than 10–15 litres over the annual lactation period, do not make it worthwhile. Some families also harvest only part of their goats because they lack the necessary labour force. I have never seen camels being milked, although there is reportedly one household along the border with Buyant-sum doing so. It was explained as being rather labour intensive, as they are milked up to fve times a day and mares can be quite restive. This is true, to some degree, also for horses, milked four or fve times a day but often only for a rather limited time period, when other jobs allow such luxury. During socialist times, it was aimed to harvest as much as possible, which is roughly half of the amount cows provide. But today, they usually contribute only a fraction of what they could to the household produce. For milking, mares and foals are tethered near the camp during the day but freed for the night and have therefore to be roped in again each morning, which can take several hours. The milk from horses and camels is separated from others and fermented by stirring it

Making ends meet 127

Illustration 4.2 She-goats queued up for milking (Peter Finke 2018)

for several days. The lightly alcoholic beverages, qımız and šubat (or khoormog in Mongolian), are highly praised. Qımız in particular is considered healthy due to its high percentage of vitamin C and is also drunk by young children. All other types of milk are usually mixed and boiled instantly before drunk with tea or further processed into different types of yoghurt, cream, cheese, and curd. Of particular importance for consumption are butter and curd. The latter, called qurt in Qazaq and aaruul in Mongol, is produced during summer more or less on a daily basis and in huge quantities out of fermented yoghurt, which is heated so that most of the liquid (and the alcohol) evaporates. The result is a very protein-rich product that is put to dry in the open sun. Over time, it turns hard as a rock and may be kept for years. Qurt is particularly important for winter when there is no supply of fresh milk. Butter is the second milk product also available in winter and, due to its high-fat content, an important part of the nutrition at that time. Other milk products include fresh yoghurt (ayran), cream (qaymaq), and different types of cottage cheese called ırımšıq in Qazaq. There is an important difference between milk products in economic terms. Some are side products that are subtracted along the way. Before any qurt can be produced, the pure fat of the milk has to be skimmed off and is then processed into butter or cream. These do then not cut into the essence still available for other products. By contrast, any ayran or ırımšıq produced reduces the reserve

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of qurt or butter for winter. It is therefore consumed less often. Although a very popular dish among young and old, ayran is served only occasionally and limited to one bowl, most often after supper. In fact, the bulk of the daily milk harvest usually goes into the production of qurt, with – in the case of Mongols – shimiyn arkhi as a side product. Meat is also obtained from all fve species, although camels are slaughtered rarely. In fact, in all those years, I have never knowingly eaten camel meat. But then, it is also not very popular. Most Qazaqs rate horse meat as their favourite and particularly in winter because it is said to heat one’s body from inside. Of small stock, sheep meat is clearly preferred but with the changes in herd composition goats have become more important as well. During summer and autumn, an animal is slaughtered whenever supplies fnish, which, depending on the size and wealth of the family, happens every other week or so. In these months, large stock is reserved for ceremonial events as the amount of meat it provides would rot quickly if consumed by an individual family. At the beginning of winter, when frost has set in so that the meat won’t waste, a large number of animals are slaughtered. According to needs and feasibilities, one household will cull one or two large stock and ten to twenty sheep and goats, to eat until May or June. This way, fewer animals have to be killed because the ones slaughtered have not yet started losing weight. It will also reduce pressure on the scarce vegetation because there are fewer animals that have to feed on the winter pastures. For all species, predominantly male animals, with the exception of females that do not give birth, are picked. Poor households sometimes have little choice and need to cut into the reproductive force of their herds eventually leading to a spiral of economic downturn. Hides as products form a union with meat because they require the animal to be dead. They are either sold on the market or processed into leather to produce different types of lassos, ropes, or bags for storing foodstuff. By contrast, wool and hair, as well as milk, are obtained from the animal alive and harvesting may be a necessary intrusion for its well-being. Most important for domestic consumption is, as noted, sheep wool, which is used for processing felt but also as flling for winter clothing and ropes or for sewing material. Camel wool and horsehair may equally be used for similar purposes, including trade. Cashmere, by contrast, is solely used for sales and has little value in the domestic sphere. It is today the only produce of value believed high enough to justify systematic harvesting. Much of the wool is left to rot as the labour demands to collect and transport are not deemed worthwhile. Livestock is also used as a means of transportation. In the mountainous steppes of western Mongolia, horses are by far the most important in this respect. Some Mongols also ride camels, but I have never seen Qazaqs do the same. In recent years, people started to increasingly rely on motorbikes, which makes grazing during the day a less arduous experience. Camels may also be used as beasts of burden, especially for the high-altitude pasture regions diffcult to reach by any other means. But the trend is to rely more and more on contemporary technology. On the one hand, many of the distant pastures are hardly utilised

Making ends meet 129 these days, as there is suffcient space left on lower altitudes; on the other hand, new truck paths have been established that allow people to drive to some of the upper mountain valleys popular in summer, such as Tümtid. This has further decreased the value of camels. Neither cattle nor other large stock is regularly used as draught animals in Khovd-sum. There are many factors infuencing the well-being of the herds. And many of them have suffered from the retreat of the state. In particular, the end of hay deliveries had detrimental effects on the pastoral economy. Most families nowadays collect their own store, but these are usually not calculated to suffce in case of a jüt. As haymaking used to be done all manually until recently, it is already a heavy burden to procure the necessary amount for riding horses and weak or sick mother animals. Other circumstances are equally hazardous. Due to the fnancial crisis, all infrastructural services were severely cut down. While herders in Khovd-sum have been largely spared from serious epidemics, the decay of veterinary services since the end of the negdel left them highly vulnerable in this regard. Only half of the former veterinarians remained and none of the so-called zootechnic who had been responsible for the improvement of herds. Also, the provision of free medicine and vaccination is a thing of the past. During the 1990s, the few practitioners still around made more or less regular trips to the countryside, introducing anthropologists to herder families that way, but for daily needs people had to take matters into their own hands. This is even more the case today. Castrating animals, vaccinating the newborn, or treating more ordinary diseases is now usually done by the herders themselves. What has not yet emerged is that rich herders buy the newborn animals of others to fatten them for a quick resale, a very common feature in many pastoral societies in the world (Bates 1973; Ensminger 1992). Probably, the demand for meat in Mongolia is not suffcient to make this a proftable business. This does not mean that lambs or calves are never traded. The main purpose is, however, to build up one’s herd. Ideally, it thus involves the purchase of females but, as many are reluctant to cut into the reproductive capacity of their herds, it is rare that one fnds suffcient numbers available for purchase. Both sides may then agree on a balanced composition of the animals that change hands. One day in 2011, I witnessed how Azat sold eleven goatlings to a neighbouring Mongol. Bayar was from outside the sum and had only recently entered the pastoral business. The motivation for Azat was to spread risk because, as he said, last year he had lost a substantial part of the baby animals. Five of the goatlings were female, the rest male. Obviously, Azat was not willing to sell only reproductive stock. As he lacked experience and manpower, Bayar did not take the animals with him but left them with an experienced herder such as Azat to put on weight for another few months. Life in the felds is very different. Work here starts in late spring, with the end of the last frosts, when the soil is tilled, and seeding begins. Much of the summer is spent diverting water to one’s felds and ensuring that others do not violate the order. Most labour tasks used to be manual, except for the ploughing, because felds are usually too small to justify the usage and purchase of machinery

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before the government came in with a new scheme of micro-credit to acquire technology adapted to that in 2020. Even now, this is hard work and the myriads of mosquitoes populating the plains do not make things any easier. Fortunately, malaria is not prevalent. However, settling in the lowlands is anything but pleasant long into harvest time in autumn. Also, one has to give one’s livestock to other households moving to the mountains because the animals would stampede away from the insects. If it is a secondary activity, it is, as mentioned, for most of the time only single household members, usually younger men, who stay in the agricultural areas for extended periods while the rest of the family resides in the sum-centre or further uphill with the animals. Ideas about agricultural versus pastoral labour differ. Some prefer herding, which is less physically exhausting; others point to the fact that farming is less risky and better to organise, as Mawsımhan – an Uygur farmer then in his mid-forties – explained to me in 2011. Mawsımhan: No, farming is, in fact, much better. Once you are done with seeding, irrigating and harvesting, you can rest. There is not much to be done in winter. And even during summer and autumn, you have your work to do, and that is it. It is not like that with pastoralism where you have to be attentive each day and night. Peter: Sure. A wolf does not ask for Saturday or Sunday. Mawsımhan: Exactly. And that it is proftable, and you can count on that. If you grow on three hectares, you know what to expect. Of course, there may also be crop failures due to water, hail or the like. But this is not like a jüt, where everything is gone. As also mentioned, potatoes are particularly attractive because they demand relatively little labour and can thus easily be combined with other economic activities. Other vegetables, in particular carrots, onions, and manjin are also used for domestic purposes as well as for trade but are more labour intensive. The same applies to water and honeydew melons, which are rarely grown by pastoralists. There used to be a little bit of grain production in socialist times but now there is none planted in the region anymore. Curiously, one family had started to grow sea buckthorn in 2013 and had fenced off a large tract of land near their summer pastures for that purpose. Tragically, the head of the household died before the frst harvest could be brought in and since then the felds have been left idle. With the developments in agricultural and pastoral production also food habits have changed over the years. Meat, including most of the offal, is still a highly important source of nutrition but somewhat less consumed than it was 30 years ago. At the same time, potatoes and vegetables have gained popularity. This is a consequence of both changes in relative prices, with four being less expensive these days, and of cultural practices. Meat plate cooked for hours and with little other ingredients than salt and maybe some onions is still the most popular dish but more often than not it has become common to be accompanied by noodles. These may either be self-made of the traditional style or, in the sumcentre increasingly so, ready-bought.3 On most days, a soup prepared out of

Making ends meet 131 meat, noodles, and eventually some vegetables is the only warm meal of the day. It is usually served late in the evening when all other work is completed. The proportion of vegetables, mostly potatoes and manjin, in this has been growing over the years, as have the occasions when rice is prepared with meat and possibly carrots, a dish referred to as plov in Qazaq. Sometimes, meat is fried with potatoes during the day, in particular when guests show up unexpectedly, because it is rather quick to prepare. But the norm is to have only tea every few hours with various milk products and bawırsaq, a plain pastry deep-fried in fat. This is indeed quite flling as tea is prepared with lots of milk and added with salt, butter, or cream (or both). In summer, milk products are even more important and consumed in various states throughout the day. As mentioned, most of qurt and butter are stored for winter but cream, yoghurt, and ırımšıq represent welcomed alternatives to the otherwise meat-centred menu. Bread also gained popularity at the expense of bawırsaq, although this is more with families in the centre than out in the countryside where large amounts of animal fat accrue anyway and should not be wasted. In the district centre, different kinds of ready-bought foodstuff, like noodles, cans, ketchup, or nougat spread have also made their way into the diet of people. And it is here that people started to put less salt and butter into the tea or even abstain from it altogether because it is believed to be healthier (Finke 2017).

Incomes and household budgets All livestock and agricultural products are not only needed for domestic consumption but are important sources of income. This is true even for households in the sum-centre. But the ideal is still to have a “real” job with a regular salary. This is arguably a legacy of socialist times where employment by the state was the only legal way to achieve this. Today, however, only a rather small minority actually has a job in this sense, namely teachers, medical personnel, and administrative staff. With rare exceptions, this also implies that salaries are limited to residents of the sum-centre and may total about 100 individuals. All other enterprises, including shops, petrol stations, and a garage for repairing tires, are privately owned and usually family-run, meaning that they rarely hire labour on a contract basis. What further contributes to an economic cleavage is that the existent jobs are clustered in few families because teachers, doctors, or civil servants often marry one another, sometimes over generations. This also implies that most other families lack any access to regular salaries. The very poor receive a small amount of fnancial support, and some in kind – in particular coal for heating in winter – but this is hardly suffcient to live on. What has changed for the better is that those who do have jobs have seen their incomes rising over the years. During the mid-1990s, most salaries were less than 20,000 tögrög, or US$50 per month, hardly enough for a family to survive on. Since then, salaries have continuously increased. In the early 2000s, a teacher or physician would get between 100 and 150,000 tögrög, back then around

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US$100–150, while in 2018 this ranged between 400 and 600,000 tögrög, or US$300–400 per month. This may not sound like an awful lot but is now suffcient for an average family to make ends meet, given the fact that a major part of foodstuff is produced locally and does not have to be bought. The other source of regular monetary income is pension. The age of retirement is 55 for women and 60 for men. For mothers who have raised more than fve children, the time of retirement is earlier, a legacy of socialist times. As pastoralists and farmers were also employed by the state, those now reaching age have the same entitlements as everyone else, although their pensions are, on average, lower. Today, most people receive payments in the range of 200–300,000 tögrög, or US$150 to US$200, which is roughly ten times of what it was in the 1990s (Finke 2004). Pensions are, obviously, an additional advantage for the families of youngest sons who live in one household with their parents. This may not be the same for the future generations living in the countryside who have never paid into any pension fund. Wage labour is still in its early stages. One way is to herd other people’s livestock for money. As described, this used to be based on barter and reciprocity during much of the 1990s. Today, negotiations still depend on the type of relationship but by and large herding has become a business that allows some herders a steady income. In 2011, the monthly payment was 400–500 tögrög for small stock and 1,000 tögrög for cattle. Seven years later, this had climbed to 1,000 per sheep or goat and 5,000 for cattle, corresponding to 40 cents and US$2, respectively. As everyone keeps at least the cows and calves at home, the latter is less of a business opportunity. In principle, the shepherd has also the right to milk and wool, but the entrusted animals are rarely harvested due to lack of labour force and maybe also not to weaken the entrusted animals. Cashmere is always the property of the owner of the animal. The case of Azat (#4) is a successful example. Before he stopped doing so, also due to the accumulating number of own animals, he herded approximately 250 sheep and goats of different families. This would make an annual salary of roughly three million tögrög, that is to say US$1,200, or half of that of a schoolteacher. Even without extra money made from milk and sheep wool, this is still a good side income if one’s own fock is large enough to cover for the rest of the expenses. He also never told me about any disputes he had on livestock that perished for reasons that could fall back on him. But this is, of course, a permanent threat and can easily ruin a herder’s reputation should animals die disproportionally during a jüt or be taken by wolves. Once his own fock had reached a certain size and his sons had started to move out, he therefore decided to quit. Azat was typical in his approach towards herding livestock as a business. As Murphy (2019) describes for other parts of Mongolia, this has turned more into a dominant strategy in places closer to the major market in Ulaanbaatar than in the remoter areas to the west. People are also hired for the booming construction sector in the village, although workers are predominantly coming from outside. Obviously, all the shop owners have a steady source of income, but these are usually family business as is the case for the garage. For those who have a truck,

Making ends meet 133 providing transportation for trade or the resettlement of camps is also a source of income but much of that happens within kin networks and is reciprocated without the use of money. Craftsmanship has developed little and even for subsistence usage industrially produced carpets have started to replace the traditional felt mats and other artisanal items. Much of the annual income is then made of agricultural products and this applies even to those families with a regular salary. Milk products are sold preferably in Khovd if there is a possibility to do so. In recent years, some pastoralists have, as described for the case of Saylaw, moved their campsites closer to the city during summer, so they can bring fresh milk and yoghurt to the market on a daily basis. For butter or qurt, which are rarely traded anyway, this is less urgent because they can be stored easily. Qurt is hardly ever sold but an important object of gift exchange and always provided to kin with few animals of their own. It is also a very popular farewell gift because of its durable and nutritious nature for travellers, and each year I would come home from feldwork with several kilograms in my bag.4 What is traded, but usually locally within the sum, is qımız. This has always been a highly favoured product to be served for guests and sometimes also exchanged for money, but in recent years it achieved new meaning as the main drink on all kinds of ceremonies. For weddings or birthday parties, people nowadays will buy it in large quantities while vodka has fallen from grace as the common alcoholic drink, at least among Qazaqs. This is less explained by the incompatibility of alcohol consumption with Islam but rather by the importance of qımız as a national drink. Among Mongols, by contrast, the self-produced milk liqueur, shimiyn arkhi, is highly popular and a staple for all ceremonies to be held. Shimiyn arkhi has, if distilled once, an alcohol content of 10–12 per cent and is, as mentioned, a by-product when heating fermented yoghurt for aaruul. It does thus not cut into the milk mass left for other products. Meat is an important commodity, although rarely traded within the sum. In the city, people living in apartment blocks purchase meat piecemeal, but everyone else will always buy an animal alive and then slaughter it. Transport to Ulaanbaatar and other cities has also increased but is still a secondary source of income because there are too many others along the way who can procure cheaper. Nevertheless, the growing demand has accelerated prices, which indirectly also benefts herders in the western aymag. Most important for trade is large stock for the winter slaughter when all families, urban and rural alike, stock their supplies of meat to be eaten until summer. Hides and wool are little traded these days because prices have plummeted over the years. What is not used for domestic purposes, is often just left to rot. Trade then boils down to cashmere, which is still the main merchandise herders have to offer. Prices have been constantly fuctuating over the years, and also by the season, but on average are far higher than anything else. In the early 1990s, a herd of 50 grown-up goats, providing some 15 kg cashmere per year, would allow an income that equalled the annual salary of a teacher, back then around US$500–US$600. In 2019, the price of one kg was at 75,000 tögrög, and thus

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the income from the same herd was US$1,500, although the ongoing Corona Pandemic has caused the market for cashmere to crash at least temporarily. The situation is similar in agriculture. It is, of course, the subsistence and trade basis for those families settling in the fourth bag. But also many pastoralists and sedentary households derive a substantial part of their income from farming. Advantaged are those who have their winter–spring as well as their autumn camps in Ulaan-Khargana and its surroundings, from where the felds are in easy reach. In the sum-centre, some 70 families, or roughly one-third, seek additional incomes from agriculture, either on the felds near the settlement or down in the plains. Most important for trade are potatoes, followed by carrots and manjin. As mentioned, especially after the recent jüt, many families were able to survive that way. But this was also not forever and soon after prices for potatoes dropped, many gave up again. Some reported having fed tons of unsold potatoes to their animals. Melons are partly traded or bartered within the sum but are equally proftable goods on the market in Khovd and, indeed, famous throughout the country.5 Near the city, there are also some apple and pear trees, but their number has diminished drastically in recent years. Back in the 1990s, apples were regularly to be found on the market but have almost disappeared since. All agricultural and pastoral products fuctuate greatly in price by season. They are lowest right after the harvest or when animals are at their weakest. The major disadvantage with this is that in late summer, when money is in demand to pay for school expenses and life cycle ceremonies, vegetables sell rather cheap and the demand for livestock is low. In years with rather warm temperatures, increasingly so in recent times, the situation is exacerbated by the fact that the traditional winter slaughter has to be postponed because the meat would rot, and the number of animals sold will be less as the time period until next summer is shorter. At the same time, the higher supply of livestock in late autumn will have prices drop exactly when it is most needed as children have to pay university fees. To save potatoes and vegetables for better terms of trade in spring, many have built underground storages for the winter, which have to be heated from time to time. During the potato peak in 2011, one could see people digging holes everywhere in the sum. Of course, this bears its own risks when prices do not develop as hoped for or part of the stored harvest rots. When I came back two years later the boom had long ended, and many had not even fnished the bunkers, as they seemed unnecessary. Things had settled a bit by 2014, where once again construction dominated the landscape because storage allows more fexible response strategies to seasonal prices and domestic demand. Other products are of little importance. Hunting was apparently never important in the region and is even less so today. Until the 1990s, a few people held eagles to hunt for foxes and rabbits but today no one in Khovd-sum does this anymore. Marmots are very popular among Mongols both for their hides and for their meat, but, as mentioned, not eaten by most Qazaqs as it goes against Islamic food proscriptions. Selling hay is, as mentioned, a lucrative business, but most people are hardly able to harvest enough for themselves, so that it is only some poor pastoralists or farmers who do not need much for their own herd.

Making ends meet 135 The collection of additional khargana and animal dung to sell as fuel to citydwellers used to be a good bargain in the 1990s but is of little relevance today (Finke 2004). Household budgets vary a lot. For an average family, the basic annual need is estimated at around two or three million tögrög, roughly US$1,000. This would include foodstuff and clothing but not expenses for university, ceremonies, or a new house. Tuition fees accumulate easily to ten million and more if a family has several kids studying at the same time. Weddings and other ceremonies, which occur every few years, add a few more millions to that. Therefore, an average household with one or two kids visiting college will need an annual income of anywhere between ten and 15 million to also allow accumulating a reserve fund for upcoming marriages. Budgets also differ by lifestyle and profession, as needs are not the same in the pastoral areas or among farmers as in the sum-centre. But most important are distinctions in wealth, which have started to increase and become more permanent. A lot can be matched by the domestic use of pastoral and agricultural products – then, of course, no longer available for trade. Any household strategy, therefore, has to include the calculation of whether marketing one’s product may be more proftable than home consumption or investing. This is most obvious with the decision to sell livestock for buying necessary commodities or to see the growth of one’s herd. Another way is to save on expenditures, although there is an obvious limit to that. What one can do is modify food habits, such as consuming more four than meat or vegetables. Back in the 1990s, the situation was almost reversed when all imported goods were heavily overpriced and meat became the main staple because it was, comparatively speaking, cheaper. Table 4.6 gives a hint at how much income six households of different economic specialisation can potentially make per year. Tursunbek and Zorig represent two households, a poor and a rich one, who each focus solely on pastoralism. Delger, in addition, herds animals of other families. The family of Qalmaqhan has at some point switched to agriculture as the main source of income, while for Boralbay both activities are of more or less equal signifcance. Finally, Mäńdibay is working in the sum-centre as a teacher but supplements the family’s income with some livestock and farming. I decided not to use any of the families portrayed in chapter two to prevent easy recognition but all of them would fnd closely resembling cases in this list. The outcome is, of course, for each case depending on many projectable as well as unforeseeable circumstances, and thus merely a snapshot at best. So, the number of newborn animals or the yield of agricultural products fuctuates according to climate, skills, and luck over the years. But also prices vary annually as well as seasonally, so that the fgures can only provide a rough idea of potential incomes. Equally, expenditures in any given year also depend on individual circumstances. For example, when preparing for a marriage, no large stock will be sold for some time, as they will be used for the ceremony. But, in contrast to other regions in Mongolia (Empson 2020), relatively few households so far have seen themselves being confronted with a rising amount of debts that would

Property Camels Horses Cattle Sheep Goats Total In bod Potatoes (ha) Vegetables (ha) Products (average) Camel foals Horse foals Calves Lambs Goatlings Potatoes (tn) Vegetables (tn) Wool (kg) Cashmere (kg) Hides (large stock) Hides (small stock) Income Camels Horses Cattle

Household

  0 2 3 47 71 123 18.81 0 0   0 0.3 0.75 16.45 24.85 0 0 70.5 17.75 0.05 21.3   0 180,000 562,500

Tursunbek   0 0 6 28 50 84 15.00 4 2   0 0 1.5 9.8 17.5 40 16 42 12.5 0.5 7.3   0 0 1,125,000

Qalmaqhan   1 4 6 105 226 342 49.10 2 1   0.1 0.6 1.5 36.75 79.1 20 8 157.5 56.5 0.2 85.85   80,000 360,000 1,125,000

Boralbay

Table 4.6 Potential household incomes in 2018 (in million tögrög)

  1 6 8 122 170 307 49.93 0 0   0.1 0.9 2 42.7 59.5 0 0 183 42.5 2 82.2   80,000 540,000 1,500,000

Jargalsaykhan*   8 22 26 454 541 1051 178.96 0 0   0.8 3.3 6.5 158.9 189.35 0 0 681 135.25 8.6 318.25   640,000 1,980,000 4,875,000

Zorig*   0 4 6 42 55 107 21.50 1 1   0 0.6 1.5 14.7 19.25 10 8 63 13.75 1.1 13.95   0 360,000 1,125,000

Mäńdibay

(Continued)

                                              800,000 600,000 750,000

Prices

136 Making ends meet

1,176,000 1,400,000 12,000,000 4,800,000 126,000 937,500 10,000 20,000 0 0 0 21,594,500 1,850,500 8,400,000 11,344,000 11,860,000 4,744

0 0 6,277,250 2,352,250 0 3,925,000 14,770,000 5,908

Qalmaqhan

1,974,000 1,988,000 0 0 211,500 1,331,250 10,000 20,000 0

Tursunbek

0 0 25,463,000 6,151,500 4,200,000 15,111,500 38,380,000 15,352

4,410,000 6,328,000 6,000,000 2,400,000 472,500 4,237,500 20,000 30,000 0

Boralbay

0 0 18,170,500 6,002,000 0 12,168,500 38,640,000 15,456

5,124,000 4,760,000 0 0 549,000 3,187,500 20,000 10,000 2,400,000

Jargalsaykhan*

0 0 53,947,750 20,855,500 0 33,092,250 136,860,000 54,744

19,068,000 15,148,000 0 0 2,043,000 10,143,750 20,000 30,000 0

Zorig*

6,000,000 1,164,000 18,614,250 2,394,500 2,700,000 13,519,750 16,340,000 6,536

1,764,000 1,540,000 3,000,000 2,400,000 189,000 1,031,250 11,000 30,000 0

Mäńdibay

               

120,000 80,000 300 (kg) 300 (kg) 3000 (kg) 75,000 (kg) 10,000 1,000  

Prices

Note: These fgures are models developed with key informants, which I then applied to a number of selected households. Annual growth for livestock has been estimated depending on the composition of herds and fertility rates. For the fve species these are 0.10 for camels (which cast only every second year), 0.15 for horses (where the proportion of male animals within the herd is the highest), 0.25 for cattle and 0.35 for sheep and goats. Of this, the animals used for domestic consumption – obviously depending on family size – have been subtracted (refected in the number of hides people than have for trade, although occasionally this may also be consumed within the household). Wool has been calculated at 1.5 kg and cashmere at 250 g per animal. For potatoes and vegetables, an average net output of ten and eight tons respectively per hectare have been calculated – after subtracting the seeds needed for next year and the amount consumed domestically –, although yields obviously vary by skills and fertility of the concrete spot under cultivation. * Indicates a household of Mongol ethnicity.

Sheep Goats Potatoes Vegetables Wool Cashmere Hides large stock Hides small stock Herding 200 small stock State salary Animals herded Maximal income Livestock sales Agricultural sales Expected income Capital in animals (dollars)

Household

Table 4.6 Continued

Making ends meet 137

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drive them into poverty, an effect, probably, of the option agriculture offers as an alternative source of income. I have distinguished here between potential and estimated incomes because the former is in most cases not a very realistic one. Apart from the fuctuations in harvests and prices, a market strategy that goes for maximal proft is not the most sensible to begin with. Herders usually sell less than the annual growth rate allows in order to increase herd sizes as a form of capital and insurance against livestock theft or other calamities. In agriculture, many will not be able to sell all the products harvested because kin, neighbours, and friends await their share in exchange for other services. These variables are refected in the estimated incomes, which simply calculate half of the possible sales from livestock and agricultural products as the basis. All wool, cashmere, and hides, on the other hand, will usually be sold because there is no beneft in withholding. What these numbers reveal is the great potential that lies in agriculture that may come as a surprise. A rather poor household like that of Qalmaqhan can, with some luck and a lot of labour, arrive at an annual income that is suffcient to make ends meet, and allows surplus to accumulate. In fact, this is true for all six households, except for Tursunbek with an estimated income of less than four million, the poorest in the sample. Four of the households fall in the range of 10–15 million, thus being able to send at least part of their kids to college and marry them off. State employees such as Mäńdibay arrive at a household income similar to that of an average pastoralist or farmer, of which less than half is their offcial salary. The richest in the sample, Zorig, would be able, even with only half the possible sales, to annually generate a considerable surplus to invest in activities outside of pastoralism. For most of the time, however, he has been focused on increasing the size of his herd. These fgures also relativise the seeming difference in wealth by ethnicity. While Mongols on average own more livestock, the fact that agriculture is mostly in the hands of Qazaqs (and Uygurs) allows them to catch up easily when it comes to annual incomes. Of course, this does not equalise the potential for capital growth. The size of arable felds will provide a household with a steady income but does not grow in itself, while livestock as a means of production can – potentially at least – increase exponentially. But it may also evaporate in a matter of weeks in case of a jüt. What these incomes also do not refect is the value of the capital itself. A household like that of Zorig would be able to make up to more than 100 million tögrög, or some US$50,000, were he to sell off all his livestock – although such a decision may in his case lead to a crash of prices on the local market. Differences in income are not yet paralleled by differences in consumption, which thus accelerates processes of stratifcation. Poor households have not only less chance of growth of the means of production but also have to spend a much larger share of their income on merchandise. A major item of expenditure is foodstuff. While meat, milk, and agricultural products can be obtained from one’s own herds and felds, other staples have to be bought. This concerns frst of all four, which is consumed daily as bread, noodles, and bawırsaq. For

Making ends meet 139 a family of six, the monthly consumption is around 30 kg. In the 1990s, most four was imported from China and accused of poor quality. Today, Mongolia is allegedly self-suffcient in grain production, although the western provinces receive their supply mostly from Russia. The second main item to be purchased is tea, which is consumed daily in huge quantities. Apart from that sugar, sweets and, rarely, canned or packed foodstuff is bought. Rice is consumed only occasionally, although more than in the 1990s. Vodka used to be a major source of expenditure still in the early post-socialist period but among Qazaqs its consumption has decreased signifcantly. Nowadays people, with the exception on special occasions, prefer local beer, which is sold in all the shops in the village but hard to get in the countryside. Clothing and footwear are expensive and have to be bought regularly because of the poor quality and the fact that they wear out quickly in the harsh environment. People therefore make strict distinctions between their everyday outfts, which can be old and shabby, and what they put on when going to work or for festivities of any kind. Very little is self-produced, except for the warm winter coats stuffed with sheep wool. A particular expenditure is children's clothing and footwear because they need to dress properly when going to school. As prices in Khovd are lower, most families visit the bazaar before the new school year starts, which is also one of the rare occasions for a joint trip, eating out, and enjoying the city for a couple of hours. They will do so also before other important events, such as wedding ceremonies. As mentioned, shops in the sum-centre sell some clothing and shoes, but these are mainly used in case of urgency when it is not possible to wait. Still, the range of goods on offer looked amazing to me for a small place like this. Larger expenses are for houses, cars, or life cycle ceremonies as well as for medical treatment in case of need. None of these can be matched by selling milk products or potatoes but usually involve a cut into one’s herd. As ceremonies have become more and more lavish in recent years, they are a particular burden. Bigger celebrations with horse races and wrestling in the stadium can easily cost fve to ten million tögrög, or several thousand dollars, which includes food, drinks, as well as prizes. Part of this will be covered by the money every visitor will bring along, typically around 10,000 tögrög for those outside the inner kin circle (who have to contribute more). Families with regular income have it easier to accumulate money to fnance such events but they usually also have more expenses than others. They will also more likely have children who go to university, which has become a costly affair. Tuitions for state universities can be several thousand dollars a year, depending on place and programme, not including the costs for housing and food. Finally, a very specifc type of expenditure is visiting kin who have migrated. Trips to Qazaqstan are frequent and cut deep into household budgets, as they involve not only transportation and, eventually, accommodation on the way but also the need to bring along gifts (cf. chapter six). A major expenditure for settled households is fuel. During socialist times, even the pastoral areas were supplied with coal to heat the yurt or tam in winter. This is rarely the case today and usually, a combination of khargana and dung

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(tezek) will have to do the job. But in the sum-centre, where natural forms of fuel are diffcult to get, people still buy coal. This demands a huge portion of the annual budget. Four or fve tons are needed for winter if spent in a house. Transport for seasonal migrations or other events is another costly challenge because only a few families own a truck. But at least for everyday demands, the taxi system to Khovd city is a suffcient means nowadays. Petrol, however, is expensive and eats up a huge portion of the household budget either when flled into one’s own car or when bought for transport provided by someone else. The combination of imported used cars on bad roads also forces people to frequently invest money into spare parts and time when trying to repair their vehicles by themselves. Houses and yurts are, depending on size and style, constructed mostly by the owners themselves. This is different for the new two-storey buildings that also have windows and heating systems of a different standard. Everyone else tries to be self-suffcient in this regard with kin, neighbours, and friends giving hand. Still, a lot of the material has to be bought, including bricks and the wood for the skeleton. A traditional one-storey house costs around seven or eight million tögrög (or roughly US$3,000) in 2018, bigger ones two or three times this sum. Just for the bricks, which are produced locally, one million tögrög have to be allowed for. Yurts are cheaper, for maybe two or three million, but here as well much of the building material is bought, such as the preformed poles or the roof wheel on top. For felt, one’s own sheep are utilised and as it lasts for fve or more years, the wool of even a small herd is usually suffcient. Most of the interiors, such as furniture or cooking utensils have, however, to be bought on the market. And even many of the traditional Qazaq handicrafts, made out of felt or wool, are increasingly replaced with industrial products. In the sum-centre, houses are more often also equipped with new technologies such as TV sets, washing machines, or refrigerators. These changes in consumption patterns have thus far not resulted in marked distinctions along social lines. Except for different styles of dwelling most other products in everyday life are pretty much the same for everyone. And, as can be seen from the budget samples above, the majority of households does comparatively well, or at least faces no serious defciencies. There are families in the sum-centre as well as individual cases also among pastoralists or farmers who struggle to make ends meet. And this number quickly increases in periods of a jüt or when prices for agricultural products crumble for one or the other reason. Livestock continues to be seen as the basis of prosperity in rural Mongolia but, as the fgures also show, cultivation is a very suitable alternative. Crucial is still a good mixture of both, which also keeps the multiple risks of either economic activity at bay. But only a few can take full advantage of this as it demands access to fertile land and a suffcient labour force in the family. The major distinction is, indeed, the money spent on ceremonies, university fees, as well as new houses, that is to say, the investment into the next generation. This is what makes the difference between poor and wealthier households, and it is one that in all likelihood will increase in the near future.

Making ends meet 141

Conclusion Life has changed profoundly for people in Khovd-sum since the days when I frst went there. The new facilities and consumption patterns are just one outward expression of the deep transformation the rise of the market has brought about. It has also shaped the fate of each and every individual household with the “booms and busts” (Murphy 2014) that came along with it. For all households, this has created new precarities as well as opportunities. But by and large, the expansion of the market has served people well, compared with a period of chaos and decay during its early days. One reason for that is the fortunate location close to the provincial centre and equipped with fertile agricultural land in addition to pasturage. Another reason is transaction costs. Although still comparatively high, it is now easier to anticipate as well as to understand the moods of the market to a certain degree, not the least due to the expansion of mobile phones. What has not changed is the individual character of most decision-making processes. This certainly enables the much-needed fexibility in production and trade but puts severe constraints on any type of collective action. Most economic strategies are little coordinated but usually done within households or among close kin, sometimes to the detriment of all. It did, of course, not come as a surprise that the supply of potatoes exploded because one could see what everyone else was growing on their felds. But there was little to prevent this, and few would have been willing to forgo an expected boom, creating a classic collective action problem. After all, the demand from Ulaanbaatar and other places seemed insatiable at that time. Apart from the lesson in the mechanism of the market, this also illustrates that competition, rather than cooperation, may be the name of the game. This is, obviously, the case in any market economy but aggravated by the fact that pastoralists do not coordinate much of their activities anyway. So there exist few institutional bricks to establish trade organisations or local cooperatives. The market is also held accountable for the increase in social stratifcation. It would be premature to speak of class distinctions, but inequalities have started to take on a more permanent character to be transmitted over to the next generation. Such processes are probably inevitable in a capitalist system and are equally detrimental to collective activities. On the other hand, fexibility is a necessary precondition in pastoral risk management and, to a certain degree, also in agriculture. It also enables the kind of entrepreneurship that proved advantageous for many households in Khovd-sum. As also shown, the same fexibility regarding market behaviour is less appreciated. In contrast to nature, and thus inevitable, price fuctuations are considered a man-made problem that only serves businessmen far away. And while the market is much better organised these days, the sheer distances and poor infrastructure have transaction costs still be comparatively high. Other hazards also stay around, namely ecological disasters and unfavourable macroeconomic conditions, such as trade restrictions or export bans. In combination with a volatile environment, the establishment of a market economy proved to be one of high risks and precarity but also providing plenty of opportunities.

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There is still a lot at stake, and it is clear that one has to take matters into one’s own hands to succeed. Over the years, people have learned to live with that and accept things as a matter of fact rather than hoping for the state as a remedy. They do so, making use of a broad array of economic strategies, from risk-aversion to diversifcation and entrepreneurship, from pastoralism to agriculture and petty trade. And by and large, they have also beneftted from that, if measured by the rising incomes households have experienced in time.

Notes 1 This is, in fact, a local peculiarity. In Bayan-Ölgiy, as well as in Xinjiang, the majority of Qazaq pastoralists have permanent houses in their winter camps, and this was apparently true already by the beginning of the 20th century (Hudson 1938; Pewzow 1953; Altay 1981). The difference is explained in Khovd by the, relatively speaking, milder temperatures and the lack of building materials, i.e., wood, in the region. 2 In fact, in both languages, the term for a riding horse is the word for gelding (at in Qazaq and mor’ in Mongolian), whereas the generic designation is a different one (jılqı and aduu, respectively). 3 Boiled meat with or without noodles is considered the national dish in Qazaqstan, commonly labelled as beshbarmak, or fve fngers, although this name is rarely used in everyday life and possibly of foreign origin. The proper Qazaq pronunciation of the word would, indeed, be besbarmak, but is a rather recent term either way. People usually refer to this dish simply as et (“meat”) or tamaq (“food, meal”). 4 Popularity of qurt among my friends and relatives – but also among foreigners living in Mongolia – varied a lot, ranging all the way from deep disgust to genuine enjoyment. Hard to describe in taste, this is – in my very personal opinion – one of the greatest stuff that Central Asian nomads have invented and enriched many of my days in the feld. People were well aware of my taste, and I heard them occasionally say to “put qurt on the table, he likes it”. But its taste also greatly varies from household to household as well as by ethnicity. Qurt made by Qazaqs is usually drier than in Mongolian households. In both cases, it is – in contrast to Qazaqstan – prepared without adding salt to it. If not dried properly, it may therefore put on mildew. 5 Apart from the adjoining agricultural areas of Khovd- and Buyant-sum, there is only one more place in Mongolia where melons are grown, the district of Bulgan in southern Khovd-aymag.

Bibliography Altay, Halife. 1981. Anayurttan Anadolu´ya. Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Yayınları. Bates, Daniel. 1973. Nomads and Farmers: A Study of the Yörük of Southeastern Turkey. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan. Bollig, Michael, Michael Schnegg, and Hans-Peter Wotzka (eds.). 2013. Pastoralism in Africa Past, Present, and Futures. London and New York: Berghahn. Empson, Rebecca. 2020. Subjective Lives and Economic Transformations in Mongolia. Life in the Gap. London: UCL Press. Ensminger, Jean. 1992. Making a Market: The Institutional Transformation of an African Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Making ends meet 143 Finke, Peter. 2004. Nomaden im Transformationsprozess: Kasachen in der PostSozialistischen Mongolei. Münster: Lit-Verlag. Finke, Peter. 2017. “Changing Food Preferences in Mongolia.” In Food and Identity in Central Asia. Field Notes and Research Projects, edited by Aida A. Alymbaeva, 141–153. Halle/Saale: Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology. Hudson, Alfred E. 1938. Kazak Social Structure. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Kornai, Janos. 1992. The Socialist System. The Political Economy of Communism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Marin, Andrei. 2008. “Between Cash Cows and Golden Calves: Adaptations of Mongolian Pastoralism in the “Age of the Market”.” Nomadic Peoples 12 (2): 75–101. Müller, Franz-Volker. 1995. “New Nomads and Old Customs: General Effects of Privatisation in Rural Mongolia.” Nomadic Peoples 36 (37): 175–194. Murphy, Daniel J. 2014. “Booms and Busts: Asset Dynamics, Disaster, and the Politics of Wealth in Rural Mongolia.” Economic Anthropology 1 (1): 104–123. Murphy, Daniel J. 2019. “We’re Living from Loan-to-Loan: Pastoral Vulnerability and the Cashmere-Debt Cycle in Mongolia.” Research in Economic Anthropology 38: 7–30. Netting, Robert, Richard Wilk, and Eric Arnould. 1984. Households: Comparative and Historical Studies of the Domestic Group. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Pewzow, Michail W. 1953. Wo man mit Ziegeltee bezahlt: Bericht einer Reise durch die Mongolei und die nördlichen Provinzen des inneren China. Leipzig: VEB F. A. Brockhaus Verlag. Róna-Tas, András. 1961. “Notes on the Kazak Yurt of West Mongolia.” Acta Orientalia Hungaricae 12: 79–102. Templer, Guy, Jeremy Swift, and Polly Paine. 1993. “The Changing Signifcance of Risk in the Mongolian Pastoral Economy.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 105–122. Ündesniy Atlas. 1990. Bügd Nayramdakh Mongol Ard Uls: Ündesniy Atlas [Mongolian People’s Republic: National Atlas]. Ulaanbaatar, Moskau: Mongolian Academy of Sciences and Academy of Sciences of the U.S.S.R. Verdery, Katherine. 1991. “Theorizing Socialism: A Prologue to Transition.” American Ethnologist 18 (3): 419–439.

5

Using space and mobility

Introduction In August 2004, an argument broke out between Kärimhan and Jaylawbay, two herders of the frst bag. Kärimhan was just on his move from the summer pastures down to the plains where he wanted to spend autumn. Passing by his spring campsite near the bag-centre Bayan-Bulag for a stopover, he noticed the awıl of Jaylawbay with several hundred sheep and goats. He went to him, deeply outraged by this potential threat to the grazing of his animals early next year. Jaylawbay responded that he was to stay only for a few days due to the mosquito plague still prevalent in the lowlands. Words led to further anger, and fnally a fstfght broke out that left both of them wounded badly. In the end, there was little for Kärimhan to do but put up his camp a few hundred metres away and for the next days both were watching each other with great suspicion. I was not present when this incident took place but heard of several similar ones over the years. Only a few of them ended in violence and very few in casualties. In those cases, the perpetrators ultimately went to jail. Neither the state nor the local community accept taking measures into one’s own hands. At the same time, most people admit to understanding seasonal trespassing. Environmental and political conditions in western Mongolia force people to be fexible and quickly adapt to changing circumstances. And this entails that decision-making often happens in opportunistic ways, sometimes to the detriment of others. When the survival of one’s herd is endangered, there is too much at stake to allow for much compromise. For this reason, the wrongdoer or his family also does not necessarily face long-term marginalisation within the community. The Mongolian government as well as legions of international advisors have pushed for the creation of more inclusive property rights, including the establishment of permanent user groups, to prevent a “Tragedy of the Commons” (Hardin 1968), but have so far been unsuccessful in that. And it may be doubted whether they make much sense in the particular environment of western Mongolian pastoralism (Finke 2021). At the same time, the situation is indeed delicate and has become so evermore in recent years. Following a common classifcation of property rights, one could argue that in post-socialist times a gradual transition from a common pool system DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692-5

Using space and mobility 145 to one of open access is taking place, with all the imperilling consequences in terms of overgrazing this may have. It also points to the question of who has the power to defne or change an existing rule, or whose institution it is in the end. Any decision that pastoralists take is infuenced by numerous factors, many of which are highly idiosyncratic and may change from year to year. Trespassing and disregard of institutional guidelines are an inherent part of that, as is careful calculating of information sharing. For that matter, individual strategies and collective interests often do not go along well, potentially leading to an overuse of natural resources and conficts over territories, locations, and passages. Due to high monitoring and enforcement costs, it is also very diffcult to sanction free riding, even more so since rules are not undisputed in their legitimacy. Local authorities have tried to curtail seasonal misuses but have so far been largely unsuccessful. Self-organised sanctioning, by contrast, does not work on a collective basis and is therefore risky for anyone to pursue, as shown in the case of Kärimhan. This chapter maps the use of land and space that people pursue in order to make a living. At the core of this is the need to guarantee the herd’s supply with suffcient grazing and water. Given the capricious nature of the local ecology, this is not always an easy undertaking, as shown by the quick rates of depletion and recovery of herd sizes. Due to vegetation and climate, grazing cycles are of a very complex nature, combining vertical and horizontal movements in unique ways. As a consequence, local land allocation rules are equally complex, and not always easy to implement. As will be shown, time margins here play a bigger role than elaborated access regulations and territorial boundaries. In socialist times, the state or the local negdel was the relevant authority in this respect, but nowadays often no clear enforcement mechanisms are at work, which is threatening not only social relations within the community but also the sustainable usage of resources. At the same time, households have to adapt to the new conditions of a market economy and the return to multi-species herds. The disregard of existing rules of allocation therefore often happens out of necessity but also due to the fact that the probability of sanctions is believed to be low. In such situations, the effectiveness of a given institutional order may be put into question.

Local conditions of pastoralism Such a scenario, indeed, resembles accusations made against pastoralists all over the world for the degradation of natural resources, something that is used as a pretext for initiatives to have them settle down. So far, Mongolia has been largely saved from such developments. In fact, mobility as a prerequisite for rural livelihood has never been seriously questioned. Even though some of the political elites – during socialist times as well as today – advocate a shift towards more sedentary forms of livestock rearing, nomadism was never frowned upon. Pastoralists have not been marginalised, neither economically nor socially, and even many of the urban settings, including the capital of Ulaanbaatar, have preserved some features of a nomadic lifestyle, which are also a strong source of pride. There was

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a newly set-up infrastructure of district centres, boarding schools, and mobile services brought to the steppe by state authorities. The people there were, however, not sedentarised herders but families who had left the pastoral sector – at least as their prime economic activity. And even this change was only a partial one. Until today many of the inhabitants accompany their kin to the summer pastures to graze their animals and fatten them for the winter. The main reason for seasonal movements is that a steady and suffcient supply of grass at any one spot is uncertain or simply impossible over the course of a year because the total amount or density of plants is low (Dyson-Hudson & Dyson-Hudson 1980; Bollig & Casimir 1993). This may have different reasons, but aridity usually plays a prime role. western Mongolia and the Khovd-sum are typical examples of that. As described, precipitation is low and, for most of the year, temperatures are too cold to allow any vegetation to develop. The growing season is therefore only three to four months, from May to August. For the rest of the year, livestock has to be fed on standing crops that have been preserved by saving them for later grazing periods. That is diffcult enough, but if a particular year is colder in temperature or lower in precipitation, things may quickly take a turn for the worse, as happened with the recent jüt. Pastoralists are keenly aware of that and watch out for signs that indicate any change of local ecological conditions. In terms of vegetation, the Khovd-sum is typical for large parts of western Mongolia. Constitutive is the range of altitudes that exist within a small area. This allows animals to be moved with the seasons to pastures not valuable or accessible in other parts of the year due to low temperatures or lack of water. An additional advantage of the different altitudes is that the vegetation is not the same and a vertical cycle enables animals to access a variety of plants and their respective nutritious values. The overall quality of vegetation is ranked as average compared to neighbouring districts, with more or less suffcient pastures for all seasons (Nyamdavaa 1995). There is a certain lack of grazing areas in autumn, to be seen by the shape of the sum, which becomes narrower the further northeast or downhill one moves (cf. Map 1.1). To have access to suffcient grazing during this season, many families of the frst and second bag spend it on outside territories, while, in return, the territory of Khovd-sum is utilised during summer by herders from neighbouring Buyant-sum less equipped with alpine regions. Refecting its topography, the sum can be divided into several zones of vegetation. Qazaqs distinguish the areas near the river deltas of Buyant and Khovd (özeń) in the north-eastern parts, the desert-steppe belt (oy) in the centre of the sum, the lower-lying mountain region (taw böhteri), and the high-altitude pastures (taw) in the far west. All of these play distinctive and crucial roles in the annual cycle, but pastoralists usually rank the vegetation of mountain pastures as the best. Their main function is for the animals to put on weight before winter when they are slaughtered or sold in greater numbers. On the other hand, the lowlands would be unbearable during that time due to heat and mosquitoes. Opportunity costs, therefore, to save these pastures for later periods are not very high. But they become crucial in autumn when they help the animals gain fat as

Using space and mobility 147 winter reserve. Located in between are most of the pasture areas for winter and spring, which are thus jeopardised by potential use when herders are on their way from one seasonal camp to another. The total availability of forage is hard to establish, as there has never been any systematic measurement done. Back in the 1990s, a local geography teacher told me the carrying capacity to be equivalent to 120–130,000 khonin tolgoy, which would imply that for most of its recent history the sum harboured many more animals than sustainable. Before privatisation started, stocking rates were rather constant, slightly below 200,000 sheep units, dropping down to 126,000 in 1992 with the frst wave of out-migration. During the following 20 years, this fgure oscillated between 150,000 and 170,000 before reaching an all-time low of 94,500 in 2010 right after the last jüt. Numbers have been climbing constantly until 2017, when they exceeded 250,000 khonin tolgoy, or twice the reported carrying capacity. Since then, fgures have decreased again and are now at 225,000 for 2019 (cf. Chart 5.1). On the other hand, most of the local ecology qualifes as what Behnke and Scoones (1993) have labelled a “non-equilibrium system”, where the long-term balance is maintained by natural courses rather than stocking rates and thus any overpopulation of livestock is quickly eradicated by droughts. This is, indeed, what locals say, for whom there cannot be serious degradation because each spring new grass will inevitably grow again. “Our problem is not pastures but the weather”, as Seyt put it. Also among rangeland specialists, it is debated whether pastureland in the arid parts of Mongolia is over-utilised and degraded to a threatening degree or whether desertifcation is more of a convenient narrative to put the blame on local communities (Sheehy 1993, 1996; Fernández-Giménez 2002; Behnke & Mortimore 2016). Aside from that, stocking rates are diffcult to calculate in detail for any given year because livestock from outside are not included in the offcial statistics, as is the time spent by animals belonging to herders from Khovd-sum in neighbouring 300,000 250,000 200,000 150,000 100,000 50,000

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Chart 5.1 Livestock numbers and estimated carrying capacity

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territories. But both numbers are probably of minor relevance and more or less balance each other over the year. Herders, in fact, have little issue, neither with the number of livestock nor with the proportional increase of goats. On the contrary, all those asked denied potential harm caused by this switch and rather blamed sheep as a threat because they stay at one spot too long and can damage the soil more easily with their hooves. What may, indeed, create issues of overgrazing is the concentration of livestock near the sum-centre and other strategically preferred spots, such as pathways and wells. Earth roads in the steppe tend to quickly deteriorate, especially when used by heavy vehicles, and soon drivers will create new sideways. The main connections between settlements are therefore often dozens of parallel lines, destroying large tracks of pastureland. All herders also take precautions for winter by gathering hay storage. These are harvested on the agricultural felds along the Buyant as well as in the pastoral lowlands. The former are, as mentioned, of higher quality, but an annual lease of 8,000 tögrög per hectare has to be paid. For an average herd of 300–400 animals, pastoralists who winter in the mountains collect one or two truckloads of hay, each four to fve tons, while those in the plains need twice as much. Hay is used primarily for mounted horses and for enfeebled pregnant animals. Those families in the sum-centre also gather some for the milking cows. But to build up stocks for a whole herd to survive a jüt is impossible, both due to high labour demands and the lack of suffcient vegetation. If proximity and available workforce permit, hay is usually harvested by the families themselves. Otherwise, in 2013 one truckload of hay was traded for half a million tögrög, or 250 dollars. Haymaking is a crucial predicament. But it is also very labour intensive and keeps the adult male members of a camp busy for weeks. And it depends on the right timing. Usually in the last days of August people all over the district get very nervous to bring in their harvest. Nothing else can be done properly during that time, and most conversations circle the question of whether others are already done or still have to go down to the lowlands. Appropriate weather is very important as well, and a late summer rain that would press down the plants is a disaster. Equally, strong winds make the transport diffcult, as the loaded hay will be blown away. And, of course, in years with little rainfall also the hay harvest will be inferior, or the size of the land put aside has to be increased, thus putting additional pressure on labour force and pastoral management. At the same time, it is then diffcult to fnd a vehicle for transportation and, if that should be available, to buy petrol. Each year, the situation seems to repeat itself and is one where the pursuit of individual interests clearly outweighs other concerns. All of a sudden, the sum is running out of petrol. And equally each year everybody seems to be taken by surprise. For days, people walk around and inquire where to buy or when supplies will start again. Some have stored in time and may be willing to resell for a higher price, but as everyone is in demand these channels quickly dry out. The owner of the petrol station is then usually accused of not taking care early enough (as then, demand is highest also in other districts). Some also believe that he is withholding on purpose to see prices rising, although these are still state-fxed, and he cannot make a direct proft out

Using space and mobility 149 of that. But either way, households with a vehicle can plan in advance and are clearly advantaged. Water is the other key resource in pastoral management. Small stock has, depending on the season, to drink at least every other day. In winter, snow may be suffcient, but on most other days they have to be watered out of wells or small streams. Wells are considered better, but as long as there are rivers along the way this is preferred as it is less labour intensive and allows to have the animals drink daily. In spring and autumn, when wells are often the only source, a major part of the male working day may be spent with watering. For a large fock of several hundred animals, this is a time-consuming business, even more so if several camps have to share wells like is true for most of the desert-steppes in the central part of the sum. This sometimes leads to long queues of focks waiting for their time. Large stock is usually capable of fnding their own water, but those kept near the yurt for milking and riding have to be cared for. The availability of water is therefore a key variable in deciding when and where to move. And since the end of the negdel, some pastures have become unusable because the nearby wells, built during socialist times, have broken down. These were deep wells operated with animals or motor-powered. Plans to repair them have not materialised, although the Mongolian government provides special funds that can be used for that. As for other aspects of pastoral life described, this is considered clearly the duty of the state, and no self-organising efforts have taken place so far. In addition to grass and water, animals also regularly have to eat salt. There are licks along the Khovd River, from where it is brought to the camps. During spring and autumn, this is less of an issue because in the lowlands there is suffcient salt in the plants and on the ground to be licked. In summer and winter, however, when livestock is grazed in the mountain, a steady supply has to be prepared and transported uphill. And at this time of the year, salt is particularly important because it also supports the fattening of the animals to help them survive the times of scarcity in winter and spring.

Daily management All livestock owned by pastoralists are domesticated and therefore have constantly to be taken care of. This differs by species. Small stock, and in particular sheep, are dependent on human guidance and will easily get lost. They are usually accompanied during the day and brought back to the camp at night. Usually, goats and sheep are kept in one joint herd to beneft from their respective characteristics. Sheep are said to be slow eaters, which implies that they graze a place more thoroughly but thereby also complete all vegetation at a time. In the case of a larger herd, this may also prevent those at the end from fnding suffcient forage. By contrast, goats are browsers who pick the most preferred part of the plant and quickly move on to the next. In effect, as they lead the herds, they speed up the movement. However, if there are too many goats, their paste is too fast for sheep to have suffcient time to graze, as people say.

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During most of the year, the fock is driven to the pastures in the late morning and returns around sunset. In meagre times, when the vegetation becomes depleted, animals need more time to graze and the hours spent on the pastures increase. They may then also be taken out again in the evening for a few more hours. Herds that consist primarily of goats can also be left on their own during the day. They are moved to the pastures in the morning and only looked after every few hours. This has become increasingly popular since the early 2000s, as it sets free labour force, and now with the spread of motorbikes has become ever more common. One can frequently see men sitting near their camps on elevated positions, such as rocks or on top of a qaša, with binoculars watching out for their animals. That depends, however, on the local setting, and in areas with lots of wolves, the danger of animal loss is too great to have animals unattended. As predators are not hunted systematically anymore, this is becoming a serious issue. When circumstances seem hazardous, herders may spend the night outside the yurt to be able to intervene in any encroachment, be that by wolves or humans. All camps also keep dogs for protection, but they are more important for alerting rather than standing a fght against predators. An issue of great concern includes the reproductive cycle of the animals. In principle, all species are in heat throughout the year. To prevent untimely births, that is to say before or after spring, different tools are used. The most common is dressing rams and billy goats in skirts. Another way is to hand them over to one shepherd chosen to take care of them for around half of the year. This technique has been the one applied in socialist times, but since then it suffers from the same obstacle that complicates other forms of cooperation, namely the lack of trust. It is commonly assumed that people will pay less attention or eventually behave fraudulent when it is not about their own animals. Most herders, therefore, prefer to keep the males in their own fock, even if there are designated specialists available. Over the years, a number of herders have been chosen to keep custody of the reproductive male animals during summer and are paid an annual salary. In the mid-1990s, it was Aqan, a poor herder of the third bag. This was aimed to provide him with an additional income to feed his family. But less than half of the herders actually handed their rams and billy goats to him, as he was considered unreliable and prone to drinking. The then bag chief himself, initiator of the scheme, admitted that he would hesitate to give his animals to Aqan. In the following years, more and more families withdrew their livestock and the institution fell into oblivion. In later years, Qonaqbay, a son of Dosmuqan, took care of the male reproductive stock. This was deemed an unfortunate choice for the opposite reason, namely that the family has far too many livestock of their own to take adequate care of entrusted animals. Today, Tlewhan is in charge. But as in earlier years, only a minority actually makes use of that option, although Tlewhan is considered a reliable herder. Entrusting animals to another herder is a risky business by any means and done only when circumstances do not allow otherwise. This is particularly true for reproductive stock.

Using space and mobility 151 Large stock is different and much more independent. Mares and foals will be kept near the camp during milking periods but then again left free for the night. Otherwise, horses and camels are hardly monitored at all. They roam freely in small focks of one stallion and a few mares with their foals, often far away from the campsite, and are only occasionally looked after. Within the sum, people will usually inform each other, by word of mouth or more recently mobile phones, when they see animals straying too far or grazing on their own. I remember numerous occasions of being told to inform a herder I was expected to meet soon about his white-patterned horse stallion or a lonesome camel foal that had been spotted. A situation unthinkable in most other pastoral regions of the world, this is obviously very labour saving, and increasing levels of livestock theft are apparently not yet serious enough to change pastoral management in this respect. Cattle are also little herded but usually kept near the campsite. This is true primarily for the young ones and their mothers. During the day, they will be driven in different directions in order for the calves not to drink. The animals will come back to the campsite on their own before being milked in the evening. This is similar for the families in the sum-centre who have their cattle, and partly also small stock, with them and drive it out to the surrounding pastures during the day. Towards evening long lines of cows and calves slowly walk back to the settlement, making for a very picturesque view. If the return takes too long, which happens frequently, people get worried and start to look for their individual animals. The evenings are then busy with people running through the village to search for calves that come late or do not fnd their way. Herding is a man’s job and used to be done by either the youngest or the eldest considered capable of doing so within the camp or household. Middleaged men are largely exempted from this as they have other things to do. Today, the elderly have also become less involved since more and more of them have taken up residence in the sum-centre. Among Mongols, one occasionally observes female herders if no man of appropriate age is around. With Qazaqs, I have never seen that. In female-headed households, it will be elder sons or a close relative taking care of the animals. If neither of them is present, the existence of a pastoral household is endangered. Herding animals throughout the year is a tough business, and it is easy to see the difference in approach when comparing pastoralists who have done so their whole life and those who switched in recent years. There is a very fne balance between, on the one hand, caring and observing and, on the other, a necessary degree of harshness towards oneself as well as towards the animals without injuring them unintendedly. Experience is a crucial asset in this. The camp of Äygerim (#9) is an insightful example of that as it was over the years badly affected by sickness and premature deaths. As a consequence, her sons had from early on to take over many of the duties of adult herders. Due to lack of experience, things took a turn for the worse. While her husband was still alive, but already bedridden, their sheep and goat herd got lost one day in a snowstorm. Friends and kin immediately came to help – including my own fruitless efforts – but only half of the animals were found again, while others were

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perishing, falling prey to wolves, or possibly being integrated into other herders’ focks. After Jampeys’s untimely death in 1995, the three sons lacking suffcient training in pastoral management were never able to regain the family’s former wealth and belonged to the class of precarious households. As mentioned, they all left successively for Qazaqstan as they saw no future for themselves in the livestock business anymore. A main purpose of camps is the pooling of labour so that men can take turns to herd the animals and are free on other days. Thus, camps would ideally aggregate around a number of some 600–700 small stock as the optimal grazing unit. If the joint herd surpasses this number, as in the case of Tsedensüren and Erdenebaatar (#11), camps may consequently have to split, at least seasonally. On the other hand, potential fusions often do not take place and households with far fewer animals settle on their own, as will be shown in the next chapter, because they shy away from entrusting their most precious resource to someone else. Still, in case of need, neighbouring camps and relatives nearby help each other when looking after lost animals, preparing for a seasonal move, or during shearing periods. This mutual support does not have to be asked for, but people will show up in due time. One particular type of pooling labour is the so-called saakhaltin ayl (in Mongolian) or qoy qozı awıl (in Qazaq). In order to prevent having to care for two herds, neighbours exchange each other’s lambs and kids during the day to keep them apart from their respective mothers, so that they will not be able to suck milk. Upon the return to the campsite in the evening, the animals will be returned to their owners, or rather do so on their own as the young ones will run to their mothers as quickly as they can. Not everyone practices this type of exchange, as it can be complicated and labour intensive to separate herds in the morning. It is primarily done by kin who happen to live in neighbourhood, or do so specifcally for that reason, such as Saylaw (#10) and his brothers-inlaw, the sons of Idırıs (#2). In fact, among Qazaqs and Uygurs quda relations have always been particularly popular for exchanging small stock, and this was in the past often the source of seasonal neighbourhoods (Finke 2004). As more and more families settle on their own, however, it is also becoming common among unrelated neighbours. It is not practised much among rich herders, either because they will divide their herds by age internally or they do not milk small stock due to the lack of labour force anyway. In contrast to pooling, some camps are also split for herding purposes during parts of the year. This is done primarily by well-off families who send a brother or son with small stock to appropriate winter pastures while staying with cattle at the main campsite. Again, the number of animals has to be suffcient to justify the additional expenses for transport and separate households. There are, however, other situations where a temporary split becomes a necessity, such as during a drought when parts of the family move to far-away pastures less affected. These long-distance movements, called otar in Qazaq (and otor in Mongolian) used to be more frequent in the 1990s but were rarely ever mentioned as a strategy during the recent jüt, in contrast to reports from other parts of Mongolia (Murphy

Using space and mobility 153 2011). Otar is obviously of little help when larger regions are affected or when the respective calamities set in all too suddenly. It is also a great challenge to coordinate should many herders be affected by the need to move. Then, the focks in question will eventually have to concentrate on an even smaller piece of land that is, for one or another reason, better equipped with seasonal vegetation. There are more changes that occurred in pastoral management. One is the spread of motorbikes, which are – especially in the eyes of the younger generation – much more comfortable than horses used to be. This is not only the idea of modernity that comes in but also the fact that herding by bike allows one to move back and forth to the yurt much easier. Thus, the long and lonely days of young men in the open steppes are largely a thing of the past. And the motorbikes used for that may, in fact, be more economic than having an additional riding horse or two that have to be fed with hay during winter. Still, most herders maintain at least a small herd for the sake of riding, producing qımız, or participating in races as part of public and private ceremonies. Another modern device beginning to be utilised in pastoral management is mobile phones. So far, the range of connections is still limited, especially in the mountain areas. Very often there are individual spots scattered in the landscape with access to a provider. People know these spots, such as hills or the top of a qaša, and climb them in case of need. In some yurts, there was one single place where a connection was possible, and the mobile phones were fxed accordingly. For any phone call, people would then stand on a stool to be able to talk. Due to the limitations, mobile phones are yet only a supplement and, for example, used to ask people in far-away places whether they have seen one’s run-away horses but not for directing focks during the day.

Annual cycles Detecting annual grazing cycles was, so I thought, one of the crucial and most interesting aspects of pastoral management. It also proved to be one of the trickiest. This is due to a very particular kind of pattern, or maybe rather to my inner refusal to accept what sounded counterintuitive to me. Topography and climate both play a key role here. Determining is frst of all the proximity of lowland desert-steppes and high-altitude pastures in the Mongolian Altay, which suggests vertical movements to take advantage of differences in climate and vegetation according to season. But there is more complexity to the picture, driven by specifc weather conditions. During winter, much of Mongolia is infuenced by inversions, where the lower mountain zones provide milder temperatures than the open steppes. At the same time, and as one of the reasons for that, the plains are also more exposed to wind. And while snowfall increases with altitude, it is still moderate in average years and usually allows livestock to fnd suffcient grazing at least in lower-lying mountain areas. Therefore, most herders in Khovd-sum apply a combination of vertical and horizontal mobility, moving up and down the mountains twice a year, which is also a pattern found in other districts in the area (Nyamdavaa 1995; Kelley

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2019). This depends on the species herded during socialist times. In most cases, people stick to this pattern, even though the composition of herds has changed since. Households specialised in small stock typically spend summer and winter in the mountains while moving to the low- and midlands in autumn and spring. These are also the herders who move most frequently, usually between four and six times a year, and cover the longest distances of up to 300 km and the biggest differences in altitude with up to 1,500 m (moving back and forth twice a year). The great majority of households in the frst and second bag as well as roughly half of the third bag follow this pattern. Herders specialised in large stock, by contrast, stay in the plains and midlands for three seasons and move to the high altitudes only for summer. In fact, as described earlier, horses and camels pretty much graze on their own and thus the location of the camp is of minor relevance. Cattle, however, and for the most part, camels as well, prefer the lowlands in winter and during much of the year, as they are not good climbers. Grasses are high here, although, as herders claim, of lower quality than the mountain pastures. The corresponding territories belong mainly to the third bag. Finally, there is, or almost was, a third type of grazing pattern, namely that of specialised yak herders who stay in the mountains all year round. Yaks prefer cold temperatures and can cope with moderate amounts of snow. As a consequence, these households move rather little over the year. Those with winter camps in areas that also have water in summer hardly cover more than 20 km annually, except for the part of the household who moves downhill with small stock in spring and autumn. Most yak herders are attached to the second bag, but there are individual families also in the frst and third, such as Sapar (#3). At the highest altitude are, with few exceptions, the summer pastures (qz. jaylaw; mgl. zuslan), which can be up to 2,000 or 2,500 metres. During this period, concrete sites may be switched according to annual conditions. Many of them are located on high plateaus or in the surrounding valleys, which have been covered by glaciers in the past. They display a rather gentle landscape with lush pastures. Camps are usually set up along ravines that provide animals and humans with water. Some valleys lack water sources but may still be used for grazing during the day if within walking distance for sheep and goats. The location of any specifc pasture may be changed daily and, amongst others, depends on the temperature. On hot summer days, it is often the peaks or pass regions that are utilised because they provide some cooling winds. By contrast, open steppes or altitudes will be avoided on cold or stormy days as it would hold off sheep and goats from grazing properly. Winter camps (qz. qıstaw; mgl. övöljöö) are considered “home”, as it is here that households spend the longest time. They are also most stable over the years. Those in the mountains are sometimes in the immediate vicinity of summer areas or in lower-lying valleys that open up towards the midlands. Smaller valleys harbour usually only one camp, while bigger ones two or three. Winter camps are positioned on the northern slopes of the valley, as this optimises daily insolation and avoids the dominant winds from Siberia. For that reason, the narrower a valley is, the higher the location of the respective winter camps, and some of

Using space and mobility 155 them may be on altitudes up to 2,500 metres in some side valleys of Tümtid. In these cases, summer pastures may actually be at the lower end of the same valley because of a lack of water sources uphill. Camps in the mountains are occupied in late November after the arrival of the frst snow for the animals to drink. Next in line are spring camps, mostly located in the mid plains east of the sum-centre.1 People stay here from late February, just before the lambs and goatlings are born, until early May or mid-June, depending on the necessity to change sites once more before the summer move. Spring camps are commonly at an altitude of around 1,500 metres and show already typical desert-steppe vegetation. Even more important here is protection against storms, which are most frequent at this time of the year. Small distances of a few metres can make a crucial difference, and the search for good locations, hidden behind a minor range or in a hole, is a particularly diffcult one. For water, wells are the primary source during this season. The few lakes in these areas, such as in Qaq, are usually salty and can serve only camels for drinking. As in winter, all spring camps are equipped with permanent shelters and buildings, the qaša, which constitute a physical manifestation lacking in other seasons. In most cases, only a part of the qaša is covered where newborns can be sheltered during the cold season. Those in the mountains are on average smaller because there is less need for hay storage. Finally, the lowlands harbour, on the one hand, winter and spring camps of large stock herders and, on the other hand, the autumn sites of almost everyone. Both are on altitudes of 1,100–1,300 metres. Winter and spring are often spent in one combined qaša. They are usually occupied in late October or early November, a month earlier than those in the mountains, as there are suffcient wells around. Here, the main protection against winds is by khargana bushes and occasional trees along the river. Hidden by often head-high vegetation, these places are diffcult to fnd for anyone not familiar. The autumn camps (qz. küzew; mgl. namarjaa) are mostly in the open steppes adjacent to the bushlands towards the rivers and the agricultural felds. This is where temperatures stay above zero the longest, and wells provide suffcient water. Autumn camps are occupied sometime in late August or early September. The exact date, as will be taken up below, depends on the vanishing of the mosquitoes. In contrast to the winter-spring camps, they tend to be located at the edge of the Ulaan-Khargana bushland or in adjacent desert-steppe territories and thus are easily visible for visitors. When it comes to detail, things look again more complex, and fexibility is the name of the game. This will be explicated with patterns in the third bag, made up of the two former sections of Baruun-Salaa and Ulaan-Khargana. The former is home to small stock herders who follow a cycle also true for most herders in the frst and second bag. Joldas (#1) is a typical example of this. His winter camp is in upper Baruun-Salaa, at the entrance to Möst Valley, at an altitude of almost 2,000 m. As mentioned, he had bought this from another household retiring from pastoralism, a few kilometres from the original site of the family. He spends spring in the midlands north-east of the sum-centre, along the road to the provincial centre, sheltered by surrounding hills as

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Illustration 5.1 Winter camp in the lowlands of Ulaan-Khargana (Peter Finke 1996)

protection towards the storms. From here, he moves back to Möst to spend the summer near his winter camp. Nearby are also several Mongol herders, such as Tsedensüren (#11) and Gankhüü (#13). In autumn, Joldas usually goes down to Arvin, near the agricultural felds where he harvests hay for the winter. In most years, he occupies an intermediate campsite in Awız-Suw in late August, although such a move will cause resentment by those herders spending the spring there. The other former section of the bag, Ulaan-Khargana, represents the second type described above, namely that of specialised large stock herders. They go, as mentioned, to the mountains only for the summer. All other seasons are spent in the lowlands, in and around the huge bushland of Ulaan-Khargana. Many of them, in fact, have no separate spring camp but stay for half a year or more at their winter site. Autumn may also be spent in the vicinity, either within UlaanKhargana or in close-by desert-steppes such as Kök-Ders or Äligt. Others move further towards the river delta, to Tishke- and Qara-Suw. As described, Idırıs and his son Äwes (#2) had been herding large stock for most of their lives. They had their winter and spring camp on the northern edge of Ulaan-Khargana, along a small mountain range. Nearby, also a number of Qazaq and Mongol households settle during this part of the year, as well as Saylaw, their brother-in-law. In summer the families usually move to Örgön-Shireg, although, at times, Äwes went all the way to Tümtid to fatten sheep and goats. The autumn campsite is again located in the lowlands near to their winter and spring sites.

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Map 5.1 Annual grazing cycle in the third bag Note: See comment to Map 1.1.

Sapar (#3) and his sons represent the third type of pastoral mobility. As mentioned, they had earlier been members of the second bag and settled in its territories throughout the year. Then, after an elder cousin had migrated to Qazaqstan, Sapar took over his winter and spring camp in Tümtid. This seemed an ideal place as it allowed them to continue yak herding at high altitudes while being closer to the sum-centre and the market in Khovd than their original site. One of the families stays in Tümtid also during spring, while the others move to Ikh-Üzüür, a midland plain where several qaša had become empty over the years. During summer, all congregate again in Tümtid, while autumn is spent in Tishke Suw, along the banks of the Khovd River. Sapar himself usually spends part of the year in the sum-centre where one of his sons works in the administration. Ulaan-Khargana is also the place where most of the Mongols in Khovd-sum settle, irrespective of which species they held in socialist times. One of them is

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Nergüy (#12) who had been a cattle herder for the negdel. He has his winter and spring campsites in and around Ulaan-Khargana. Here, roughly a dozen Mongol khotayl settle within a range of some 20 kilometres throughout the cold season. Most came from the aymag-centre after the dissolution of the negdel and maintain rather small herds, often being attached to one of the established herding camps, so that their presence is not considered a problem. In summer, Nergüy moves up to one of the higher tributaries of Baruun-Salaa, usually to Tsagduul or Davdag. Towards the end of the season, he may take a second campsite in Qaq. This regularly causes friction with herders having their spring camp there, as was the case with Joldas. Sometime in early September, Nergüy settles again on the outskirts of Ulaan-Khargana to prepare for winter. As indicated, also many people in the fourth and ffth bag migrate seasonally. For the farmers, this is due partly to the mosquitoes, which force them to move uphill, towards the aymag-centre, in summer. Some may also send part of the household to the mountains to care for the livestock. The rest of the year is spent in and around the settlements of Naymin, Arvin, or Buyant, and movements tend to be of a short distance. The ffth bag has equally no grazing areas of its own but uses pastures nearby, primarily on the territory of the third bag. Some families also move to the lower mountains in summer, either joining a camp of relatives or setting up an independent one. For spring, some have a qaša in the adjacent midlands of Shanzan or Qaq, where they have the animals cast their young. Usually, these families are accepted among the bag herders, and no one takes issue with their presence as long as they follow the general pattern of migrating. Important to remember that these households are not sedentarised pastoralists, but people primarily engaged in other economic activities. Some of them nevertheless change residence throughout the year for the beneft of their animals. In their case, motives and calculations are different, and the range of mobility is usually more restricted. If anything, members of the fourth and ffth bag tend to be slightly more opportunistic in their attitude, also due to the fact that livestock rearing is not as dominant for their livelihood. But in some sense, such differences are a matter of degree not of kind. Mobility is a key feature for all households in the region.

Decision-making and adaptations in pastoral management When it comes to individual households and their practices, cycles may vary not only from one camp to another but also by the year. Of key relevance is frst of all the size and composition of the herd as well as the household. With a small number of animals, a change of campsites may not pay at all, as the fxed costs for transport can be prohibitively high. Rich herders, by contrast, have to move more often than they would like to because the vegetation disappears quickly in crowded places. On the other hand, the need to move is more or less independent of the number of large stock because they roam freely anyway. Thus, herders with relatively few sheep and goats may have to migrate less often or entrust them to a more prosperous relative.

Using space and mobility 159 The size of the household and specifcally the number of individuals of working age also has an impact. Any move necessitates additional labour, and so does a location far away from everyone else, no matter how nutritious the pasture may be. This implies that young families are at a disadvantage in making use of highly praised mountain areas if they settle on their own. Social variables play a role as well. If a family member is seriously ill, households prefer to stay closer to the sum-centre for medical services. If two families intend to marry their kids, they may decide to spend the preceding season near to one another to facilitate the necessary preparations for the upcoming event. A confict within an awıl will also impact mobility patterns, as some of the families – temporarily or permanently – move away or attach themselves to another camp. One key debate among herders is on the merits of constant sites and routes over the years versus fexible adaptation to ever-changing circumstances. There is partly an ethnic divide in this regard as more herders among the Mongols advocate a grazing cycle that takes the specifc situation of each and every season as its prime variable. Therefore, one would never know where to move next until the very last moment. This is a position strongly proclaimed by Nergüy but, with some mitigation, also by others. The opposite argument is that one should stick to a once established pattern because animals learn to know the specifc environment and nature of plants, and will suffer from any change. This is one reason why animals sold are sometimes left with their previous owner until needed for slaughtering or reproduction, as was the case with Bayar (cf. Chapter 4). The indicated ethnic distinction should, however, not be taken too far. It also does not say too much about the concrete decisions that herders take, and many of those advocating fexibility do not necessarily follow this advice themselves very closely. The overwhelming majority of herders, Qazaqs and Mongols alike, spent summer each year in the same valley or in neighbouring ones with similar vegetation. To a certain degree, the decision of when and where to move is also an individual one. No two herders with similar fock sizes and household compositions will necessarily come to identical conclusions. This has already been true for the socialist period, when the overall framework set by the negdel determined much of everyday mobility, but is, even more, the case today, as will be shown following the adaptive strategies of different herders since. Flexibility is not equally possible in all seasons. Winter and early spring are more or less fxed because of the permanent constructions. But already in May and June, herders have to decide whether to stay in the spring camps or to make another move – either uphill towards the summer pastures or down to the riverbanks where vegetation is more plentiful. Summers may involve several shorter stays within. Any such move, however, has to be offset against the workload it involves and the stress or loss in weight of the animals along the way. The vicissitude of pastoral decisions during that time of the year can be inferred also from the fact that throughout summer, people keep on asking each other who has fnally settled where in any particular year. In early autumn then, it is all about the presence of mosquitoes in the lowlands, which decides on the next steps to be taken.

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A key factor is therefore the availability of information, or rather its seeking and hiding. During the periods when fexibility is highest, starting from late spring until late autumn, the aim is to fnd out where to go and what plans others have in mind. All the visits in the summertime, flled with the enjoyment of drinking qımız and tea, serve primarily the goal of gathering information on the state of vegetation in different parts of the territory and on who is intending to go where. Travelling anthropologists will equally be used as sources to inquire how the grass looks like in places they just have been and who else is there, or to send signals to others of what one’s plans are (or what one wants others to think one’s plans are). It is thus in many respects a situation not too different from the one on the bazaar, as described by Geertz (1978). And rhetoric skills to squeeze out information from others without revealing too much of one’s own thoughts can be an adaptive advantage (Kelley 2019). The following is an excerpt from a typical conversation between two Qazaq herders, Muhamad, who came for a visit, and Beybitbek in whose yurt I spent the day. Muhamad: How is everyone doing? How is the summer going? Are your animals healthy and fat? Beybitbek: Fine. How are you doing? How is the summer going? Muhamad: Fine. Beybitbek: Where are you coming from now? Where have you settled? Muhamad: Oh, we are down in Örgön-Shireg. We haven’t yet moved further. Beybitbek: I see. How is it there? Where do you plan to go to? Muhamad: Don’t know. You cannot move down to Arvin yet because of the mosquitoes. We will have to wait. Beybitbek: But you will not move on to Awız-Suw? Muhamad: I don’t know. Not sure how the grass is over there. (Turning to me) You have just been there. How is it in Awız-Suw? Who is all there? Peter: I guess some ten yurts there; most of them Mongols. Beybitbek: Zorig is there? Peter: Zorig is there with two of his sons. Beybitbek: And Qazaqs? Peter: I think only Ömirzaq and the sons of Jetigen. And on the other side of the river Murathan and one more yurt; I don’t know who that is. Muhamad: It’s probably Kärimhan. And sure. All those from his lineage will go there. They do so every year. What about you? Are you planning to go to Awız-Suw? Beybitbek: I don’t know. Our son is moving to Ulaanbaatar for studying. We have to prepare things. His elder sister is already there, so she can help him set up. Peter: Oh, they are both in Ulaanbaatar now? Muhamad: So, you haven’t decided when and where to move to? Beybitbek: No, not really. I may go to Qazaqstan in September when the daughter of my elder brother marries. Until then we have plenty of things to prepare. Muhamad: But here it will be soon too cold for the animals. Then you need to go.

Using space and mobility 161 Beybitbek: That’s true. This year winter may come early. (Turning to me) They say that winters are very cold in Qazaqstan? Peter: True, they are. Especially in the north where most Mongolian Qazaqs live, there is lots of snow. You need huge amounts of hay to feed the animals. Muhamad: Have you already done the hay for this winter? Beybitbek: No; maybe I move down directly to Arvin to start preparing. Muhamad: But there are still mosquitoes, they say. Beybitbek: We will see. Maybe they calm down now. And then we can also go for the potato harvest. How much is potatoes now on the bazaar? Such conversations can meander for some time. And the information given may not only be imprecise but will often include a defence for one’s own trespassing. When asked about different pastures appropriate to move to, Azat replied to the suggestion of Kök-Ders. “Oh no, it is really bad there now. There is no grass. And there are still mosquitoes around.” Others did not really believe his version because they had heard different stories but for Azat, who usually spends the autumn in Kök-Ders, it was to justify his extended stay in Qaq, where he was not supposed to be. Blaming the bad conditions is a frequent strategy to explain seasonal trespassing. It is not that people buy into that, but the offender will usually get away with it. Moving with the crowd is usually not a good idea. But to be left alone in a given place is not advisable either. This is particularly so for the mountain regions. Systematic hunting of wolves, practised during socialist times, is a thing of the past, and their increasing presence takes its toll, especially among the young animals. As soon as people start to move downhill, there are fewer humans and dogs to scare away wolves. Therefore, the frst household to unpack its yurt and load it on a truck signals for everyone else to make up their minds, in order to avoid staying alone. Horses may be left in the mountains because for them the threat of human predators, or wolves on two legs as they are also called, is the more serious one, or, as Joldas put it, “The four-legged one’s hunt for small stock and they tend to take the weakest animals in a fock. They thus have some positive impacts as well. Those on two legs go for large stock, and they go for the strongest and fattest.” These individual and seasonal variations in pasture usage have been accompanied by more general adaptations after the end of the socialist period. Generally speaking, pastoralism has experienced a reduction in mobility, both in terms of distance and frequency, as has also been observed by other authors (Müller 1995; Humphrey & Sneath 1999). This is not a homogenous picture, however, and it is also one of continuous change. Particularly during the early 1990s, many herders tried to save on transportation costs by moving less often and less far. At that time, fuel had become a luxury. A second motive was the diffcult trade situation, which prompted households to stay closer to the sum- or aymag-centre for easier

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access to the market and state infrastructure now that stable incomes and easy provision with needed goods were a thing of the past. Transportation is indeed a crucial variable. During socialist times, the negdel had taken care of that and also replaced camels as beasts of burden with trucks. When this came to an end and prices of fuel rocketed, few herders were willing to go back to traditional ways of nomadism. Only for some of the mountain valleys, such as Kök-Serke, camels are still necessary because even Russian trucks cannot pass any type of natural obstacle. But by and large, people nowadays use vehicles, and in recent years some of the distant pastures have been made accessible by new-built tracks. Any reduction in distance and the number of moves implies lower costs, and although petrol prices are not as high as they used to be, it is still a heavy burden. After the end of the negdel, it became therefore common practice to either utilise on pastures closer to each other (and closer to the sum-centre, for that matter) or skip one seasonal move. In the early years, people did so also to guard their qaša, some of which had been dismantled and stolen (Finke 2004). Most of these efforts failed and caused people to return to the cycle that they already maintained before. Especially the trend to occupy lower-lying summer and winter sites to save on transportation costs, very popular during much of the 1990s, has been partly reversed, and today more people try to utilise again the superior quality of high-altitude pastures. In some cases, this was also due to the breakdown of wells in lower-lying areas, which allows their utilisation only during winter when there is suffcient snow to drink from. In particular, some of the wealthy herders took up long-distance movements again. The care for a private herd induced them to move even more frequently to satisfy the needs of their animals due to better grazing in the alpine zone. This, at the same time, enables them to further increase their herd size. Thus, for example, many of the mountain plateaus, such as Tümtid, which had been largely abandoned during most of the 1990s, are utilised again, and in summer thousands of animals graze here to be fattened for winter.2 Equally, some of the higher-located winter camps have been put into use again. In turn, a number of qaša in the lower mountains, easier to reach but poorer in vegetation, have been given up. And many of those who preferred to stay in the lowlands experienced substantial losses of livestock during the jüt because they fed them on pastures of lower quality. Differences in mobility, driven by monetary and economic motives, thus seem to further increase inequality. One of the herders who did so was Azat. As mentioned, already his father had been a shepherd and the traditional summer camp of the family was located in Tümtid, like many others of the third bag. They spend winter and spring in a deep and cliffy gorge along a narrow horse path where they are pretty much on their own during that part of the year. This is not a good location, however, each year, and at times, Azat would move down to Ulaan-Khargana for winter after an intermediate stay in Kök-Ders during autumn. He changed this cycle for several years during the 1990s because Tümtid seemed too far a place. Instead, the family spent summers in Baruun-Salaa or Örgön-Shireg, easier to reach and closer

Using space and mobility 163 to the market. But for some ten years now, Azat has taken up the long trip across the pass again, which was partly helped by the construction of new mountain paths, usable by truck. He has done so, although, as mentioned, his own livestock numbers have not seen a great increase. What had fourished, however, was his business as a herder for the livestock of other families, and the fact that he is willing to move up to the high plateau of Tümtid for summer greatly contributed to his reputation as a good choice for that. There are other reasons for changes in the grazing cycles than saving money. I have described how the socialist organisation of pasture usage had been adapted to the specialisation in livestock management. This was undone all of a sudden, and people found themselves in a situation where their established pattern of movement satisfed the needs of only a part of their herd. In particular, the former large stock herders were left without appropriate winter locations for their sheep and goats. People employed a variety of strategies to deal with that, but a prime one was to either entrust their herd to a related household or send off a junior member of the family with the joint small stock for winter into the mountain zone. Here they would, however, usually stay at lower levels than the designated areas and thus often free ride at spots where other families have their spring campsites. The heydays of such misuse of pastures were the early and mid-1990s when people explored different paths of readapting to multi-species pastoralism. Many of those wintering in Ulaan-Khargana opted for a split of focks and families. This was a particular issue for Mongol herders because they lacked a suitable place to go with their small stock. Ulaan-Khargana is not a good spot in winter due to the local vegetation and the danger of sheep and goats getting lost in the bushes. At the same time, Mongols in their majority did not have anyone in other parts of the district to whom they could entrust their animals. And due to a lack of manpower, most of them also did not have the option of sending a satellite camp up to the mountains. The only ones who regularly did were Tsedensüren and his brother Erdenebaatar, as they had been herding sheep and goats back in negdel times, and were therefore equipped with secondary winter and spring sites uphill. In their case, no fundamental change to grazing practices was needed. Another one who tried for some time was Zorig who had several adult sons to support him in livestock management. Having been responsible for cattle in socialist times, the family did not have an appropriate site uphill. Each year one of the sons then moved to Qaq to graze their small stock, to the infuriation of people who have their spring camps there. But it was not only Zorig who did so. Dawlet had his assigned winter site in upper Baruun-Salaa where a number of small stock herders of the third bag spent the cold season. In spring, he moved down to the northern edge of the Shanzan plain. In May, he sometimes occupied a second site in Qara-Suw, near the river Khovd. Summer he then again spent in Baruun-Salaa or nearby Möst before ascending to Qara-Suw yet again for autumn, as it is close to the agricultural felds where many family members were active by then. To save money, in 1994 Dawlet decided to stay in Qara-Suw also for the winter and spring, even though

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this seemed a risky thing to do with close to 400 sheep and goats, plus the few he herded for those sons engaged in agriculture. He did so for the convenience of not moving yet again, and because his elder brother also settled there as a member of the fourth bag. But he did so only once. The next spring was not very cold, but, nevertheless, many of the lambs and goatlings died, while others drowned in the swamps along the riverbank. From then on, he sent his son Mawsımhan to the mountains during winter with the joint fock of small stock while he stayed with the cattle in Qara-Suw. Mawsımhan, however, chose to move not into the family’s estate in Baruun-Salaa but preferred to winter in IkhÜzüür, which is closer to the sum-centre but in the neighbourhood of spring campsites whose owners were not amused about this move. The family stopped doing so after Dawlet’s death a few years later and moved into agriculture as their prime subsistence. There are other reasons why people change their patterns of nomadising. Economic diversifcation is a major one. Herders who take up cultivation as a secondary activity have to settle near the felds at least for parts of the year to take care of seeding, irrigating, and harvesting. This may not involve the whole household, as some members have to manage the herd, but it will also affect the choice of other seasonal locations. It is much easier to commute if one does not reside in the most distant corner of the sum during peaks in the agricultural work cycle. Those who turn to agriculture as their prime subsistence basis have to adapt their annual moves even more thoroughly. Most of them will still change residence, as neither animals nor humans can bear the mosquitoes. But, as in the case of Oktyabr (#7), three seasons will be spent near the agricultural areas for easier access and protection, and only in summer will the family move uphill. The same is true for those actively engaged in trade. More and more pastoralists, primarily of the frst but also the third bag, try to sell some of their less durable produce on the bazaar. To do so, they settle in the vicinity of the city during the periods when fresh milk is available in relative abundance, namely summer and autumn. This is a rather new development, related to the growth of urban consumer demand. Being closer to the city not only implies easier transport but also lowers transaction costs more generally, in particular access to reliable information on prices. One who did so is Saylaw (#10). As former cattle and horse herders, his family never had a lot of small stock and there was no need to move out of Ulaan-Khargana, even temporarily. In 2013, as described in Chapter 3, Saylaw had decided to summer in the midlands near to the aymag-centre to sell his milk daily in the market. This proved a valuable enterprise, and he repeated to do so in the following years. In his case, opportunity costs were low, as the desert-steppes around the city of Khovd are tolerable for cattle easier than for small stock, which is in need for mountain grazing to gain weight. Still, after he had accumulated enough cash income for the weddings of his sons, he went back to his previous pattern of moving, which is better for the herds in the long run. Another common practice is intermediate stops between campsites. Most often this happens on the way from summer to autumn pastures. The reason has less to do with multi-species herds or market adaptation but is of an ecological

Using space and mobility 165 nature. By mid-August, snow starts to fall in the mountains and forces herders to begin their move downhill. At the same time, the lowlands are still full of mosquitoes. This is a serious threat as animals would run away and eventually get lost or fall prey to predators. Many herders therefore stop for several days or weeks along the route to wait until the insect plague has vanished. Ultimately, this takes place in winter and spring areas, which happen to be on the way, again to the infuriation of herders who have their respective campsites at these spots, which will be the topic of the following section. Households who have entered pastoralism recently – or have returned from Qazaqstan – often do not have proper campsites for all seasons or are still experimenting. Qazıbek had been a farmer until the early 2010s. He then decided to try his luck in livestock and has by now accumulated some 300 animals, mostly goats. Winter he usually stays in Zam-Khudag, a valley close to the sum-centre. This had always been a seasonal resort when there were not enough locations in the higher mountain zone. Many of the camps here were abandoned when better places uphill became available as a consequence of the migration to Qazaqstan. In spring, Qazıbek moves to Qaq, where there are also a few qaša not utilised by their former owners anymore. For most of summer, the family settles in MayZavod. This is where the two valleys of Baruun-Salaa and Örgön-Shireg merge, which makes it a convenient spot for a stopover. But some herders, such as Qazıbek, spend the whole season here. When I met him in July 2018, he was not yet sure where to go for autumn. By contrast, some herders decided to adapt to the era of the market by settling down, either in the district centre or by moving to town. Usually this affects only part of the family, while one of their sons will stay on the steppes, herding the joint fock. Khovd city has also become an attractive place. There has long been a sizeable Qazaq, as well as Uygur, community in town, but in recent years more and more families moved here, primarily to fnd work in the bazaar. Everyone has kin and friends in town so this is not a big step in terms of social networks. Job opportunities here may not be overwhelming, but they are still better than in the sum-centre. The courtyards of families who have settled down in Khovd, such as Qanat or Bökey, then become hubs for friends and relatives visiting the city for business or administrative affairs. Among Mongols the trend towards sedentarisation has been primarily the case among former city-dwellers who did not succeed as pastoralists and went back to town. But there have also been a few established herders, such as Batsaykhan or the brothers Jargalsaykhan and Batchuluun, who have relocated to Khovd city and have not been seen again. And a change is discernible in the next generation. The sons of Nergüy, Luvsan, or Tsedensüren have all but moved to Khovd and Ulaanbaatar. In each case only one remained in the countryside to take over the parental herd (as well as monitor the animals of their brothers in town). Relations seem intense and involve channels of trade activities, partly related to the livestock sector. This way a new trend of entanglement of rural and urban life may emerge in the near future. So far, it affects more the city of Khovd than the capital of Ulaanbaatar. As Mongols are few and Qazaqs have little incentive to move there,

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this is far less of a trend than, for example, in neighbouring Erdenebüren-sum (Kelley 2019).

Rules of pasture allocation These patterns of moving bring about a number of issues regarding pasture allocation that are not easy to organise and implement. Customary rules always varied widely within Mongolia, depending on local ecology and socio-political confgurations. And the western regions were always a bit different. Among the Eastern Mongols, access had been determined in pre-socialist times by a household belonging to a hereditary aristocratic fefdom or their religious counterparts, the Buddhist monasteries. It was usually not permitted to leave one’s banner, or khoshuu as these fefdoms were called, although exceptions to this did exist (Vreeland 1953; Mearns 1993; Sneath 2001). For the Qazaqs and Oyrats in the West, this did not apply in the same sense, as they were not subordinated to the Chinggisid nobility. In their case, leadership was of a less formal nature and executed primarily by lineage elders or local aristocrats, and administrative entities were often named accordingly, although there were also monastery estates among Western Mongols (Rinchen 1979). The socialist organisation introduced new sets of rules, which, however, in many cases were built on already existing patterns (Mearns 1993). Crucial was the idea that each administrative and economic unit, that is to say, the negdel, should also serve as a territorial one. Being translated to pastoral management, this meant that herders were to conduct their annual cycle within the boundaries of the sum. Access was granted free of charge for the collective as well as the private animals, usually kept in the same fock. As we have seen, this was not always possible and there were herders who moved into neighbouring sum on a regular basis, as in the case of the frst and second bag during autumn. Attachment to a particular bag was even less strict, and some awıl even had their winter and spring campsites, equipped with fxed shelters, in different bag. Today, land is still state property but handed over to the respective local communities for usage. Pasturing is for free, although the introduction of a lease has long been discussed and poured into laws waiting for their implementation. People are aware of possible changes to come. The push for clearly defned user groups is getting stronger and supported by international advisors who have grown up with the idea that communal management of natural resources will inevitably lead to environmental degradation. The infamous and profoundly misleading hypothesis of the “tragedy of the commons” (Hardin 1968) is still a major guideline in this context. This has resulted in a series of attempts by the government to implement clearer defned property rights in pastureland, often pressured by donor organisations (Fernández-Giménez & Batbuyan 2004; Ichinkhorloo & Yeh 2016). Until today, none of these – luckily, one may say – were particularly successful. What happened is that herders were provided with certifcates for the winter and spring encampments. But other aspects, most notably the creation of stable user

Using space and mobility 167 groups, did not materialise, at least not in the western regions. Recently, a new initiative had been launched with support mainly from Switzerland, labelled “Green Gold”, referring to the precious character of grassland as Mongolia’s most important natural resource.3 As in other districts, a local branch was set up in Dund-Us some ten years ago to promote the campaign among herders. In all the years since, I have never been able to meet the person in charge or fnd out exactly what the aim of the Green Gold offce is. Few people connected the initiative with pastureland but rather thought of it as a, not very successful, trading cooperative. And no one I talked with had any good expectations regarding the new land law and the idea of fxed groups with lease contracts for specifc territories, as they seem incompatible with the type of pastoral mobility prevailing. When it comes to allocation rules, one has to distinguish three major types of resources. The frst concerns the permanent facilities in winter and spring campsites, the qaša, as well as their immediate surroundings. These are treated as de facto private property, and no one is supposed to utilise someone else’s shelters or buildings. By law, qaša sites were initially not to be traded, but this is, as stated earlier, what everyone did. In fact, during the frst wave of emigration to Qazaqstan many changed hands without much of payment due to oversupply. The lands around the qaša are crucial because it is here that sheep and goats graze for the daily frst and last snack before being driven to the pastures in the morning and after they return back in the evening. Depletion of this resource is therefore the ultimate assault. Due to the concentration of animal droppings, there is usually more grass here than anywhere else, and from the distance, one can recognise a winter or spring campsite frst as a striking green spot in the landscape. The second resource is pastureland itself. A serious dilemma in this regard became already apparent. Due to the specifc type of double vertical movement that most herders apply, many of the winter and spring pastures become passage sites during other seasons of the year. This is less of an issue in late spring when livestock is driven past the winter grazing because at that time herders are eager to reach the lush summer pastures in the mountains. But it is a serious threat to winter and specifcally spring pastures on the way down from the summer to the autumn campsites. It is here that most conficts occur. And it is also an issue, as hinted at, when herders spend the winter on otar in territories, such as Qaq or Ikh-Üzüür, where others have their spring campsite. The negdel organisation responded to this by allocating specifc areas to respective seasonal usage. Basically, this meant that the sum was divided into spring, summer, autumn, and winter pasture areas, and some of these further into shorter periods. As a consequence of the grazing cycles, this did not end in neatly separated territories but a complex pattern of convoluted and sometimes overlapping patchworks diffcult to control. Herders were not supposed to use assigned areas at any other time of the year. So, in terms of property rights theory what the negdel did was to replace a hard to implement defnition of access rules with a time margin. Everyone residing within the sum was allowed to move to any seasonal pasture as long as this was done between the fxed dates the area was

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open for usage. The rule is still valid today, although implementation has become more diffcult, and some herders also dispute its legitimacy. Within each seasonal area, access is free, in principle. People may come to any of the designated pastures and settle on a frst-come, frst-served basis. There are exceptions to this, as when herders have established a kind of customary right to specifc locations because they have used them for many years. But there is no formal law they could appeal to and little they can do should they fnd someone else on that spot next time. All this refers primarily to summer and autumn pasture areas, which are not equipped with any facilities. For winter and spring, at least the immediate vicinity of the qaša is off-limits for everyone else, although this is also not always strictly obeyed. And outside of season, it is often diffcult to control and enforce. If, however, a yurt is found too close to someone else’s qaša, this can lead to serious clashes and in rare cases also violence, as shown in the case of Kärimhan and Jaylawbay. These rules for pasture allocation seem to have been a common procedure in many parts of western Mongolia, also described by Goldstein and Beall (1994) for the district of Möst in central Khovd-aymag. At each campsite, surrounding pastures are occupied on a daily basis and consequently may rotate among herders in a given location. The options here are limited by the range a herd of sheep and goats can walk back and forth within a day, that is to say around fve kilometres one way. In times of need, they may, of course, cover greater distances, as when moving from one camp to another or escaping unfavourable weather conditions. But this is the exception, as it puts stress on the animals and does not allow suffcient time for grazing. In principle, all pastures in reach of the campsite at a given time are open for consumption. Apart from the vicinity of a qaša, there are no rights or privileges of herders to specifc spots. Use rights in wells and other water sources, the third type of resource, are equally relevant for the functioning of the pastoral economy. In fact, restrictions here apply only to those wells built by individual herders. The larger mechanical or electrically driven ones that had been constructed by the negdel are common property and can be utilised by any herder nearby. Other watercourses are also open to public usage. Smaller wells, by contrast, are considered the privilege of those who have dug them, although access is rarely denied. All neighbours drink from the same spots, even if this implies that the “owner” may have to wait for others who come frst. Ethnicity is not an issue in this regard either. Thus, water is not really a limiting factor in defning access to pastures, in spite of the rather arid climate and in contrast to many other pastoral regions in the world (Bollig & Casimir 1993). The described rules illustrate the important yet ambiguous role of territorial boundaries. In socialist Mongolia, the economic-administrative unity of negdel and sum was usually designed, more than anything else, to meet the annual demands of a pastoral livelihood. It has been debated in the literature to what degree this was successful, as the new units, of which there were more than 300, were on average only one-third the size of the previous 100 khoshuu or aristocratic banners (Mearns 1993; Sneath 2001). An additional issue in the western

Using space and mobility 169 provinces was that administrative territories also had to adapt to the multi-ethnic population. Khoshuu here were usually designated to specifc groups, although annual patterns allowed some fexibility (Müller 1995). But so far jointly used routes and territories were now divided among districts. On the other hand, in most of Mongolia annual cycles take place on much smaller scales, and with certain exceptions, the sum seems to have been a more or less appropriate entity (Mearns 1993). This has been shown to be the case also for Khovd-sum. While there are some mutual border crossings with Buyant and Erdenebüren, the vast majority of herders fnd suffcient pasturage without doing so. In fact, most herders stay within their respective bag throughout the year. In Mongolian, the term for pastoral neighbours is traditionally neg nutgiynkhan, or “people of one place” (Mearns 1993; Bazargür 1996), which in the contemporary development jargon transformed into “pasture user groups” (PUG). It implies an established relationship between the families linked by a jointly used area, be that a valley or some otherwise delineated territory (Mearns 1993). A lot has been written on the role of neg nutgiynkhan, and some authors have questioned their relevance or, indeed, their existence altogether (Sneath 1993; Müller 1995). There may be regional variations to this but certainly nothing of that kind exists in Khovd-sum, or ever has in recent times for that matter. The same is reported for neighbouring Erdenebüren-sum (Kelley 2019). During the mid-1990s, the local administration created so-called ondıq (a Qazaq term for “group of ten”), which, however, had no meaning for pastoral life and soon fell into obscurity again. Apart from the issue of mutual trust that would be needed to organise joint management, such larger units also do not ft well with the complex and overlapping grazing cycles described above. Neighbours in one season do not have to settle close to one another at other times of the year or eventually during the same season in the following. For the same reason, there are no clear ethnic territories during any season. As described, most of the Mongols in Khovd-sum live concentrated in UlaanKhargana in winter, spring, and partially autumn. In their case, this applies not only to former large stock herders, such as Nergüy (#12), but also to many others, including Tsedensüren (#11), or at least parts of his khotayl, and Gankhüü (#13). They were, however, never among themselves, and there were always some Qazaq and Uygur awıl settling here, like Idırıs (#2), Äygerim (#9), or Ibragim (#10). In fact, before the migrations to Qazaqstan and from the aymag-centre set in, they made up probably half of the population there. Furthermore, individual Mongol families can be found scattered in the rest of the sum. In summer, Mongols have a preference for specifc valleys, such as Davdag or Örgön-Shireg. But nowhere are they amongst themselves, and there are always individuals of either ethnicity settling apart from the rest. But territorial boundaries are not that easy to implement for other reasons as well. One is that camps may consist of members belonging to different bag or even sum. This used to be very common in the 1990s when many camps of pastoralists included individual families of farmers or, at least seasonally, those living in the sum or aymag-centre. Today, this is less often the case and most

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settle as single-household camps. If households have seasonal camps in different territories, affliation should go by the location of their winter sites. But there are, for example, still families offcially attached to the fourth or ffth bag who settle in pastoral territories seasonally or throughout the year. And for all awıl applies that its location does not necessarily predict where the focks graze at a specifc time. Small stock may be handed over to other herders seasonally, while horses and camels roam freely for most of the year, hardly pausing at imaginary boundaries. Equally, most herders also have animals of other families included in their herd, thus increasing the grazing pressure within the bag they belong to, not the one to which the livestock is counted. The regulations concerning territorial jurisdiction and internal allocation do not per se defne where households set up their camp at any particular time of the year. Even during negdel times, herders had some choice in this and would settle at their own discretion within a certain range during summer and autumn. As transport was organised and paid for by the authorities, control over movements was, however, much higher than it is today. This also allowed the restriction of livestock numbers in each area, and conficts were reportedly rare. One factor was that most animals were not one’s own and thus their well-being was not quite as existential as it is today. And for the negdel herds, it would have been collectively owned animals that eat the grass of other collectively owned animals, so it would have been diffcult to establish who is the perpetrator, who is the victim, and who might be the mediator.

Decision-making, trespassing, and disputes People have, as already indicated, different approaches when it comes to choosing a concrete site. Some prefer to spend each summer and autumn at exactly the same spot, while others change their location by the year, depending on what they see as most appropriate for their livestock and who else is around. The fact that herders who spend every year at the same place develop a kind of customary right is described by the term jurt (in Qazaq) or nutag (in Mongolian), both standing for the “native place”. Still, even in these cases people will have a hard time complaining if someone else has already occupied that spot in another year. The concrete site where one sets up the yurt is often only decided upon arrival and is also dependent on the number and characteristics of other herders already there. If too many focks are around the chosen place, it is a severe drawback. Nergüy (#12) is one of those herders strongly advocating the need for fexible movements depending on the state of vegetation in any given year. Nevertheless, over the years, his activities have been rather stable. While he may occupy different spots each summer, these are all in a range of fve to ten kilometres. The only period of uncertainty is, as for so many, late summer. One year I met him in Davdag in mid-August from where he was planning to move down because it was getting cold. When asked where he would go to, the answer was rather evasive. “Övs medne” (“grass will know”), as he said. A week later I met him again, this time in Örgön-Shireg. The lower parts of the valley are primarily a summer resort

Using space and mobility 171 for some of the large stock herders of the third bag, Qazaqs and Mongols alike. The upper region offcially belongs to the second bag, but there are a number of herders of the third spending the summer on a regular basis. Örgön-Shireg is usually not a highly sought place as an intermediate stop. This is exactly what Nergüy had aimed for. Expecting all the others to move down further, to MayZavod, Qaq, or Awız-Suw, he hoped for better grazing in Örgön-Shireg. He was to be wrong. For probably similar reasons to himself, many had this year decided to spend late summer at higher altitudes than usual. When he arrived, the place was – to his great disappointment – already crowded. Within fve days, he packed his belongings yet again and moved on to Qaq. On the way, he had spent petrol twice, had double the workload of putting down and setting up, and had put additional stress on his animals. To make things worse, he had lost fve days, during which others had already settled in Qaq. This is a main reason why herders are reluctant to disclose beforehand where they intend to move next. It has been pointed at the middle-aged men who spend much of the summer visiting and entertaining each other. One main objective of this is to fnd out as much as possible about grazing conditions in other parts of the sum, and much of the conversation on mutual visits has just that topic, as shown in the example of Beybitbek and Muhamad. Experienced pastoralists, especially, are interrogated on their opinions and plans. The dilemma in this is obvious. If I have made up my mind, it is better not to share this with anyone else. Otherwise, the run towards these grazing grounds is opened, and should one arrive late, the opportunity is gone. Herders therefore try to remain vague when asked about their schedule for the upcoming weeks and months, as exemplifed in the conversation above. And quite often, I would fnd out later that they did not move where they had indicated to do, for one or the other reason. Decisionmaking in this regard is very individual, driven by competition, and the exchange of information is sketchy at best, and in many cases opportunistic or willingly misleading (Finke 2021). Of course, pasture usage is never without friction, as access to suffcient grazing is of vital importance and the intrusion by others can be a question of survival. What is specifc about the situation in Mongolia is the sudden rupture after the state-controlled allocation procedure during socialist times. It is not only that the withdrawal of authorities and the general decay in institutional regulations have made enforcement very costly. At the same time, the now privatised herds also mean that any loss due to the scarcity of fodder is an imminent threat to one’s economic future. Territorial issues play an important role here, although not as crucial as one might think. Border crossing between bag and sum, as described above, has always been a regular phenomenon and still is so today. What has changed is that offcial agreements can no longer be relied upon, although people follow their customary rights, or what they conceive of that, to move into neighbouring territories. This is not a big issue within the Khovd-sum, but even beyond there have so far been no serious tensions on this. I have never heard anyone publicly calling for the eviction of households, be they Qazaqs or Mongols, from neighbouring districts who come here seasonally, and in some

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cases even year round. In fact, the southernmost corner of Khovd-sum, the summer pasture area of Dund-Gol has been more or less abandoned by the frst bag, many of whom had moved to Qazaqstan, and is now used exclusively by herders from neighbouring Buyant and Duut (in their majority Qazaqs as well). This may, however, change rapidly when circumstances demand. In 2017, when grazing was poor and herders were afraid to lose parts of their livestock, some made the reverse move and travelled back to distant mountain pastures. Joldas (#1) spent a whole year in Dund-Gol, a place hard to reach but with excellent grazing. He did so, as he said, to fatten his animals and to protect them from an upcoming jüt. And while the family described it as a challenging endeavour due to workload and remoteness, they seem to have been recompensed by a noticeable growth in their livestock numbers who almost doubled within two years to reach 1,000 heads by 2018. And in the case of jüt, people may travel even longer distances as happened in 2010 when ten families from the district of Mankhan in central Khovd-aymag took refuge, apparently without any serious resentment, although by that time the situation in Khovd-sum was severe as well. Within Khovd-sum, some herders of the third bag regularly spend their summers in upper Örgön-Shireg on the territory of the second while hosting members of the latter in autumn. There are few issues or disputes in this regard, except with some of the “new nomads” who are still registered in the aymagcentre. But, as mentioned, the number of those settling all year round has actually decreased. The few who have been residing since the mid-1990s have become part of the local community and, on average, hold small numbers of animals. What has increased, usually without asking for permission, is the number of those coming during summer from Buyant, Erdenebüren, and Myangad. Some of these are Qazaqs, and their presence is hardly ever commented on. All of them have relatives living in Khovd-sum, with whom they may share residence. This is different for Mongols coming from outside. They tend to have limited contact with local herders of either ethnicity and are thus also diffcult to put into place. “We don’t know them, and we don’t talk with them”, so Zorig in 2014. “Yes, their presence is becoming dangerous, also because they come with growing numbers of animals.” Intrusion from outside territories is less of a threat in other seasons. No one comes just for a winter or spring season. An obvious reason for this is the lack of an appropriate qaša. Therefore, these pastures are safe from trespassing at least during that period of the year. And as the number of permanent newcomers has not increased in recent years, there is no imminent threat recognised. Much more explosive than territorial issues is the seasonal misuse of pastures. This was a relatively new phenomenon back in the 1990s and has since established itself as a common practice. As described, there are often good reasons for that, namely the adaptation to multi-species herds or the need to make an intermediate stop between summer and autumn sites. While the misuse of spring pastures during otar in winter by former large stock herders has decreased, it is as dramatic as ever in late summer and early autumn. Another issue is also still the trend to spend summers in lower-lying mountain regions, such as Baruun-Salaa,

Using space and mobility 173 where other pastoralists have their winter campsites. In some years, the main valley was crowded with dozens of yurts in summer, Qazaqs and Mongols alike, because people shied away from the longer way to the high-altitude pastures in Möst, Davdag, or Tümtid. And while there is an aspect of ethnic distinction here, wrongdoers and victims may be found on both sides. This all takes place at the level of the individual household and so are the consequences for those whose pastures have been depleted. Larger collectives of any kind are not involved here. Trespassing in such cases implies that herders spend weeks or even months near the winter and spring pastures of others. There is nothing more threatening to the pastoral economy, and people are all well aware of that. One may conclude that it is usually done only out of absolute necessity. But at times it is taking over and whole valleys or plains assigned for spring, such as Qaq or Awız-Suw, are crowded with herds during much of the second half of August sometimes into early September. In some years, up to 40 yurts were set up in Qaq, as I was told. I have never seen quite as many but very often there were 20 and more herders spending late summer there. And each year those who have their spring campsites here get angry and complain about an administration that does not protect their rights. Many of those who stop by are Mongols, locals as well as outsiders, which does not make the debate any easier. And many of them belong to the very rich herders, although some of them leave their large stock in the mountains. Other spring pastures nearby, such as Shanzan or Ikh-Üzüür, by contrast, remain empty, as they are unattractive for a stopover due to a lack of suffcient water sources. As hinted at, herders have an array of arguments for why they cannot move on and will use any rhetoric to delay leaving for a few more days until the insects have gone. And each year the local offcials were thinking of new tactics to make people move in time. The summer of 2018 was yet again one of little precipitation and vegetation. Everyone was full of complaints, in fear of another jüt coming up in winter. It had not rained at all until late July, and pastures were in a poor state. As if not diffcult enough, the lack of water also caused many of the high-altitude pastures, such as Tümtid, to be of little use and herders started to move down earlier than in other years. Then, all of a sudden, temperatures fell and rainfalls set in, but that was too late to allow for suffcient plant growth. As in other years, Qaq and Awız-Suw were again the places of strong attraction for herders to make an intermediate stop. By the middle of August, almost 30 yurts settled in Qaq alone, with another 15–20 in Awız-Suw (cf. Illustration 5.2). The new bag chief, a young man in his early twenties, was called to mediate conficts and tried to persuade people to move on. And as in other years before, he was not particularly successful in this. Just before tensions were about to rise and disputes to explode, the mosquito plague in the plains vanished. Now, the animals were in a rush to move downhill, and herders packed their belongings and disappeared. In these situations, yet another problem may turn up, namely securing transport facilities when everyone is seeking for the same few trucks available. Interesting enough, among those misusing winter and spring areas are often also those who have their own respective campsites there. Such behaviour is usually explained by the objective to at least be able to monitor the situation, and

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Illustration 5.2 The Qaq plain in late August 2018 (Peter Finke 2018)

to protest should things get out of control. But obviously this also implies that people contribute to the depletion of their own pasturage for the critical period of the year. This is especially true if half of all encampments in one area do so in order to control the situation. Being stuck in a collective action dilemma, the lack of mutual trust will then be to the detriment of all. On the other hand, depending on temperature and mosquitoes of the year, people sometimes have little choice but to eat their own or someone else’s pasturage in later seasons. Trespassing on agricultural land is also frequent and a serious issue. Possible encroachment here is of two kinds. One is that people utilise land that is assigned to others. This was quite common during the 1990s when legal uncertainties and movements back and forth to Qazaqstan caused people to leave their felds idle (Finke 2004). I did not come across any cases in recent years, which may also have to do with the fact that the out-migration of half of the population has relieved stress on arable land. What happens is the second type of encroachment, namely that livestock graze, knowingly or unknowingly to its owner, on agricultural felds. To keep herds out, people either camp next to the felds or construct fences around, although neither is suffcient to totally prevent damages. If detected, this will cause confict and the livestock owner may be asked for compensation. This is a source of confict mainly in autumn. Most pastoralists who spend the season along the Buyant River do not take their large stock with them to

Using space and mobility 175 avoid trouble with their agricultural neighbours, which may involve heavy fnes. A befriended pastoralist reported that he had to compensate for the intrusion of one cow with her calf into the felds with one ton of potatoes to the farmer, for him a substantial loss. Witnessing neighbours, however, do not necessarily intervene if it is not a close relative or friend who is affected. I remember a summer day in 2013 when I was on my way with two acquaintances from the sum-centre downhill towards Awız-Suw. Passing along the small agricultural felds nearby, we spotted a single cow there. After a short discussion, on whose felds she was enjoying lunch, it was decided to intervene because it belonged to the neighbour of one of my companions. The cow, apparently, had broken down the fence and was happily digging up potatoes. However, just a few hundred metres away, in the neighbouring feld, a group of men were irrigating their own crops doing nothing to chase away the cow. Later on, we discussed whose animal it had been. “Clearly, it was one of Baybek.”, Mäńdibay said. “She had this white spot on the right side of her neck. We will have to report this. Baybek is going to be fned.”

Enforcement and confict resolution I don’t know if Baybek was fnally penalised. Sanctioning is a diffcult matter for reasons already outlined. And it is so not only regarding agriculture. In many parts of the world, pastoralists are considered diffcult to control and perceived as notorious rule breakers by local and national authorities (Fratkin 1997). Mongolia is a remarkably different case, where decades of socialist statehood resulted in functioning channels of command all the way through the administrative levels. Its legacy has also created an understanding of the state as the only legitimate institutional framework that ensures political stability, economic prosperity, and a certain degree of social justice. And this may account for the general idea that state authorities are responsible for dealing with disputes and conficts, be that on land, livestock, or inter-communal affairs. With the end of the socialist system, higher levels of state bureaucracy have virtually disappeared from pastoral management, except for the mentioned land law rumours. Today, the arm of the national or regional government hardly reaches the steppes in the far west. If any authority is in charge of dealing with trespassing, it is the bag and sum administration or the respective local councils. In the early years after the dissolution of the negdel this essentially did not happen. People were busy adapting to the new market era or preparing for the migration to Qazaqstan. Protecting winter and spring pastures was not high on the agenda and, due to the decline in livestock numbers, also not perceived as an urgent issue. This began to change by the mid-1990s, when some of the migrants came back, herd sizes increased again, and people started to accommodate themselves in the new present. By 1996, tensions had reached a new height and the rising number of trespassing, which resulted in heavy losses, particularly of young animals, was getting worrisome for those affected. In a frst attempt, the newly elected administration tried to get things under control and announced the forceful resettlement of transgressors. Problems of implementation and access to

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means of transportation, however, made them look like paper tigers, and most pastoralists stayed where they were (Finke 2004). Things have not really changed since. Herders frequently stress the need for effcient regulation and control. But this does not happen, and the lack of appropriate sanctioning mechanisms for those trespassing is lamented again and again. Complaints, however, are not equally strong every year and depend on given circumstances. In good years, people are more or less free to violate the rights of others, as there is believed to be suffcient vegetation available. Such a course of action, at least, will not cause any retaliation. One does not quarrel, so it seems, just for the sake of fairness and proper behaviour but only if there is something at stake, or if opportunity costs are suffciently high to justify such a move. This, obviously, encourages free riding habits among those who care less about their overall reputation. As shown earlier, regarding territorial boundaries there was not much of a dispute back in the 1990s, and neither is there today. The vast majority of pastoralists consider the rules sensible the way they are. That is to say, one ideally stays within a given territory, be that the bag or the sum, throughout the year but has the necessary fexibility to switch should one feel the need to do so. People are by and large also willing to grant these rights to others. Disputes, indeed, come up every few years regarding whether herders of the frst bag will be allowed to enter Buyant territory. And regularly rumours have it that the administration there plans to impose a punishment on those who enter without seeking permission frst. The affected herders, on the other hand, claim their customary rights to pastures they have been using often for decades. And, to the best of my knowledge, there has so far been no systematic enforcement on the part of the Buyant authorities, or any other in the region, which might prove counter-productive as it would jeopardise the position of herders from the same districts who summer in Khovd-sum as part of a reciprocal game. The picture is, however, more complicated due to the diverse needs and incentives that herders have, as became evident when describing the different types of grazing cycles and the necessity for re-adjustment in post-socialist times. With the reallocation of livestock into private hands in the early 1990s, many of the former large stock herders simply had little choice but to send part of the family with sheep and goats towards the mountains for winter grazing, in order not to see them perish in the lowlands. And, inevitably, at those spots they clashed with some of the established herders. But opportunity costs would have been even higher if they kept their small stock down in the lowlands. Those who tried had often devastating results, as shown in the case of Dawlet. Problematic is that this is not a reciprocal game. The former small stock herders have far less need for a second site in Ulaan-Khargana because the number of cattle they own does not justify such a split. And as horses and camels roam freely, they do not interfere with one’s grazing cycle. This also means, however, that these herders have very little as collateral. Tensions were heightened by the fact that Ulaan-Khargana also assembled the majority of the local Mongols, many of whom had been large stock herders. In their view, the rule for protecting winter

Using space and mobility 177 and spring camps has no legitimacy anymore, as it does not ft the new situation of multi-species herding. They are in need of a second site and not willing to sacrifce their herds for a rule that seems to favour Qazaqs. Many of them advocate a kind of open access ideology that promotes free nomadising. It has to be qualifed here that not all Mongols were of this opinion and that trespassing was also conducted by Qazaqs or Uygurs. But it gives an ethnic tone to the situation that does not make negotiations any easier. I understand that Qazaqs have a tendency to take over someone else’s property. But according to Mongol custom all land is free. Everyone can go wherever he wants to. So next winter I will move to Qaq for otar. And if Jumatay comes up and complains, I will tell him: Who has given you that land? You Qazaqs came here, then you went again, now you are back here. But this is the land of Mongols, not of Qazaqs. (Bolor, 64-year-old Mongol herder, in 1996) Although the last sentence of Bolor at least relativises an open access ideology, it was actively propagated by some of the Mongol herders and intensifed the dispute. In their view, pastoralism is dependent on the possibility to move around freely, always in search of the currently best grazing and neither state institutions nor local administrations have much of a right to interfere in this. Needless to say, such a claim also supports and legitimises their own conduct. It is also easy to say because it implies, as mentioned, little opportunity costs because their own winter and spring pastures are of no use for anyone else during any time of the year. But there were also Qazaqs who viewed the restriction of pasture usage as problematic. It is not good to do so. Grazing should be free because if it is restricted, some will be angry, and this will cause tensions. It may in the end endanger peace between Qazaqs and Mongols, and there is no use in that. (Sılam, 52-year-old Qazaq herder, in 1996) As it seems, Qazaqs are reluctant to openly challenge Mongol claims due to their minority position and, more importantly, the context of out-migration. After all, they had indeed arrived here rather recently and seemed, at least for much of the 1990s and 2000s, to be on their way out again. In other words, their bargaining power has clearly decreased, for ideological reasons, since the end of the socialist era. Important to note that people like Bolor are not necessarily considered opponents and many Qazaqs have in fact friendly relationships with him. Part of the quote above was indeed a very personal attitude towards the freedom of nomadising, not necessarily shared by other Mongols. Mönkhbayar, for example, had a very different take on that, although as one who had come from the aymag-centre, he could have been expected to be less concerned about established local rules. People like Bolor or Zorig love to settle down on other people’s pastures. But winter and spring sites have to be protected. This is the job of the chiefs

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But in most cases, repudiation of any protection that limits the freedom to move was, not surprisingly, strongest among the “new nomads”. As many of them had been born in the sum and now returned back to their fathers’ pasture lands, they dispute any rights that would favour Qazaqs. But as most of them settle among the local Mongols and, due to the small size of their herds, do not move a lot during the year, this is rather a minor issue so far. And also many Qazaqs acknowledge the need for a separate grazing area for small stock in winter. Some also pointed to the lack of consistency in sanctioning in this respect. Thus, when we talked at a time when conficts were at a height, Sılam pointed to the fact that chiefs apply double standards and this way exacerbate the situation. The chiefs shouldn’t go against us here in Qaq or Awız-Suw. We will go anyway within a couple of days. But they did nothing when all these people spent the whole summer in Baruun-Salaa where we have our winter camps. They didn’t say a word because it was their own people. (Sılam, 52-year-old Qazaq herder, in 1996) Things looked very much the same when I came back from 2011 onwards. Trespassing still happens, the debates are pretty much the same and, in many cases, it is the same individuals accused. As the 2010s were generally favourable in terms of plant growth, there were no serious tensions and those herders most affected would grumble but not take any action. The major issue, again, is intermediate stops near the winter and spring camps. The year 2013 was particularly diffcult due to cold temperatures that set in early in the mountains, while the plains were still plagued by mosquitoes. For more than a week, in late August and early September there was hardly any other topic than determining the right time to move. Everyone was again sitting on packed suitcases, ready to go as soon as the news would tell that the insects had gone. When they fnally did, all the mid plains were empty within a day or two. While resentment may be strong on both sides, those who vote for protection and those who advocate free nomadising, the overall peaceful relations have not been jeopardised and seem to persuade people not to open a can of worms. There is accordingly little confrontation employed, but people accused of misbehaviour will fnd excuses and delays rather than challenging them in public. And many of the rules are to be bent and adapted depending on the year and the situation. One day in August 2014, I was sitting in the administration when Zorig walked in, not only one of the richest Mongols in the sum but also one who is known for not really caring much about other people’s needs. He and several of his sons were then in Awız-Suw with a thousand or more sheep and goats postponing their move to Ulaan-Khargana for weeks. When he came in, he was greeted in the

Using space and mobility 179 traditional way, asking about the well-being of animals and family. “Sayn namarjij bayna uu?”, literally meaning “do you have a good autumn”. “No, it should still be, do you have a good summer (‘sayn zusaj bayna uu?’)” – he insisted, as it was late August. “Autumn has not yet arrived” (“namar boloogüy”). Everyone in the room laughed out loudly, knowing all too well that this was his excuse for still being in Awız-Suw. Similar to the 1990s, the situation is also characterised by the fact that it is often the herders who have their own spring sites in Qaq and Awız-Suw. They still do so, as they say, to keep an eye on the events and try to protect their qaša. But obviously, they also contribute to the depletion of the pastures. Conficting interests may also be of a different kind. One day in 2014, I met Aybek who was about to organise the move of a Mongol herder to Qaq. This was good business for him as a truck driver but added another herd to the already crowded place where he himself has his spring camp. But while the proft was with him, the costs would be shared with everyone around. Both situations, indeed, resemble the scenario of a “tragedy of the commons”, but it should be stressed that they owe their existence to the vanishing of an established institutional arrangement rather than an inherent problem in common property regimes, as Acheson (1989) has shown for a wide range of cases worldwide. In his particular case, it may also have been related to already existing plans for a move to Qazaqstan. Two years later, Aybek had left Mongolia. Equally, the situation regarding monitoring and sanctioning did not change much. When in August 2013, again, dozens of camps resided in Qaq and AwızSuw, waiting for the move to their autumn pastures, the local administration decided to take action and sent a representative to chase these families away. Erkin, the person in charge, had a paper with him that he wanted all herders to sign. It stated that they acknowledge their wrongful behaviour and promise to disappear within fve days or would face a penalty. He had done so also the previous year but had met with little signs of compliance. This time I was to accompany him. Later he told me that the sum governor had advised him to bring me along, perhaps because I was expected to make things look even more serious, or maybe to calm things down should they get out of hand. It did not work out as planned. Everyone we met agreed that it was necessary to move to protect the spring pastures, but then there are still all the mosquitoes in the lowlands. And the second of September is not a good idea because one should, according to customs, not make any moves on any second day, be that of the month, a year, or a Tuesday. One family claimed they had indeed planned to leave today but could not fnd their cattle. Others had trouble procuring a vehicle. Most of the herders at the frst site were Mongols and well aware that Erkin was not disinclined to have a nip of shimiyn arkhi, during that time available in all Mongol households. Within a few hours, he was too drunk to continue the job, even though only a few had signed the new form yet. In cases such as Bolor he did not even dare to approach them for a signature. Finally, after several failed attempts with Mongols from outside the district, we gave up and went back sooner than planned. After all, so a common understanding, these signatures

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would not make a difference anyway. “We signed this and agreed to the third of September as the last day to leave. But this is his day; ours is the tenth.”, proclaimed Tsedensüren right after Erkin had left his yurt. The next day, sober again, Erkin would admit that he had little hope that people would actually follow his directions and move. He would also hesitate to do the same in neighbouring Awız-Suw because his own brothers and cousins were among those trespassing. It was equally clear that he had little at hand to go against Mongols. After all, they are part of the national majority and would eventually be backed by higher authorities, should the situation escalate. “Of course, people get mad when they see others sit on their pastures. But even if you are mad, they are still Mongols after all. What can you do?”, said Äwes when we talked about the increase of trespassing on land. The presence of outsiders, herding households from neighbouring sum, is a tricky issue in this game, even more so since most of them are Mongols. On the one hand, they are less accepted, even by their co-ethnics, should they disregard internal rules of land access. On the other hand, there is even less the sum administration can do against trespassing, as they may just disappear. Equally, social reputation has less relevance for them. So far their number is relatively small and people do not bother that much about their presence. But an increase of families that are less integrated and little concerned about long-term ecological, as well as social issues would turn this into a serious problem. At the same time, the longer they stay the more they are expected to integrate into the local community. One consequence of the attitude towards the state as the relevant institution for confict resolution is the lack of self-organised management. In rare cases, herders will approach and challenge the transgressor who settles near their winter or spring site. More often than not nothing will happen. This is true even if the person is close kin. When asked why he tolerates his father’s brother’s stay near his own winter site, Joldas shrugged his shoulders. “If I come up to him and challenge, what would that do? He won’t understand. He does not care.” The lack of individual reactions makes trespassing, of course, an easy and lowcost adventure. Even less likely than retaliation by those affected is the threat of collective action as a means of confict resolution. The idea of creating grass-root organisations or neighbourhoods to deal with the issue is simply non-existent. Also, kin will not be mobilised to act against an intruder. It is a personal business to decide whether to take action or not. But national or regional governments are equally not equipped to go against trespassing on land allocation rules. In a country as wide and thinly populated as Mongolia, systematic monitoring is not feasible with the given technology. Local authorities, of course, have a much better idea of what people in the district are doing and where they could be found but, as described, still lack infrastructural means and legitimacy to be able to implement a disputed set of regulations. A possible last resort is violence, and I have already hinted at instances where this occurred. Most of these revolved around the misuse of spring pastures during intermediate stops. Taking matters into one’s own hands is not tolerated by the

Using space and mobility 181 state as a case of self-defence. The few cases of killings I heard of resulted in longterm imprisonment. None of the cases had an ethnic component inherent but rather occurred – for demographic reasons – mostly within the Qazaq community. And they all seem to have occurred in situations when either side imagined having little to lose due to unfavourable conditions. Nonetheless, taking matters into one’s own hands is not only against the law but also socially not accepted, as this is the perceived business of state organs.

Conclusion In theoretical terms, one could explain the situation as a gradual transition from a common property regime to one of open access. The previous allocation system is not functioning well anymore, frstly due to rising costs of enforcement and monitoring, and secondly because some herders, namely members of the national majority, question its legitimacy. And their relative bargaining power has clearly increased with the end of socialist internationalism. This situation may, indeed, resemble a “tragedy of the commons”, or rather a collective action dilemma but one caused by the breakdown of the existing institutional confguration. When more and more people start to disregard the rules at hand, it becomes less benefcial to obey, even for those who support the idea in principle. All over Mongolia, the dissolution of the negdel resulted in a re-confguration of pastoral mobility, including a trend to shorter and fewer movements. In the local context, ecological conditions demand a complex and often overlapping structuring of seasonal campsites that bear the potential of confict and degradation of grazing areas, even if non-equilibrium systems such as in western Mongolia may be less threatened. But the complexity of annual cycles and corresponding rules of access further contribute to a situation of contestation and disregard. This is nothing new, and the need to balance fexibility and predictability in land allocation is a basic feature of pastoral management patterns in the region. What turns this into a serious dilemma is the costliness of monitoring in the frst place, and the lack of a functioning system of sanctioning should a transgression be detected. Trespassing often happens out of necessity and is diffcult to keep in check for ideological as well as practical reasons. This is due, on the one hand, to the unpredictability of climate and vegetation and, on the other hand, the at times opportunistic behaviour of people that comes as a consequence out of the frst. But there will equally be no ostracising because everyone can imagine herself to act similarly in a given situation. There is simply too much at stake when a household’s herd is in threat of extinction. For that reason, the individualist approach in pastoral decision-making is most of the time accepted as a matter of fact and not something to blame on specifc actors, even if the consequences are bemoaned. This may also be one reason why the establishing of fxed user groups is not seen very friendly by the majority of herders. Such an institution might make it easier to impose sanctions for trespassing on seasonal access regulations. But it would also jeopardise the much-needed fexibility in pastoral management (Finke 2021).

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In an environment as risky as the steppes and semi-deserts of western Mongolia, there is comparatively little to do about this. The situation is particularly delicate due to the multi-ethnic composition of the population. But divergent interests apply not only to Qazaqs versus Mongols but also to rich versus poor herders. For someone with a herd of several hundred animals, the threat of heavy losses is imminent should spring pastures have been depleted by others the year before. The poor have less advantage when campsites are thoroughly protected, due to the fact that with a small number of animals it is easier to fnd suffcient grazing while every additional move is a heavy burden on the household budget.4 Such contestations are not considered an inter-ethnic issue for the time being, and indeed all happen also in neighbouring Mongol districts. But everyone seems to be aware that it may turn into one. The situation also depends on the future development of out-migration to Qazaqstan. In all likelihood, it will further weaken the position of Qazaqs, in particular, should the infux of Mongol herders from neighbouring districts continue.

Notes 1 Qazaqs in Khovd-sum do not have a proper name for spring camp but either use the Mongol term khavarjaa, or describe it as mal tuwgızatın jer (literally: “the place where we have livestock deliver”). The reason is probably that in Xinjiang and Bayan-Ölgiy, where most originate from, herders spend half of the year in the winter camp and usually do not move before early summer. There is thus, effectively, no such thing as a spring campsite (Altay 1981). 2 The name Tümtid, in fact, derives from the Mongolian word for “ten thousand”, indicating the plentifulness of the area when it comes to pasturage. 3 https://www.eda.admin.ch/deza/en/home/countries/mongolia.html/ content/dezaprojects/SDC/en/2015/7F09484/phase1. 4 By contrast, Kelley (2019) reports for Erdenebüren that it is primarily rich herders who advocate an open access regime for pasture usage as they need to respond more fexibly to changing circumstances.

Bibliography Acheson, James M. 1989. “Management of Common-Property Resources.” In Economic Anthropology, edited by Stuart Plattner, 351–378. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Altay, Halife. 1981. Anayurttan Anadolu´ya. Ankara: Kültür Bakanlığı Yayınları. Bazargür, D. 1996. Geography of Pastoral Animal Husbandry: A Summary of Dissertation for Doctoral Degree of Geographic Sciences. Ulaanbaatar: Mongolian Academy of Sciences. Behnke, Roy H., and Ian Scoones. 1993. “Rethinking Range Ecology: Implications for Rangeland Management in Africa.” In Range Ecology at Disequilibrium: New Models of Natural Variability and Pastoral Adaption in African Savannas, edited by Roy H. Behnke, Ian Scoones, and Carol Kerven, 1–30. London: ODI and IIED. Behnke, Roy, and Michael Mortimore. 2016. The End of Desertifcation? Disputing Environmental Change in the Drylands. Berlin, Heidelberg: Springer-Verlag.

Using space and mobility 183 Bollig, Michael, and Michael J. Casimir. 1993. “Pastorale Nomaden.” In Handbuch der Ethnologie, edited by Thomas Schweizer, Margarete Schweizer, and Waltraud Kokot, 521–559. Berlin: Dietrich Reitmer Verlag. Dyson-Hudson, Rada, and Neville Dyson-Hudson. 1980. “Nomadic Pastoralism.” Annual Review of Anthropology 9: 15–61. Fernández-Giménez, María E. 2002. “Spatial and Social Boundaries and the Paradox of Pastoral Land Tenure: A Case Study from Postsocialist Mongolia.” Human Ecology 30 (1): 49–78. Fernández-Giménez, María E., and B. Batbuyan. 2004. “Law and Disorder: Local Implementation of Mongolia’s Land Law.” Development and Change 35 (1): 141–166. Finke, Peter. 2004. Nomaden im Transformationsprozess: Kasachen in der Postsozialistischen Mongolei. Münster: Lit-Verlag. Finke, Peter. 2021. “Pastoralist Dilemmas: Where to Go and When to Move, or with Whom to Talk About.” Human Ecology 49 (4): 831–842. Fratkin, Elliot. 1997. “Pastoralism: Governance and Development Issues.” Annual Review of Anthropology 26 (1): 235–261. Geertz, Clifford. 1978. “The Bazaar Economy: Information and Searching Peasant Marketing.” American Economic Review 68: 28–32. Goldstein, Melvyn C., and Cynthia M. Beall. 1994. The Changing World of Mongolia’s Nomads. Berkeley, Ca: University of California Press. Hardin, Garrett. 1968. “Tragedy of the Commons.” Science 162 (3859): 1243–1248. Humphrey, Caroline, and David Sneath. 1999. The End of Nomadism? Society, State, and the Environment in Inner Asia. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Ichinkhorloo, Byambabaatar, and Emily T. Yeh. 2016. “Ephemeral “Communities”: Spatiality and Politics in Rangeland Intervention in Mongolia.” The Journal of Peasant Studies 43 (5): 1010–1034. Kelley, Linda R. 2019. Fleeting Hooves? Coping with Uncertainty in Times of Economic Boom and Bust in Contemporary Western Mongolia. PhD diss., University of Zurich. Mearns, Robin. 1993. “Territoriality and Land Tenure among Mongolian Pastoralists: Variation, Continuity and Change.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 73–103. Müller, Franz-Volker. 1995. “New Nomads and Old Customs: General Effects of Privatisation in Rural Mongolia.” Nomadic Peoples 36 (37): 175–194. Murphy, Daniel J. 2011. Going on Otor: Disaster, Mobility, and the Political Ecology of Vulnerability in Uguumur, Mongolia. PhD diss., University of Kentucky. Nyamdavaa, Gendengiyn. 1995. Altayn uularkhag nutgiyn mal aj akhuyn gazarzüyn asuudald: Khovd aymgiyn jisheen deer [Geographical questions regarding pastoralism in the mountain region of the Altay: The example of Khovd Province]. Unpublished PhD thesis. Ulaanbaatar: Mongolian Academy of Sciences. Rinchen, B. 1979. Mongol ard ulsyn ugsaatny sudlal, khelniy shinjleliyn atlas [Ethnographic and Linguistic Atlas of the Mongol People]. Ulaanbaatar: Academy of Sciences of the Mongolian People’s Republic. Sheehy, Dennis P. 1993. “Grazing Management Strategies as a Factor Infuencing Ecological Stability of Mongolian Grasslands.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 17–30. Sheehy, Dennis P. 1996. “Sustainable Livestock Use of Pastoral Resources.” In Mongolia in Transition: Old Patterns, New Challenges, edited by Ole Bruun and Ole Odgaard, 42–64. Richmond: Curzon.

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Sneath, David. 1993. “Social Relations, Networks and Social Organisation in PostSocialist Rural Mongolia.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 193–207. Sneath, David. 2001. “Notions of Rights over Land and the History of Mongolian Pastoralism.” Inner Asia 3 (1): 41–58. Vreeland, Herbert H. 1953. Mongol Community and Kinship Structure. New Haven, CT: Human Relations Area Files.

6

Social webs and hierarchies

Introduction During early summer 2008, 30 sheep of the herd of Süleymen disappeared overnight. A few days later, the animals were found dead, killed, and partly eaten by wolves. Süleymen was not a rich guy, and this meant a sharp cut into his reproductive capital, one that threatened his existence as a pastoralist. He was also not considered a very good shepherd, and many put the blame on him for not taking suffcient care. Nevertheless, this event set off an amazing wave of help from kin, neighbours, and friends, and in the end he had received 45 sheep, thus being endowed with a larger herd than before. As this was perceived as an emergency case that might happen to anyone, the moral obligation to help, depending on one’s relationship with Süleymen, was strong even after the original loss had been compensated. Süleymen may have been lucky in this situation, but the story points to a crucial issue in social relations on the ground. Attitudes towards mutual support are to a certain degree ambivalent and oscillate between hesitation and unconditionality, depending on what is at stake and who is involved. After all, every economic activity that humans employ is at the same time frmly embedded in particular social confgurations. To a certain degree, these constitute constraints for what and how we are doing things, but they also enable many of these activities in the frst place, which are dependent on the collaboration of larger groups of individuals. As argued earlier, the specifc type of livelihood that pastoralists are confronted with forces them to often act on their own, and sometimes against others, which does not make the development of trust and cooperative arrangements all that easy. At the same time, reciprocal relations are key requirements in many situations, and demand one to maintain a certain reputation. As argued throughout this book, it is this careful balance that makes life a challenge, particularly in situations of rapid social change and growing inequality. Social networks in western Mongolia may at frst look highly structured by kinship and residence but show a great array of variability and fuidity in real life. After all, their purpose is not to follow a specifc model but to help people fnd ways for adapting to concrete circumstances. While there are incidences when help is given generously, as shown with the case of Süleymen, cooperation has its limits, DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692-6

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not only when it comes to ethnic or kinship boundaries. A key variable is trust or rather the lack of it, partly due to the transformation character of contemporary society, partly due to the individualised decision-making that is characteristic of many pastoral activities. Social stratifcation adds yet another dimension to this. In combination with the on-going option of a migration to Qazaqstan, this accounts for a social confguration where much is in fow and the reliability of social networks a matter of dispute. Time horizons tend to be short for most situations, and cooperation a risky business. At the same time, as stated earlier, even rule defance has to happen in specifc ways if not to ruin one’s reputation and social positioning. Individual strategies and mutual interaction follow established institutional guidelines, although they may at times look fragile and disputed. This chapter traces the conditions and frameworks underlying when and why people in Khovd-sum act together jointly, and when and why they don’t. It begins with introducing the major institutions and the corresponding categories of collective actors, very prominently – but not exclusively – based on kinship ties and residential proximity. At the core is the domestic unit, the household and the joint camp, embedded into wider social networks and the ethnic group at large, which form a complex and overlapping system of potential lines of alliances and mutual support. Closely linked to this are questions of inheritance, gender, social hierarchies, and conficts as well as modes for their resolution. Each of these institutions fulfl different roles within the pastoral economy. One such case is interethnic relations and the impacts of migration on the local community as well as the perceptions of the respective nation states, Mongolia and Qazaqstan, which will be taken up in the fnal part of the chapter. The government in Ulaanbaatar plays a rather ambivalent role in this, setting the overall guidelines but keeping aloof from most of everyday affairs. From behind the scenes, however, the more and more nationalising character of both states does have an infuence on relations on the ground.

Family, household, and inheritance As explored in previous chapters, the key institution for organising economic life is the household. It is also the prime unit for the allocation of means of production and domestic goods. The physical manifestation of a household is the yurt or tam, usually inhabited by a single family. This may either be of a nucleus type, consisting of husband and wife plus their unmarried children or include three generations when parents stay with one of their sons and his new family. There also may be times of the year when households split, for instance when a son moves to the mountains to pasture sheep or settles near the family’s plot during harvest times. Children will often be away for months during the school period, when they stay in a dormitory or with relatives in the settlement, but are still counted as part of the household and contribute to its incomes or expenditures. In principle, all Qazaq households will at some point form the extended type due to the fact that social rules prescribe youngest sons not to found separate

Social webs and hierarchies 187 units. Elder brothers are expected to leave soon after marriage and establish their own households, which at some point will again include the family of their youngest son. There are exceptions to that. Abay after the death of his father lived in one yurt with his mother. He shared a camp with his elder brother Qarasay and the youngest Abılay but because the latter took care of the congregated yak herd, implying that he spent most of the year at high altitudes, a stay with him was considered uncomfortable for the mother. Of course, one may wonder whether the causality had been the other way round, requiring Abılay to herd the yak fock of the family because his mother preferred to stay with the middle son, for one or the other reason. I don’t know about the concrete case, but such considerations may play a role when the youngest son had originally been an adopted grandson who would thus turn the rule of ultimogeniture on its head, as discussed below. An important factor is also differences in economic activities. During the 1990s, few elders aimed at settling down upon reaching age. This also implied that they would choose one of the elder sons to stay with, should the younger ones have turned to agriculture, moved to town, or worked in the sum-centre. Such was the case with Ibragim (#10) or the fathers of Joldas (#1) and Azat (#4). They all preferred to stay not with their kenje but with the youngest of those sons who continued in pastoralism. This has changed since it became popular to spend the evening of life in a house with better heating and access to electricity. Sapar (#3), for example, spends part of the year in Tümtid to guide the extended family in pastoral management. But during winter and spring, when the weather gets harsh up there, he stays with his youngest son working in the sum administration. Men are conceptualised as heads of households and also in offcial documents treated as such. The annual statistics usually record only the husband, and after his death, more often the eldest unmarried son rather than the widow. Femaleheaded households therefore appear only when all sons have already moved out or they are too young to be taken into account. This has changed somewhat over time, and it never in itself said much about power relations. Among Mongols as well as Qazaqs, women have an important say in everyday household and fnancial matters. And, from the times I can recall, they always had. They will do business on their own, go to university, or travel to Qazaqstan without necessarily male kin accompanying them. Inheritance rules are similarly male-centred. Daughters receive a dowry upon marriage, but they hardly get a sizeable share of the fock. Sons are supposed to inherit more or less equal with the exception of the youngest who tends to receive a larger fock as he will also head an extended household. Because livestock is not divided upon the death of the father, but soon after marriage, the long-term effects are diffcult to calculate. Ratios obviously depend on the number of children and have also changed due to the fact that fewer sons take up a life as a pastoralist these days. Also, the fatherly herd may grow or decrease in size signifcantly in later years, which, respectively, would give an advantage to either younger or elder sons. Sometimes such changes will be adjusted at a later time, but this does not necessarily have to be the case. Also, some fathers were known for keeping a maximum share for the youngest one, which implied

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a more prosperous livelihood for themselves upon reaching age. But these men, as others would argue, should not be surprised if they get rather little support from their elder sons in case of need (Finke 2012). All this is less of an issue today, as fewer and fewer households take care of the joint herds of extended families. As important as livestock for inheritance is the patrimonial yurt and tam, which also implies being heir to the winter and spring campsites, the most crucial resource. Livestock holdings come and go with weather and fate, but a proper place is diffcult to fnd and therefore highly sought after. During socialist times, most people were allocated appropriate seasonal sites by the negdel, although some of the Mongols had theirs already before. In case there was more than one son staying in the pastoral business, they would be assigned additional herds and qaša by the negdel. With privatisation, things have changed and no new sites have been established. The situation is, however, rather relaxed because many became empty with the migration to Qazaqstan and, lately, with the growing number of herding households who settled down. As introduced in Chapter 2, Uygurs follow the same patterns of family and household composition. Any distinctions that may have existed were levelled probably due to the fact that the wives are usually of Qazaq descent, as endogamous marriages among Uygurs are rare. In the case of local Mongols, inheritance is similar to the model described for Qazaqs, but, as described, usually all sons leave the parental yurt after marriage. In their case, households are therefore in principle made up of nuclear families and elders stay alone once all children have married. But also among Mongol pastoralists, the youngest one is expected to stay with his parents in one camp, pursuing the seasonal cycle together. This is still the same today, and all the major herding families in Khovd-sum, such as Nergüy, Tsedensüren, and Zorig, have taken care that at least one of their sons remains in the business. In practice, then, things are much more complicated and diverse. Specifcally, the power that fathers have over the assigned property of their married sons can vary a lot. Those who continue to share camp, treat the herd as joint when it comes to grazing management but separately for milking and slaughtering. Sons who settle in the centre often have their livestock with their father, except for milking cows and their calves, which are needed for daily use. In this case, they will usually get a share of the products reaped from these animals. Powerful fathers can retrieve part of their son’s fock in case of need or as a means of punishment (Finke 2012). In other cases, the line of control has already shifted, and the younger generation will not allow any further encroachment on their property. Once a transition has been made completely, the bargaining power of elders towards their sons is comparatively low. And this change in generational relationships has even been spurred up by the migration to Qazaqstan, which gives younger men more options in decision-making. Relations between brothers or between fathers and sons vary not only with age but also are shaped by other characteristics such as wealth, personality, or health situation. As mentioned, in the case of Qazaqs – as well as Uygurs – the

Social webs and hierarchies 189 general expectation is that fathers remain the head of an extended household after their sons’ marriages, usually also in control of the joint herd. Often, however, their frst-born may move away early on for one or the other reason, establishing a separate camp. Such was the case with Ömirzaq (#1) or Särsenbay (#6). The latter is a particularly insightful example. As mentioned, his frst son had left camp shortly after establishing an independent household. Särsenbay was left with his two younger sons but tragically had to see the middle one die in his early thirties. He then demanded the eldest to come back and join the paternal camp. He did so, but this union would fall apart after Särsenbay’s death a few years later, and since then the two remaining brothers hardly have contact with each other. Adoption is a widespread institution among Qazaqs and exists in different varieties. If the child is orphaned, it will be given to close kin, which does, however, not have to be patrilineal. I know cases where it was matrilateral or rather those who would turn one’s original family into this, such as the sister of the deceased biological father. In effect, a jezde will then adopt the children of his baldız. Growing up in a new lineage, close relationships to one’s patrilineal kin by birth will thus effectively be cut off. Regarding exogamy, adopted children should ideally refrain from marrying members of either lineage, the one of their genitor and the one of their adoptive father. But the information I was able to collect does not provide suffcient data for or against this. On the other hand, adoption or fosterage between agnates also occurs and is even the norm in some constellations. It is, in fact, expected that a son will give his frst-born to his own father, that is to say the biological grandfather of the boy. There are also cases when younger siblings give their children to an elder brother for adoption. This happens in particular should the elder not have any kids or only daughters. Implementation may vary and, in some cases, remains on a largely symbolic level. But in many families the boy becomes frmly integrated into the new family and, accordingly, will address his biological father as elder brother. He may also become the heir to the qara šanğıraq, as he is then usually the new youngest son. This way the rule of ultimogeniture may effectively be circumvented, and the eldest son of the eldest son will become the direct heir. But this seems to be a rare exception and usually, the last-born biological son will continue the parental homestead. Adoptions are frequent but they are not talked about openly, at least not within the families concerned. It also seems that some of the children occupy an in-between position that does not always make life easy for them. Depending on the circumstances of their adoption, out of respect or due to orphanage, some tend to have a subordinate status within the family and have to take over additional obligations as if to reciprocate the benefaction. Outside of the respective family, this is the topic of much gossiping, and I was frequently told that someone is not really the son of the father the person himself claims. This ambivalence even fnds its way into offcial documents or published genealogies where someone’s patronymic may switch from one year to another between the biological father and grandfather.

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Social webs and hierarchies Did Aldabergen tell you that he is Molqı? That is not true. He is Šerüwši. His father was Šerüwši. When he died, Aldabergen was taken over by his nağašı. They are Molqı, as you know. Next time you see him, tell him he shall have history written truthfully. (Batırbek, 55-year-old Qazaq herder, in 1996).

Kinship and marriage As introduced in Chapter 2, Qazaq and Mongol society are in the literature conceptualised as being based on patrilineal descent, although this has been strongly disputed by Sneath (2007). And indeed, lineages in Khovd-sum do not act as corporate groups nor do they form territorial units when it comes to pastoral land rights. I am unable to say whether they ever did in the local context but during pre-socialist times some of the Qazaq territories were named after lineages, such as Jantekey or Šerüwši (Rinchen 1979; Nyambuu 1992). Later this function would be taken over by the negdel. Today, as described in the previous chapter, it is the affliation with a particular sum or bag that grants admission to pastures. Ideologically speaking, all patrilineal cousins up to the seventh degree belong to the same descent group, which would create a wide network of potential addressees for mutual support. In practice, knowledge about ancestors is limited, and few Qazaqs can actually trace their genealogy without gaps down to the demanded seventh generation. However, this is not really of crucial importance because the locally used minimal lineage will do just as well when it comes to marriage exogamy or kin solidarity. It is also a reference for identity claims, and individuals of the same name are often distinguished by their lineage affliation, e.g., as Iteli Bolat and Qarajan Bolat.1 And in recent years the interest in genealogies (šejire) has been growing, just as in Qazaqstan, which is in many spheres a source of inspiration. More and more people began documenting their chart of ancestors or schemes for all descendants of an alleged lineage founder. Some of these have found entrance into the semi-offcial history of the Khovd-sum written by two local teachers (Šildebay and Khovdabay 2000). As also shown in Chapter 2, the relative sizes of Qazaq lineages have not changed much over the past decades. Molqı, the second largest, has lost some ground as proportionally more of its members moved to Qazaqstan. During the same time, Qaraqas, Jädik, and Nayman have been growing in numbers (cf. Chart 2.4). But this has not changed relations on the ground. There are no specifc animosities or alliances between lineages, not even between the dominating Jantekey and Molqı, but merely a repertoire of rather soft prejudices against anyone not of one’s own kind, such as Nayman being wily or Šerüwši as boisterous. There exist also no marriage preferences between lineages, and most households have networks that include members of all local descent groups.2 Terminologically, Qazaqs do not differentiate but call all levels of the structure, except for the three jüz, as ruw or süyek, with the latter being the common

Social webs and hierarchies 191 term in Mongolia. Writing about southern Qazaqstan, Hudson (1938) has explained this with the similar functions that the different levels perform in economic and social life. Thus, lineages on genealogically different levels may stand in segmentary opposition towards one another. For example, while there are people who belong to Särik as the ancestral level above Šaqu, others do so without any sub-division. Members of the “pure” Särik would then represent the line of the youngest brother that does not split from the fatherly lineage but continues with its name. Depending on relative size, some lines will also not develop into named units but remain as minimal lineages on a higher genealogical level, as in the case of Qarajan or Taylaq (cf. Chart 6.1). Also, depending on the situation, different levels of this hierarchy can be evoked to establish a relationship of alliance or distinction. So, upon encountering a person of Molqı descent, one identifes as Šerüwši or Jantekey, but within the latter, the distinction between Botaqara or Taylaq will become relevant. While lineages, and sets of brothers and cousins in particular, should form close networks of cooperation, the rules of inheritance and adoption do not necessarily help stimulate harmonious relations within families. The case of brothers is a striking example. Livestock, as the cornerstone of inherited property, tends to be divided rather equally, except for the bigger share of the youngest. But interestingly, as indicated, it is not this relationship that is strained, but the one towards the frst-borns. They often camp far apart from the others or, putting even more distance in-between, have been the only ones migrating to Qazaqstan or staying in Mongolia, as happened to Bürkitbay who has all his younger siblings on the other side of the border. Some seemed quite marginalised, as was the case with the frst-born of Särsenbay (#6) or Temir’s eldest brother Tilegen (#5). This may in some cases again be related to adoption if they had been handed over to their biological grandfathers after birth and did not grow up with their original family and siblings. But possibly more important, eldest brothers tend to be seen as junior fathers, and few seem to accept such a position. At the same time, there is little at hand to impose authority over younger siblings once the property has been divided. This is true what you say. Yes, brothers try to avoid each other. This is because ... You know, we Qazaqs love to make jokes and talk with each other. When I sit together with Bökey or another friend of mine, then we can talk freely. It is comfortable. But when there is an elder brother around, you have to show him respect. You have to address him formally (“sız aytasın”), you cannot use bad words. The whole situation is not as free. This is why. And, yes, it is because of the women. Brothers don’t quarrel; it is their wives. And then they move apart. (Mäńdibay, 52-year-old teacher at the district school). The position of women is interesting here and, presumably, also related to the importance that affnes of different categories have. In turn, it helps them to maintain close ties with their own patrilineal kin after a move to the household

Qarajan

Taylaq

Jaylaw

Chart 6.1 šejire of the Abaq-Kerey

Šaqu

Särik

Botaqara

Jantekey

Jädik

Nayman

Iteli

Qıstawbay

Šerüwši

Taspike

Baylaw

Ba˝analı

Ar˛ın

Merkit

Sarbas

Qaraqas Šıbır-Ay˝ır

Jabayı

Abaq

Kerey

Janarıs (Kiši Jüz)

Qo°ırat

Bekarıs (Orta Jüz)

Qıpšaq

Qoylaw

Aqarıs (Ulı Jüz)

Alaš

Molqı

Ašamaylı

Waq

Šıymoyın

Könsadaq

Sıdaldı

Jastaban

192 Social webs and hierarchies

Social webs and hierarchies 193 of their husbands. And while agnates are clearly considered the most important category, this is confned mostly to those with a joint ancestor within three generations. When it comes to everyday economic and social interaction, close affines are as important, as will also be shown in relation to joint residence and neighbourhood. The basis for affnal relationships is, of course, marriage, and here procedures have changed remarkably in the last 20 years. Traditionally, it was connected with the payment of a bride-wealth, which used to be a few large stock during the 1990s but has since decreased and is largely nominal today. During the same period, wedding ceremonies have also changed radically. When I did research in the mid-1990s, a type of ritualised bride abduction had become the preferred form of marriage (Finke 2004).3 The groom-to-be went with some friends, by car, motorbike, or horse, and would kidnap the girl from her home. In most cases, this was consensual and presumably also known in advance by the bride’s parents – to judge from the fact that even I would sometimes hear news of a planned abduction beforehand. A wedding ceremony then took place the same night but without the bride’s relatives who only sent a delegation to ask their sister or daughter if she had come on her own will. If this was not the case, she would be taken back home, and the abducting party might face criminal prosecution (although this would usually be settled informally). By the 2010s, things had changed fundamentally. Resembling similar practices that evolved during the same period in Qazaqstan (Abildenova 2023), weddings are now grandiose ceremonies with opulent meals and hundreds of guests, invited months ahead. In contrast to the yurt or tam, which was the place of conduct 20 years ago, the preference is now to either celebrate in a restaurant in town or in the stadium in the sum-centre. In this case, the ceremony may include horse races and wrestling competitions where winners will be awarded expensive prizes such as horses, TV sets, or even cars. While in the 1990s, a time of crisis and hardships, families tried to save on wedding expenses – and abductions were a convenient way to do this – it is now a question of displaying one’s wealth. Today, as described in Chapter 4, an average wedding ceremony is calculated for at least fve million tögrög, or 2,000 dollars. Poorer households have little chance but to play with the same rules, if they do not want to lose face, thus risking a process of stratifcation by indebtedness. Weddings are only the most important ceremony, but others play their role as well in the life cycle of an individual. These include the frst haircut of a child4, the circumcision for boys, and important birthdays, such as one’s eightieth. And marriage procedures themselves consist of several ceremonies in sequence. It begins with a toy at the bride’s side, the qız uzatuw (“farewell to the girl”), the marriage ceremony itself, the qudağa šay (“tea for the affnes”), and the tösek orın, or setting up the new household, basically the time when the dowry is transferred, which may happen several months later. The larger feasts conducted outdoors are quite similar in procedure, although they differ by scale. After their arrival, guests will frst be guided into a yurt, erected just for this purpose, to be entertained with tea and snacks. This nowadays also includes ready bought

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Social webs and hierarchies

food as well as salads prepared only for such occasions. Shortly after, they will be brought to another yurt where freshly slaughtered meat is served on huge plates. In the meantime, the wrestling competition has already started and will continue for several hours, interrupted by speeches and announcements by the master of ceremony. At some point, the participants of the horse race will leave for their assigned starting point, some 15 or 20 kilometres away. People continue watching the wrestling, drinking tea, and chatting with friends until all of a sudden – at least for the uninitiated observer – everyone jumps up and runs towards one of the vehicles around. This is when news arrives that the horses are approaching their destination, clearly the most important moment of any feast. When the race is over, the fnals of the wrestling take place before the awards for winners will be distributed. Most ceremonies are conducted in late summer and autumn when the weather is sunny and livestock as well as agricultural produce are in abundance. This is especially important because then qımız is available in large quantities. It has nowadays become the standard drink on all events, replacing vodka, at least in the case of Qazaqs and Uygurs. On Mongolian weddings, shimiyn arkhi is usually the main beverage. Increasingly, also purchased foodstuff is on offer, such as tomatoes or dried fruits. During the heydays in August and September, there may be a wedding ceremony every other day somewhere in the sum- or in the aymag-centre, and people start to experience this as a burden. On the other hand, any toy is a major social event. They will be discussed extensively for days, and people will express their satisfaction or disappointment very openly. Some of the larger toy in the stadium turn into a kind of open-air discotheque when the offcial festivities are over, with music all-night long and the young generation enjoying themselves – and presumably allowing for new unions to emerge. The belonging to a particular family and lineage is taught to children from early on and correlated with emotional reward. The mentioned prejudice towards other descent groups plays a role in this, albeit a rather modest one. More important is the inner family circle that is connected with property and cooperation. As already mentioned, even frst cousins are involved in mutual support only in cases of strong demand or if comparatively little is at stake. The idea of reliance is very much focussed on the household and immediate kin. What socialisation is also aiming at is, on the one hand, to create strong feelings of moral behaviour and loyalty and, on the other hand, to develop a character to make one’s way. From early on, clear differences are made between appreciated attitudes and deviances, and children are praised and rewarded accordingly. To be a good child (jaqsı bala) is stressed, as is the opposite in case of misconduct. At the same time, little intervention happens when children quarrel or fght with one another. Caring for others seems not the main target in this process but rather the idea that one should call for attention if need be. Pursuing self-interest is thus to a certain degree a legitimate thing and will only be sanctioned if it gets into someone else’s way.

Social webs and hierarchies 195

Illustration 6.1 Wedding ceremony in the sum-centre (Peter Finke, 2013)

Among local Mongols, differences in kinship are possibly a matter of size. As there are few pairs of brothers or cousins who actually stayed on the countryside, there is also less opportunity for cooperation. Tsedensüren and Erdenebaatar (#11) are the major exceptions. Back in the 1990s, Jargalsaykhan and Batchuluun was another such pair, but both have long left the pastoral sector to settle in town. In both cases, the respective brothers lived close to each other, the former two also in one camp, but herding was done individually. Others had siblings who came from the city after 1991 but equally did not stay in the same camp. This lack of attachment among close kin is indeed remarkable and may be a local specifcity. It also allows little space for fathers to maintain some type of control over the property of their sons once the latter have married and founded separate households. To the best of my knowledge, there are only two cases of extended Mongol families where more than two brothers stayed in the countryside well into their adult life. One is that of Zorig where until today all sons keep on settling and collaborating with their father. But all of them are still comparatively young. The other one is the family of Myagmar. During the 1990s, when Myagmar was still alive, he settled in one camp with his youngest son, Batbold. His own household consisted of two persons, himself and the youngest daughter who

196

Social webs and hierarchies

was not yet married by that time. Two elder sons were also pastoralists but lived far apart. Batsaykhan, the older one, settled among the many Ulaan-Khargana khotayl, together with a patrilineal cousin and a relative of his mother. Some ten years ago, they all had left for Khovd city. The next eldest, Ganbold, had after his marriage moved to join his father-in-law. Never have I seen one of the two elder brothers with either their father or the younger brother, although I surely missed many opportunities where this might have been the case.

Joint residence and neighbourhood Beyond the household, the most visible form of social cooperation and interaction is joint residence. Depending on the season, the steppes and mountains are dotted with yurts that form small communities of neighbouring families who graze their animals and visit each other for one or the other reason. At frst sight, this seems like a timeless pattern, a perfect adaptation to scarce resources of vegetation and water. And it certainly is. At the same time, in response to economic and social circumstances, forms and compositions of settlements have changed profoundly during and since the end of socialism. It is not only changes in the organisation of labour that have impacted the ways of settling together but also the demands of the market, issues of school education, as well as concepts of modernity and comfort. The most important residential unit is the seasonal camp, named awıl in Qazaq or khotayl in Mongolian. This is basically an agglomeration of one or several yurts settling together in one spot and performing some of the daily activities together. Camps may vary widely in size from single households to more than ten. Among Qazaqs, awıl with more than four families have always been rare and hardly exist today. During the 1990s, the majority consisted of two or three yurts. Today, in fact, most pastoralists settle on their own. Mongol camps used to be somewhat larger on average during winter and spring, with the biggest encompassing eleven households back in 1996, but internal cooperation was rather limited. These differences in size were also due to the negdel legacy. Then, most of the larger camps among Qazaqs as well as Mongols had been large stock herders for whom the number of animals played less of a role because the herds would split into smaller units anyway. As a term, awıl is also used for the settlements among the farmers but not for the district centre, which is usually just called sum.5 The Mongol synonym ayl or khotayl is hardly used at all, which may also be related to the fact that here cooperation among the families is less strong. Camps also tend to share the permanent facilities in winter and spring, although each will have a separate section of the qaša, if it is not father and sons settling together.6 The main function of camps is the pooling of labour. Other aspects of social exchange and a sense of communality are certainly also important criteria, but they are easily outweighed by more narrow economic considerations and constraints of labour force. As the ideal size of a fock of sheep and goats is around 600–700 animals, this was usually the maximum number assigned to one individual herder in socialist times. As a consequence, people most commonly settled

Social webs and hierarchies 197 as single households. With de-collectivisation and rising inequality of livestock numbers, many families fell below that line and should have been expected to join forces in order to save labour. Indeed, this was the case with many families, and the rise of multi-household camps during the 1990s gives proof of that. Nevertheless, many preferred to stay on their own with fock sizes far less than the optimal number. Pooling labour implies that livestock is herded in rotation, and a neglect of one’s animals can have fatal consequences. Thus, many decided not to take the risk and look for their herd themselves each day (Finke 2004). In fact, half of all Qazaq camps jointly owned less than 300 small stock, and in the case of Mongols, this was true for even 70 per cent (cf. Table 6.1.). That was due not only to the problem of preventing harmful behaviour of a co-resident herder; it would also be very diffcult to enforce any sanctioning in case of a loss. Safety frst seemed therefore a sensible strategy to pursue, as bounded rationality theories would predict, even if this implied a heavier workload. Typically, camps are named after the eldest male, although there are exceptions to that. When a man reaches a certain age and does not perform many of the public tasks anymore, it may also be his eldest son who takes over the lead. The heads of camps are usually recognised by a prominent position of the yurt, either in the front or in the centre, depending on the overall arrangement. Close patrilineal kin are of prime importance for the composition of camps, and in fact, the term may also be used for members of extended families who do not settle together. Back in the mid-1990s, among Qazaqs single-household camps accounted for almost 40 per cent, and another 45 per cent were made up exclusively of members of one minimal lineage. In the vast majority of cases, this meant a father with one or several adult sons who continued to settle in company (Finke 2004). Affnes, in particular pairs of fathers- and sons-in-laws, accounted for the rest of the camps, while matrilaterals in no case joined forces. This was somewhat different for Mongol camps where different types of kin, as well as non-related households, more often settled together. In their case, the migration to the city in early socialist times has left only few families in the pastoral sector who had to arrange with whoever happened to be around (Table 6.2). Table 6.1 Combined herd sizes per camp (1996) No. of small stock

Qazaqs

0–100 101–200 201–300 301–400 401–500 501–600 601–700 701–800 801–900 Total

8 10 9 10 8 5 3 1 – 54

Mongols 14,8% 18,5% 16,7% 18,5% 14,8% 9,3% 5,6% 1,9% – 100%

3 6 3 2 1 – 1 – 1 17

17,6% 35,3% 17,6% 11,8% 5,9% – 5,9% – 5,9% 100%

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Social webs and hierarchies

Table 6.2 Composition of camps in the third bag (1996) Type

Description

Qazaq awıl

Mongol khotayl

% Ia Ib II a II b III a III b III c Total

Single household (nuclear family) Single household (three generations) Father and son(s) in separate households Other patrilineal kin Patrilineal kin plus affnes and/or non-related Father-in-law with son-in-law Not related households

%

15 6

27,8 11,1

4 –

30,8 –

22

40,7

2

15,4

3 4

5,6 7,4

1 4

7,7 30,8

3 1 54

5,6 1,9 100,1

1 1 13

7,7 7,7 100,1

Since then, things have changed profoundly. Nowadays most households settle alone, and even two-family camps have become more of an exception, just as it had been during socialist times, albeit for different reasons. On the one hand, some households experienced a steady growth of herd sizes, which made cosettlement unattractive. A large fock of 700 and more would have to split for grazing purposes anyway and, ultimately, becomes diffcult to manage at night when they are near the campsite. It is therefore of little use to unite with others. This is true also for all those extended families where only one brother stays in the countryside taking care of the joint herd. Yet others have, for the same reason, become entrusted with animals in return for a monthly payment. In either case, the number of households that maintain a fock close to the ideal size has increased, explaining the fall in average camp size. But there are still also herders who settle on their own, although livestock numbers would allow getting together with others, for very much the same reasons as 20 years earlier, namely a lack of mutual trust. Apart from that, camps also fulfl non-economic functions and allow people to socialise with one another. Foodstuff and other items are exchanged or borrowed, people get together for tea and conversation, or help each other out with smaller and larger tasks. Social relationships within one camp very much overlap with kin relations and, therefore, follow similar rules. As long as fathers are alive and healthy, they hold authority over their married and unmarried sons. In fact, the only type of larger camps that has remained today is several brothers or a father with one or two sons, like with Sapar (#3), Moldabay (#8), or Zorig. Often, this implies a herd size above the threshold of 700 animals, so that for daily grazing they have to be divided into several focks. In most cases, however, this unit will break off soon after the death of the father, and from then on, brothers prefer to settle on their own.

Social webs and hierarchies 199 This is what happened in the family of Idırıs (#2), although they still keep on cooperating to a certain degree. While the father was still alive, he settled nearby his sons, Äwes and Jeksenbay, at least seasonally forming one grazing unit. Jeksenbay had by then moved into agriculture but remained part of the same camp. With time, Idırıs’s younger sons married and established their own households. But until today, those who still herd livestock, Äwes, and the youngest one and heir of the paternal winter camp settle in Ulaan-Khargana in close vicinity to each other for most of the year. For most of the year, they are accompanied by their brother-in-law, Saylaw (#10). And while these families all form separate units when it comes to property and consumption, they cooperate frequently in routine works or by exchanging sheep and goats during the day. Separations can also happen on a temporary basis and will then usually be explained with ecological adaptation. Such a move may relieve tensions and enable households to get together again later. A permanent split is of a different kind and cuts into kinship networks more thoroughly. Either case is explained with disagreements between women, particularly the wives of brothers, who are, due to exogamy rules, usually not related with one another. At the same time, this makes a reunifcation easier for the patrilineal core of the camp expected to continue cooperating. Brothers may thus join forces again, pretending nothing serious had happened in the meantime. All this is equally true for Qazaqs and Mongols. It has been mentioned that among the latter co-residence does not necessarily result in much mutual support. In the case of Tsedensüren and Erdenebaatar (#11), the reason for this is clear, as both of them own around 1,000 animals and therefore joining herds is impractical. But they would still in most seasons settle in close neighbourhood to each other and sometimes practise the described exchange of young and mother animals. Herders like Gankhüü (#13), on the contrary, could have beneftted from sharing daily tasks. They never did so but rather preferred to stay on their own without adapting settlement patterns to the changing curves and fortunes they experienced over the years. Striking was the khotayl, in which Nergüy settled during the 1990s, at least for parts of the year. It consisted of more than ten households, primarily in winter. This included other established pastoralists, like Chimegdorj and Dovdon, who had also been cattle herders for the negdel, as well as families who had arrived from the aymag-centre. While sharing one campsite and helping each other in daily matters, they did not engage in any kind of collaboration on a larger or systematic level. Neither herding focks nor organising grazing movements was coordinated to save on manpower and transportation costs, although all families had clearly the potential to do so, considering the number of livestock they owned. It is almost impossible to defne any larger residential units beyond the camp. There are instances when clusters of neighbouring camps are constituted geographically. This is, for example, the case with winter or summer pastures in mountain valleys or spring sites in the central plains, which are usually enclosed by smaller ranges. In all other locations, it is diffcult to demarcate territorial

200

Social webs and hierarchies

units, as boundaries are vague or invisible. Nevertheless, specifc place names for each small area do exist, also those that are not touched upon during the annual cycles. As a consequence, households can for specifc periods of the year be attached to corresponding territories but, in line with the mentioned variability in pastoral mobility, these are not necessarily stable over the years. Offcial attempts to create any larger units have so far failed. Neg nutgiynkhan, or “people of one place”, as described in the previous chapter, do not exist as an institution. As neighbours change with the seasons, they do not represent any constant source of mutual cooperation. For the same reason, the “pasture user groups” (PUG) envisioned by the new land law and international advisory board such as the Green Gold initiative will probably not succeed easily, as described in Chapter 5. And the ondıq, or groups of ten, which had been formed in the mid1990s, never really gained relevance and have long been abandoned again. They were created more or less out of the blue at a specifc moment in the annual cycle and often combined individuals and households of different kin and ethnicity who had little to do with each other, except for settling close at that particular point in time. Relations between neighbouring camps are of great variety. There are cases when groups of agnatic kin live at least for parts of the year in close vicinity because they inherited neighbouring winter and spring shelters. For that matter, some locations have been dominated by sub-units of lineages. But this does not necessarily imply a greater deal of cooperation. In summer and autumn, this is less the case because of the lack of permanent facilities and generally more fexible patterns of mobility. Then, it is mostly in remote and clearly bounded mountain valleys, such as Tümtid or Kök-Serke, where a stronger sense of community and mutual help exists. These are also in their majority not ethnically mixed territories as few Mongols move that far during summer. At the same time, in these places people are also more dependent on each other for transport or combating a wolf pack, and thus incentives to act conjointly are higher. In fact, recent years have seen a general decrease of kin co-residence. As more and more people have left the pastoral sector or migrated altogether out of the country, patterns of settlement became more patchwork-like and unstable. This is countervailing a trend identifed in the 1990s when neighbours, specifcally in winter or spring, often had relatively recent affnal relations created through marriage between their children (Finke 2004). The out-migration of many pastoralist families during the 2000s has practically destroyed such patterns. Some brothers or close affnes still keep moving jointly, but overall kinship is not an organising principle of neighbourhood if it ever was. The same general patterns apply for ethnically mixed camps or neighbourhoods. As regards campsites, I have recorded one case of two rather poor herders during the mid-1990s, and heard of another one – the one made up by Jampeys (#9) and Luvsan – during socialist times, but today none of that exists. By contrast, mixed neighbourhoods are still very common and not seen as a problem. Especially during summer, Mongols and Qazaqs often settle side by side and collaborate in everyday life activities. For example, Tsedensüren and Erdenebaatar

Social webs and hierarchies 201 (#11) have for many years their summer camp near to Joldas (#1). They regularly visit each other or come over to assist when producing felt or vaccinating livestock. Even in strained contexts, such as when dozens of camps reside in Qaq during late summer, postponing the demanded move to their respective autumn sites, people would still invite their neighbours for tea or to a ceremony. And this also applies to inter-ethnic constellations. There is, however, great variety on this, and some people on both sides prefer to keep their networks mono-ethnic. While older herders – who are usually bilingual – visit each other regularly, this is different for the younger generation and even more so for the “new nomads” who often maintain limited interaction also with local Mongols. But there are exceptions to this as well. Gankhüü (#13), for example, tried his best to make friends with Qazaqs near-by when he arrived from Khovd in 1993 and was a welcomed visitor. This was surely helped also by the fact that he spoke some Qazaq, after having worked as a teacher in Khovd-sum for several years back in the 1970s. And those herders not on good terms with their neighbours of a different ethnicity are in most cases also not particularly close with fellows from their own group, as in the case of Zorig. Patterns of interaction among seasonal neighbours also vary. This ranges all the way from close cooperation in pastoral management to having little or no contact with each other. Because neighbours usually do not form social or territorial units throughout the year, it is rare that they help each other in ways that would resemble an interaction within a camp. But they do so on many everyday encounters. When visiting each other, it is a matter of course to lend a hand for smaller tasks, like roping horses or lifting a felt cover on top of the yurt. Neighbours will also be the frst asked when an animal is missing, or one needs a ride to town. The latter has to be paid for, however. Beyond that neighbourhoods do not act collectively, as when an outsider encroaches on someone’s territory. At the same time, conficts among neighbours are equally rare. Due to the described rules and procedures for pasture allocation, they are not competitors in this respect. They simply use the same area during the same time period. Problems may arise when herds mix during the day and individual animals are not returned to their owner, but I have not heard of this as being an issue. Nevertheless, especially when one family is about to move, its neighbours may take a close look at the scene. I witnessed this one late summer morning in 2014. I had spent the night at Bürkithan’s place. He was settling at Qaq but, as everyone else, expected to move to his autumn campsite soon. After he had started to dismantle the yurt, more and more of his neighbours, in their majority Mongols, came to say goodbye, or so I thought. Bürkithan was on good terms with most of them and I expected them to lend a hand. Instead, they all strolled through the herd of small stock checking for each and every animal’s earmark (eń) and probably other signs that would identify it as being theirs. After an hour or two, they would leave again, not having found any evidence for deception. Bürkithan did not show any signs of disapproval or offence. Very different are patterns of settlement and neighbourhood among the farmers and in the sum-centre. The former includes the mentioned hamlets of Doloon,

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Naymin, Yösön, and Arvin (literally, seven to ten). All of these are small clusters of houses with the biggest, Naymin, harbouring some 20 families more or less permanently. But the majority of people live scattered in-between, many of them using the yurt as dwelling for at least part of the year. There is nothing principally different from neighbourly relations among pastoralists except that works are of a different type and the composition of settlement is more stable over the years. Still, there are no corporate groups, and economic activities are organised primarily on the level of the individual household. By contrast, the village of Dund-Us can be described as one large neighbourhood. For most of the day, this is a rather quiet place, except in front of the administrative building where people sit together, exchange news, and have a chat. The village is also split by a wide rift in the middle of the place where no houses have ever been built due to the threat of sudden foods, although I have never witnessed any such myself. Public buildings, including school, kindergarten, and administration, are along the eastern edge of the settlement, near to the river. Although in several cases agnates live concentrated in parts of the settlement, this is far from a general pattern. One reason is that during socialist times, when the foundation of the settlement was laid, it was often only one of the brothers who took up residence here, while the others remained pastoralists or moved to town. Within the village, people started building their courtyards wherever there happened to be free space available. This is still the case today, and there are no formal regulations (nor, as mentioned, any fee to be paid). Relationships within the settlement are somewhat more intense because distances are less, and people walk up and down the village throughout the day. In recent years, due to the fact that more and more families settle here, Dund-Us has become more of a centre for the sum population again. It is not a thriving community with central squares or public places, but it became a bit more of a point of reference also for the rural population, as it had been in socialist times. Towards the evening, the largest shop in the settlement, opposite the petrol station, sometimes attracts younger men to get together and buy vodka or beer. But soon the place will be again deserted as people head for dinner, continue visiting each other for a chat, or fnish some business.

Social networks and mutual support Apart from household and residential groups, kinship is of similar importance in other types of networks. And there are the same issues at hand as discussed in relation to camp composition or the failure of grass-root organisations in trade and pasture management. While there is quite a bit of mutual support and reciprocity, this is often hampered by a lack of trust that is widely acknowledged, if not overemphasised. Some trace this back to the socialist period when people became accountable primarily vertical to state authorities rather than horizontally to their kin, friends, and neighbours. Others blame the new market economy, while yet another view sees it as a matter of fact, or even a general trait of Qazaq society – in contrast to Mongols. As I have argued, at least part of the explanation

Social webs and hierarchies 203 seems to lie in the specifc demands of a pastoral economy for ad hoc and individualistic decision-making that often does not allow much compromise. In addition, time horizons are generally low due to the possibility of everyone moving to Qazaqstan, and thus any long-term investment into social security networks is potentially of limited utility. Of course, as in any human society, cooperation does take place. In fact, it happens frequently and also beyond the boundaries of close kin or joint residence groups. And individuals who consistently refuse to help are frowned upon. Cooperation as such, however, is largely understood as part of an exchange system, which may take the form of balanced or generalised reciprocity. Some help is given without that anyone would ever dare to talk about. Thus, for example, if a neighbour, a veterinarian, or an anthropologist drops by when furniture has to be removed or a foal to be captured, it is self-explaining to give hands. The same is true for helping others in fnding lost animals. Everyone will keep an eye and eventually inform the owner. Most will also try to catch the sought-after livestock should they fnd it. However, as soon as real costs beyond a moderate amount of physical labour is involved, some kind of reciprocating will be expected. The closer people are related, the less immediate the return may be. If asked about the responsibility for helping, probably all Qazaqs, and most Mongols, would list patrilineal kin in the frst place. As we have seen, this corresponds to some reality when it comes to campsites or economic exchange. It is also part of a social ideology and refusing help to one’s brother or cousin would be strongly condemned – which does not mean that it never happens. Second comes, at least in the emic view, matrilateral kin. I have shown above that this does not refect reality to the same degree and that, in fact, one’s nağašı are mostly avoided. Again, this does not imply that one cannot turn to them in case of need, but it is the exception rather than the rule. Close affnes, by contrast, play a huge role, and particularly sons- and brothers-in-law are expected to help out whenever needed. Quda, by contrast, is largely a relationship of mutual respect, which does not translate into a lot of support or cooperation in everyday life. Friends play a role as well. They are quite important depending on the issue at stake. It is just that they may not always be as reliable and are diffcult to enforce by means of social pressure or threats of sanctioning. But friends can be of great importance in a number of situations and particularly people of the same age, called qurdas in Qazaq, who went together to school or eventually military service, are by defnition close and a source of help. And while qurdas friendships are based on long-term acquaintance, the concept can be extended also to newly arriving visitors. With many Qazaqs born in the same year as me, I had close relationships from early on. After all we would have been classmates had I been around at the same place back in our childhood. To be of the same age also allows a more relaxed relationship. Friendships also exist between Qazaqs and Mongols, and indeed, as Däwren phrased it, they are often preferable exactly because they are not interfering with kinship of any kind. But inter-ethnic friendship seems to have become less frequent and less intense than it once had been.

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Any kind of help from authorities is not something people believe in. Qazaqs and Mongols have a very low idea of the state in that respect. There are support programmes for the needy, but the amount of money or goods they receive, such as coal in winter, is not suffcient to survive. So, anyone poor is also dependent on other social networks. The state helps in extraordinary circumstances, such as the consecutive jüt years, but only moderately. Of course, the same time period imposed high demands because livestock losses affected most parts of the country, and the western provinces may not have been highest on the national agenda for their physical and cultural distance. A few times I was also told of international help, of which none had reached the countryside. Some aspects of social networks have already been described in the context of economic activities and gift exchange. Bartering of foodstuff and other goods had been an important coping mechanism back in the 1990s when purchasing was diffcult and expensive due to highly unfavourable terms of trade. Therefore, livestock and agricultural products were often exchanged directly or in the form of delayed gift exchange. All these relationships were, however, based on ideas of reciprocity and expected to be returned at the next convenient moment. The problem back then was that dependencies had become asymmetrical, as residents of the sum-centre had little to offer to compensate for the products they received. This was an issue primarily for farmers, some of whom reported that they would give as much as one-third of their harvest to kin for free. Melons in particular became a favourite gift. By contrast, hay and fuel were rarely exchanged within kin networks but traded for money or livestock (Finke 2004). Qımız is a very particular case and has always been a favoured drink in public and private events. But due to the amount of labour it demands, there have always been only some families who milked their mares regularly. Over the years, this has decreased because most herding households have larger focks of small stock to take care of at the same time. During my last stay in 2018, there was only a handful in the third bag who still produced qımız. These were then highly sought after as companions but also for buying larger amounts for upcoming festivities. One of the most important and reliable sources was Äwes (#2) who milked around a dozen mares throughout the summer. His summer camp was conveniently located near the mouth of the Örgön-Shireg and Baruun-Salaa valleys so that customers from the sum or even aymag-centre could easily reach him. Visitors would always be served a bowl, but Äwes took care that enough remained as a commodity. In addition to foodstuff, other goods are also exchanged frequently. One such thing is labour. As stated earlier, it is a common habit that visitors and people passing by provide help when they see others working. More time-consuming activities such as digging a storage bunker for potatoes have to be planned, and people will be asked for help beforehand. All neighbours on reasonably good terms will show up if only to partake symbolically for a shorter period. A typical example for this is felt making. Being a very arduous, time-consuming, and boring work, but also one that accrues only every few years, this is rarely done by the households in need alone. In the summer of 2014, the family of Jetigen

Social webs and hierarchies 205 decided they needed new covers for their yurts. By that time, they settled in upper Baruun-Salaa, a rather convenient place as a transit route nearby the water, which is needed in great quantities when processing the wool. For two days, half of the valley, or so it looked like, was busy beating wool and pulling the felt-to-become. This included not only the family of Joldas (#1), their paternal cousin, but also several Qazaqs and Mongols in the neighbourhood who came by each for a few hours. And everyone else in reach or passing by would assist. During the day, the women of the camp of Jetigen prepared food for everyone and at the end distributed some presents, such as sweets for the children at home. Among Qazaqs, felt making is women’s work, and it can take a day or two to fnish, depending on the number of mats produced. In the case of Mongol households, I have also witnessed men participating in the job but am not sure how common that is. Hay making, by contrast, is in sole responsibility of those who harvest it for their own purposes (including sale). Kin or friends passing by will take over the scythes for a short while but watch out not to become heavily involved. This is equally an arduous and time-consuming job that occupies male labour force for much of late August and early September. But it is one that needs to be done every autumn and by everyone at the same time, which leaves little opportunities for mutual help. Families lacking suffcient manpower will ask relatives or friends for help, but this is in return for other products or services. In a similar way, money is borrowed with the understanding of a quick return. Otherwise, the relationship may suffer. Larger amounts of cash are rarely the object of such exchanges but rather moderate sums when in need for a purchase or buying petrol for a ride. An exception to this is when a ceremony is coming up or someone is in need of medical treatment. But then, the loan is often shared by many shoulders. The same is true for transport, which should ideally be disbursed on the spot. If a close relationship exists, one may get away with paying for the petrol and a small surcharge. For many years, this allowed some people in the sum-centre to reciprocate pastoral and agricultural goods they received. All others have to pay by kilometre, which quickly becomes an expensive business. Particularly diffcult is a trip to mountainous areas. The few remaining drivers of suitable vehicles, such as the legendary Russian jeeps, called jaran yös (“sixty-nine”) in the local context, are reluctant to risk the effort; all the more as spare parts are hard to fnd these days. As described, regular taxi routes have developed between the sumand aymag-centre for people to go back and forth at a reasonable price. Only 15 years ago this was a time- and money-consuming matter with lots of begging and arguing to fnd a driver. It often took me days to get to the city of Khovd, a distance of less than an hour, and I recall others having the same hazards persuading their neighbours, kin, or friends to give them a ride. “Kölik biledi.” (“the vehicle will know”) is still a frequent expression when people talk about the insecurity of their plans and arrangements. Other forms of help show more of an asymmetrical relationship, such as between father- and son-in-law, where services rather fow in one direction. Maybe most important in this regard is the already described herding of other people’s animals. This is an almost universal practice and has gained further in

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relevance during the last years with more and more families settling at least temporarily in the sum- and aymag-centres. Most crucial is small stock, as it is an absolute necessity for the animals to gain weight and strength for the following winter. This has, to a certain degree, become a business model that provides some herders like Azat (#4) or Erdenebaatar (#11) with a regular income. Many more do so as a side income, taking care of a few animals of close relatives or friends. But even then, it is nowadays usually remunerated in money or reciprocal services, such as hosting school children or cutting hay. Striking are the changes regarding whom animals are entrusted to. Roughly 20 per cent of people in Dund-Us herd their animals by themselves. If their fock is not very small, this usually implies that they settle at least parts of the year outside the settlement. Interestingly, this number has not changed since the 1990s (cf. Table 6.3). Also, the importance of patrilineal has stayed more or less the same, with 41.8 and 45.9 per cent, respectively, while the proportion of affnes among herders has decreased slightly from 30.3 to 28.6 per cent. What has changed, however, is the relevance of individual categories within those. While in 1996, fathers were overall the largest group to take responsibility, they had by 2013 almost disappeared from the table. Caused by the changes in settlement patterns, their role has shifted largely to elder brothers and sons, who in 1996 did not represent a single case as, by that time, it was always the younger generation who moved to the centre. Also, more distant patrilineal relatives became more important. Among affnes, such changes cannot be ascertained, except for the shrinking role of quda relationships. Finding a herder willing to take over one’s fock has not become easier over the years. As fewer people are in the pastoral business and these have, on average, larger herds, opportunity costs to take over herding duties have increased. After Table 6.3 Categories of people taking care of livestock from families in the sum-centre

Owner himself Patrilineal kin

Affnes

Sister’s son (jiyen) Friends/non-kin Total

Father Elder brother Younger brother Son Other patrilineals Father-in-law qayın ağa baldız jezde küyew bala baja quda

1996

%

2013

%

17 15 4 12 0 2 8 2 1 2 2 2 7 1 4 79

21.5 19.0 5.1 15.2 0.0 2.5 10.1 2.5 1.3 2.5 2.5 2.5 8.9 1.3 5.1

20 3 12 15 4 11 9 4 2 2 4 3 4 1 4 98

20.4 3.1 12.2 15.3 4.1 11.2 9.2 4.1 2.0 2.0 4.1 3.1 4.1 1.0 4.1

Social webs and hierarchies 207 all, it is still more important to see one’s own livestock thriving. And even if one fnds a herder, this is not as reliable and long term as it used to be. So was the experience of Quralay, a teacher at the local school whose husband spent much of the summer of 2018 visiting relatives in Qazaqstan. One day, very much out of the blue, the hired herder of their small stock sent her a note that she has to take over the animals because he will move to the plains only with his own fock. This kept her busy for a couple of days, at a time when the beginning of the school year was to be prepared. To fnd a trustworthy herder is maybe the biggest challenge for people in Khovd-sum. A crucial issue here is, obviously, what happens, should an animal die. The answers were unanimously ambivalent. It depends. Simply speaking the shepherd will have to pay in case he can be held responsible. Examples include sheep eaten by wolves or falling down a rock. In case of sickness, the situation is more diffcult, and herders should recognise problems early on to call a veterinarian who may then establish accountability. But much of that remains a matter of interpretation. The fact that I did not hear any stories of serious confict over the years may indicate that so far little has happened. Only the provision with hay storage for entrusted livestock has become increasingly a matter of negotiation as hired herders want to assure themselves against the threat of losses due to jüt. The situation turns very different when someone is in need of help and is not expected to be able to reciprocate anytime soon. One main reason for this is illness or premature death. In such cases, help will be provided and again close patrilineal will step forward frst. There is a clear understanding that people have to be cared for to guarantee their physical and social survival, as kind of a moral economy, and while many people during the early 1990s lived in meagre circumstances, no one ever faced the threat of starvation. Other circumstances are less clear, such as bad luck in herding management. If people suffer higher-thanaverage losses of animals due to predators or diffcult climatic conditions, this is usually blamed on their lack of skills or laziness. Still, in dramatic cases they are provided with animals to guarantee the continuity of the family, as in the case of Süleymen in the beginning of this chapter. Norms of mutual support are stronger in this case than short-term advantage calculations. It has been mentioned that cooperation also within the camp is related to the degree of kinship between the involved families. The same is true for other social networks. Close agnates are expected to help, and a refusal or elusion will be condemned and gossiped about. The same relationships manifest in mutual visits. It is mandatory to entertain anyone coming into one’s house, even a total stranger, but the type and degree of hospitality varies with closeness, age, and objective. For esteemed guests who come from further away, be that a distant part of the sum, from Bayan-Ölgiy, or from Qazaqstan, slaughtering a sheep (and eventually opening a bottle of vodka) is the norm, although one that, like every norm, will not be implemented in each occasion. But it is not only the obligation to host. Equally mandatory is the complementary obligation, namely, to come by. Visitors from Qazaqstan at any rate have to tour through the whole sum and assure not to forget any close kin when doing so. Gifts are exchanged on this

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occasion, and the guest will often be asked to stay overnight, which is expected if the person is a close kin. The Qazaq term for mutual visit is qıdıruw, which entails the connotation of moving from one place to the next, being entertained, and having conversations along the way. Qıdıruw may happen upon an invitation or spontaneously. As a term, it implies that it is not for any business but for the sake of enjoying each other’s company and catching up. If unsure, people will ask whether one comes for a particular purpose that is broadly defned as work (“šarwań bar ma?”) or for the sake of entertainment. Qıdıruw is not restricted to men, but also women from neighbouring camps or in the sum-centre visit each other and will be served tea and food by every hosting family. This usually involves the exchange of small gifts such as sweets for the children. As described, mutual visits are also instrumental for the gathering of information on pastoral management issues. They are equally important for women to stay in contact with their family of origin. At other occasions, rules of visiting are less strict, but a systematic neglect will be disapproved and cause tensions to the relationship. Of course, it is then also a sign of an already existing discord. At least adults have places to stay in different parts of the sum- or in the aymagcentre should they be in need of accommodation. This goes both ways, namely visits to the settlement as those to the countryside. Sometimes people bring their children to relatives summering in the mountains or spending the autumn near the agricultural felds to spend a few days in affuence of qımız or melons, respectively. At the same time, as mentioned, many herders prefer their children to stay with relatives during school days rather than have them in the dormitory. Reasons can be manifold, including food and heating but also closer supervision, especially for girls. In turn, the families taking care will be supported with pastoral and agricultural products. Another issue is sickness or otherwise induced labour shortage, in which case close relatives, especially female ones, may move in temporarily to help out. A very particular case of help was back in the mid-1990s upon the return of migrants from Qazaqstan. All of them received animals to build up an existence in Mongolia again, and some ended up with sizeable herds. Even befriended Mongols would give them some livestock. I know of families who were able to start again with 100 sheep and goats, back then a decent number (Finke 2004). This quickly changed, and in later years returnees would receive few animals or none at all. Already when Moldabay (#8) decided to come back in the late 1990s, he had to start from scratch with a small herd of a few dozen animals. Presumably, this also has to do with the changing image of Qazaqstan, as a place where one can earn a living. In particular since the economic recovery in the early 2000s, there seems to be no excuse anymore for not being able to make it, although everyone is aware that the situations in those parts of Qazaqstan, where most migrants from Khovd-sum live, are rather precarious. By contrast, there was, as far as I could establish, little mutual help during the jüt years. This can partly be explained by the fact that everyone was affected in one way or another, although in practice fatalities varied widely, as shown in

Social webs and hierarchies 209 Chapter 4. Those who lost all or most of their animals left the pastoral sector and, in most cases, moved to town, or eventually to Qazaqstan. There was no systematic attempt to support such cases within the community where everyone seemed under stress him- or herself. Hardly any household saw its herd size increase in those days, but everyone tried to keep things together in case of a new jüt coming up. As mentioned, state support existed but was rather limited, equally due to the tremendous scale of destruction all over the country. Help thus often has to be requested, or demanded depending on the power relations between the persons involved, and will not be granted immediately. Typically, people come up with a number of excuses as to why it is diffcult for them to provide a ride or lend some money. When the excuses are repeated several times, the querist will at some point stop and look for another potential source of help. On the other hand, people who are known for their reluctance to help will also become the target of gossip, even if no other social sanctioning will take place. Generosity and helpfulness are highly valued personal traits and may be advantageous when it comes to patterns of reciprocity, but so are being assertive and straightforward. It is individual responsibility to make oneself heard when there is need for support, and to refuse such approaches when the demand seems disproportionate or opportunity costs are too high.

Social stratifcation and conficts Common sense and most social theory would predict that a transition from socialist plans to a market economy inevitably entails processes of social stratifcation. Mongolia is certainly no counterexample to that. Since the early 1990s, a steady increase in inequality has set in and has been accelerating over the years. Differences in skills and chance now have the potential to lead to fundamental wealth distinctions. Equally important is the ability to transform disparities in social capital, all clearly existing also in the previous system, into economic assets and vice versa. And, maybe most relevant, the “age of the market” (Marin 2008) allows to transmit wealth, and inequality, much easier from generation to generation via inheritance. Thus, stratifcation turns gradually into a permanent face of society. As is common among pastoralists, property in livestock is a key measurement of wealth in Khovd-sum but has lost exclusivity over the years. In the 1990s, people would usually refer to the number of animals a household owns to describe their economic standing. Having a truck or growing potatoes was also a good source of income, but for wealth accumulation it would usually be converted back into livestock. The thresholds have been listed earlier, but commonly a herd size of less than 100 was considered poor, while the rich began with holdings of more than 500 animals. Obviously, any such number has to be related with herd composition, family size, and other income sources. But as a thumb rule, these were the most common fgures used. It is not as easy to defne prosperity today. Livestock numbers are still used as indicators and are clearly aimed for also as a sign of success, but other factors

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increasingly come into play. This has a lot to do with the wider array of alternative investments people make use of. Means of transportation, for example, have become very popular to purchase from surpluses, and, as shown, during the recent jüt some converted their animals-to-die into trucks or motorbikes. Another visible expression of wealth are the new houses in the sum-centre. Dozens of construction sites popped up around the year 2013 at every corner of the settlement, both renovations and replacements of earlier buildings as well as homes for newcomers from the countryside. Moreover, as also mentioned, houses began to differ in size and style as well as in furnishing. By the year 2014, the frst two-storey building had appeared, and the next years several more followed. Their owners were all members of the local elite, working as teachers, as physicians, or in the sum administration. As with life cycle ceremonies, this set two different signals. On the one hand, it is about demonstrating one’s success in ways very typical in many parts of the world. On the other hand, and this may have been the initial driver, it is also a competition within the elite and the pressure to keep up with one’s peers. In either case, differences in wealth and status began being expressed openly, as it had not been the case before. I will refrain here from giving concrete examples, in order not to put the fnger on any individual undeservedly as this is rather a gradual trend in society. Education is another sphere where this has become more and more apparent. During socialist times, as mentioned, there was already a tendency for children of parents with higher education to follow a generational path. But social permeability was high, and children with a pastoral or agricultural background had a fair chance to get into college. Several families I know had someone who studied abroad, in Moscow, Prague, or Dresden for that matter, although their particular specialisation could not always be put to proper use back in Mongolia. Mektephan, for example, who had studied mathematics in Tashkent, became a teacher of Russian language after his return because there was apparently higher demand for that. Back then, such programmes were set up at the national level or even beyond. Today, it is frst of all a matter of fnance, as all higher education has to be paid for. At the same time, a diploma seems pre-condition for any future job outside the rural economy, and parents who can afford it put great effort in getting their children into university. This also applies for herders or farmers. Striking is the fact that, by and large, this seems to be a yes or no decision, not a balancing one. If families have a certain amount of resources at their disposal, they try to get all their children higher education and will usually not split strategies. And striking is also, as just mentioned that such a strategy is not restricted to settled families. Many pastoralists equally envision a different future for their children. Some, like Joldas (#1), Azat (#4), Tsedensüren (#11), or Nergüy (#12), have enabled all their children to study at a college or university, except for the one son who is supposed to take over the business of his father. Others held similar ideas. “We will have all our children study. There is no prosperity in livestock (‘malda davlat joq’).”, said Quat when I spoke with him in summer 2018.

Social webs and hierarchies 211 One question then is if this rise in economic and social distinction gives ground to speak of the development of a class society. I would argue that it is too early to judge, also because livestock, as the diva-like resource it is, still plays too much of a role in the game. Also, there is yet little distinction in terms of everyday consumption habits or furnishing. But a general trend is observable and will likely continue with the availability of other ways to invest surpluses outside the pastoral economy. Another aspect of class society, yet lacking, is a differentiation of access to the means of production that would have a permanent character. Livestock is too fuctuating to do the job, and agricultural land is not in private ownership but allocated by way of lease contracts. The only durable trait, therefore, is jobs in the state hierarchy, and there is a clear tendency for those to be inherited within families. As mentioned, this was very different from the previous generation when children of pastoral or farming households had a fair chance for professional mobility. What is also recognisable is a tendency of rich and well-off families to marry among each other. This way, also the few paid jobs available are concentrated in a limited number of households. With a next generation of university graduates of the same families, this may turn into a self-reproducing structure. As a result, relationships among these families are also more intense, a trend already observable in the 1990s. It is not, however, necessarily the same group of people still around. While some of the dominating families in socialist times have been able to preserve their status, others failed to do so. And many more of them have left for Qazaqstan with the downturn in the 1990s. As a result, part of the current elites are newcomers to this circle. Local chiefs are almost inevitably Qazaqs. There are a few Uygurs among schoolteachers or in the administration, but their number is comparatively low. To the best of my knowledge, none of the sum governors, and none of the bag chiefs except for the fourth, have been Uygurs. This may also be a consequence of the focus on agriculture, somewhat separated territorially from the rest of the district. With Mongols, the situation is different. As mentioned, for decades the head of the sum-negdel in socialist times had been a Khalkha from outside the district. He continued to live in Dund-Us after his retirement and was well esteemed by everyone, as far as I could tell. But, of course, he had been appointed from above and did not refect local power relations. Today, Mongols play no role in the sum or bag administrations and do not feel well represented for that matter. The perception of the rich and the powerful is ambivalent. It is also rapidly changing. When I described the situation for the 1990s, it was still very much shaped by a socialist understanding (Finke 2004). The new rich then were accused of stinginess and a lack of cooperation. There was also an assumption that one cannot become rich without unfair means, be that in the course of privatisation or before. This has abated with the years, because people became used to the idea of the market and because they have seen the ups and downs of a livestock economy taking its toll. It is today, with some exceptions, not the same households who own hundreds or thousands of animals. And not all of these are

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direct indications of growing prosperity or impoverishment. People sell livestock for a variety of reasons, including a wedding party or buying a truck. The only ones who have been able to retain large herds of animals throughout the last 30 years is a group of rich Mongol families, although by far not all of them did, as evidenced in Chapter 4. But even among the wealthier, socialist ideas of equality have left their traces. Economic and social stratifcation may be perceived as a matter of fact, and one closely linked to diligence and entrepreneurship, but it is not considered a good thing per se. A change occurred also in attitudes towards the political leadership. In the 1990s, ideas were greatly infuenced by the previous regime where chiefs, reportedly, were rather duteous, visiting the pastoralists every other week to check for their needs and well-being. Now, so a frequent claim at that time, all they do is sit, drink, and play cards. Obviously, the lack of transportation means and the price of fuel were important aspects for the chiefs’ reduced mobility. This has changed to a certain degree. Accusations of nepotism still proliferate, but this is less so for corruption or a neglect of duties. One reason may indeed be the increase of salaries, which enable one to support a family. On the other hand, ideas about authorities are still very ambivalent, and local chiefs, as demonstrated, lack power and legitimacy to intervene the way they are expected to, for example, regarding issues of pasture allocation and protection. Such attitudes contrast sharply with statements made on the “general obedience to authorities” in Mongolia (Potkanski 1993: 124). Neither in local affairs in Khovd-sum nor in other settings, such as the provincial or the national capital, is there an atmosphere of anxiety and subordination. On the contrary, both Qazaqs and Mongols are rather outspoken when it comes to dealing with authorities. This was also the case during the late socialist days, and I remember heated debates with the then local chiefs. Within kinship networks, conficts are often solved by avoidance, e.g., by moving away or stop visiting each other. But if there is something at stake, an open and clear word is the rule. As stated above, what is lacking in Qazaq society in Khovd-sum, as well as among local Mongols, is an institution of traditional chiefs. I could not obtain reliable information whether these had existed in pre-socialist times, but if so, they have apparently not survived the negdel period. While there is a great deal of respect towards elders within and beyond families, it does not translate into power or the authority for confict mediation. As a consequence, the current political leadership, most of which is of a rather young age, does not have any background in previous aristocracies or lineage elders. In fact, they are the result of (by and large) democratic elections that take place every four years, at the local and national level. The last 20 years have seen a constant switch of power, paralleling the developments in the rest of the country, between the People’s Party, the successor of the Communist or Revolutionary Party, and the Democratic Union. Each switch also implied a change of the personnel at certain positions within the local administration or school hierarchy, although some posts have become more or less permanent with the growing professionalisation in accounting and statistics.

Social webs and hierarchies 213 In accordance with this, the job character of higher administrators has also changed and has adopted more features associated with a sophisticated state apparatus. Today, they all need to have some type of diploma. At work, it is expected to dress formally, and attitudes also show a certain degree of bureaucratic approach, which does not exist in my memory for the 1990s. Other insignia of power have not changed that much. The sum governor and other leading personnel are provided with a car, with or without a driver. And they are also entertained especially when they show up at a wedding party or for some other visits. Growing social stratifcation, in addition to the withdrawal of the state from local affairs, has also not made confict resolution any easier. I have in earlier sections pointed to several of the issues at hand, in particular livestock theft and trespassing of land rights. There is, of course, a whole bunch of other things that people quarrel about, including domestic disputes, inter-personal violence, or the proper usage of public resources. I will not go into each of these but pick up some aspects that serve to illustrate how conficts are dealt with in the local context and the problems in solving disputes or imposing sanctions on wrongdoers. Between kin, as described, close agnates will deal with tensions mainly by avoidance. Brothers who do not get along with one another settle apart and will often have very limited contact. In many cases, this is actually a lifelong attitude. If conficts become a matter of dispute, it is, as also mentioned, the women who often take the lead while men tend to refrain. This obviously helps keep patrilineal ideology intact and also allows an easier reconciliation while it puts pressure on the females and affnes in the family. It may also be a consequence of inheritance rules. Mutually unrelated mothers can be expected to care more for the future well-being of their sons and daughters rather than for peace within the patrilineage of their husbands. Land has been identifed as a key resource hotly disputed. This concerns both pastoral and agricultural land, although for both no private ownership exists. The issues with pastures have been elaborated in detail and will not be repeated here. Mechanisms for confict resolution regarding rights over seasonal use, as the most existential resource in the local economy, are, however, of utmost importance and can be decisive for the future. Disputes on arable land are comparatively rare and are largely about animals picking fruits and vegetables before the harvest, in which case the owner of the transgressor may have to pay a fne, as elaborated above. Livestock theft has been dealt with in some detail as well. Here the state plays a much bigger role, in case the delinquent is caught. Most raiding happens at night or when animals are left on their own in the steppes, and very often no witnesses can be found. People seem to know who the main offenders are, but if unable to provide evidence no informal measures for punishment are taken. As shown earlier, there are no institutionalised forms of confict resolution or mediation that allow people to take things into their own hands. Even if the transgressors are known for repeated misbehaviour, there is in most cases no course of action taken against them. They will be the target of gossiping and suffer from a bad reputation. But there is no long-lasting ostracising, and the

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offenders will still be part of the local community, are invited to wedding ceremonies, or have a word in public affairs. In other words, collective action proves to be a diffcult task both for the reasons of mistrust and short time horizons as well as the general character of individual decision-making and societal relationships. And as sanctions are rarely imposed, the expectations in institutions that people have are consequently low. This applies both to formal and informal arrangements. But it should be noted that this is only partially perceived as a problem, as it also allows the fexibility that is both needed in pastoral management and at the same time highly appreciated. Local offcials have, as explained, little at hand to impose the law in case of trespassing. Even less involved is the next level of the state, the provincial authorities, who hardly ever intervene. Regarding land rights, the legal situation is fuzzy enough to allow people in most cases to get away with trespassing. The almost desperate attempts by the bag and sum authorities to handle mass violation of seasonal allocation rules are illustrative in this regard. It is easier with theft, as outlined, in case the perpetrator is actually convicted. Still, enforcement mechanisms are weak and transaction costs high. With little resources at hand, it is often a challenge just to fnd petrol to drive up to pasture areas where trespassing takes place. And if people resist sanctioning, there is hardly any means to enforce rules. The only armed personnel in Khovd-sum are the two young police offcers who are rarely involved in any confict resolution and conduct their job mainly by patrolling in the central settlement, intervening when young men start fghting after too much vodka, or similar occasions. Luckily, deadly weapons are also a rarity for everyone else, and, with the exception of knives and some deer rifes, people have little to be afraid of physically.

Ethnic relations and transnational ties The last sentence points to the fact that in spite of tensions and occasional disputes over land, the situation in Khovd-sum, and in all of Mongolia, is harmonious compared to pastoralists – as well as non-pastoralists – in other parts of the world. This is true also for inter-ethnic relations, which are by and large peaceful, characterised by a high degree of mutual acceptance and cooperation. Most of the old-established Mongols are on reasonably good terms with their Qazaq neighbours and visit them for a wedding party, or just to chat during tea. This is true even for herders like Nergüy with whom they may have an issue when it comes to the transgression of seasonal pasture areas. It does not, however, translate into much mixing, in-betweens, or a fuidity of boundaries, which are, in fact, remarkably clear-cut and conceptualised as almost impassable. Although Ööld Mongols form a sizeable portion of the population in Khovd-sum and do claim this as their ancestral territory, in public understanding the district is strongly associated with Qazaqs. Local Uygurs, as well as the few Dungans, are more or less integrated within this larger community, while Mongols constitute a world of their own, even if friendships are common and a harmonious coexistence emphasised. The distinction is both a linguistic one,

Social webs and hierarchies 215 between Turkic- and Mongolian-speaking groups, and a religious one between Muslims and Buddhists. It is not that religion plays a very prominent role in everyday life or that there are many zealous followers on either side. In this respect, the long period of socialist propaganda, which was much more rigidly implemented than in the Soviet Union, certainly had a lasting impact. Both, Islamic and Buddhist practices have revived and are evoked on relevant dates. Some Qazaqs and Uygurs started to pray regularly, and a few also keep the fast during Ramadan. Still, adherents from other parts of the world probably consider people here as rather unorthodox and superfcial, to say the least. But when it comes to mutual differentiation, religious faith does play a role and is also instrumental in the avoidance of mixed marriages, particularly from the Qazaq point of view. To the best of my knowledge, none took ever place within the sum, although there were a few cases in Khovd city and other parts of the country. Having a Mongol friend is fne, but to allow one’s sister or daughter to marry that very person, which would imply that the children become Buddhists, is for most simply inconceivable.7 Beyond that there is also a line of mutual prejudices and resentments. Qazaqs think of Mongols as being less sophisticated, lazy, and prone to drinking. Mongols accuse Qazaqs of predatory practices against ecology, as “eating” nature, with little regards for long-term sustainable usage for reasons again linked to religion. On the other hand, Qazaqs perceive their stronger engagement in agriculture and the use of permanent houses as a sign of “being somewhat more civilised”, as a common saying goes. Hospitality is another distinctive feature claimed by Qazaqs and often conceded as such by Mongols. Indeed, all these ideas about each other are to a certain degree mutually acknowledged. And they do not lead to any concerted assault or a break of interaction. As mentioned, some of the elder Mongols speak Qazaq fuently, and many more understand it, although the communication will usually turn to Mongolian during mutual encounters. Inter-ethnic relations are by and large free of violence, and, as mentioned, the few homicides I have heard of over the years all involved members of the same group. Quarrels over pastures as well as livestock theft are not attributed to ethnic others per se, as is the case in other pastoral regions in the world (Schlee and Watson 2013). On the contrary, people fnd excuses for why herders like Nergüy (#12) have to transgress norms of allocation in order to allow animals to prosper. The picture is slightly different with the “new nomads”. Those originally from Khovd-sum have adapted without causing much attention, also due to the fact that they live of rather small herds. Wealthy herd owners, by contrast, who move in from neighbouring sum are looked at with more suspicion, by both Qazaqs and Mongols. As they are not accustomed to local rules and have less incentive to follow them, they might create trouble in the future, so a prevalent view. The fact that the Qazaq majority in Khovd-sum is a source of discomfort for Mongols from outside has so far probably prevented more of them from coming, as happened in neighbouring districts. But also with Mongols from the city, such as Gankhüü or Bayar, some Qazaqs have established friendly relations. People visit each other on ceremonies, they come over for labour-intensive tasks such as felt

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making, and they will inform their neighbours when they have seen lost animals, just as they do within their own respective group. As has been mentioned, some Mongols herd the animals of befriended Qazaqs, if for a monthly payment, and the other way around. Many Mongols buy or exchange hay for winter and spring with Qazaqs because they lack suffcient labour force in the household. In other spheres, interaction is less intensive. Qazaqs stop by in a Mongol yurt – sometimes for the sake of having a drink of shimiyn arkhi – but they avoid staying overnight because they dislike the food, in particular, animals not being slaughtered according to Islamic standards (and meat not being cooked long enough), and consider the yurts being managed less properly. When travelling myself with bag chiefs or veterinarians, we would usually make sure to head for a Qazaq awıl to spend the night, although I do recall one or two exemptions over the years. Mongols as well try to avoid a night in a Qazaq yurt, which effectively cuts them off from a place to stay in the sum-centre when they have to go there for administrative business. In recent years, the situation in the provincial capital of Khovd is said to have taken a turn for the worse with frequent fghting between groups of young men. In everyday life, little of that is noticeable and the city is still a multi-ethnic one, with Qazaqs (and Uygurs) dominating the district at the north-western fringe of the old town and next to the bridge across the Buyant that leads into Khovd-sum. They mix with Mongols in the streets and on the market but mostly maintain social networks that are rather separated. And even in Khovd-sum interaction is less than it used to be. Especially with the newly arrived Mongols, partly also with the younger generation of locals, contact is limited. In the provincial administration or the local university, there are few Qazaqs left and, so a frequent complaint, it has become very diffcult for them to get employment. Some national politicians, as well as people in urban areas, have asked the remaining Qazaqs to leave the country, and these voices have increased in recent years. I have not heard such statements in Khovd-sum but assume they would also not be made in my presence. After all, even for those Mongols with whom I have long and friendly relationships, I am too closely associated with Qazaqs. Uygurs, as the third ethnic group in the sum, do not really play a role in this scenario. Most Mongols hardly make any distinctions between them and Qazaqs. And also for the latter, this is only relevant when one wants to differentiate someone personally for whatever reason. Then people may be qualifed as Sart, without that this has the same insulting meaning that it has in Qazaqstan or Xinjiang. I also never heard anyone complaining about the fact that many of the local Uygurs, as well as Dungans, have joined in the migration to Qazaqstan, in spite of lacking the ethnic qualifcation to do so, formally speaking. Especially for Uygurs engaged in pastoralism the more signifcant point of reference when it comes to co-residence or mutual support are their respective affnal relatives. And all sons and daughters of Ibragim or Dawlet are married to Qazaq. As I did not spend as much time among the farmers in the fourth bag, I feel unable to say whether this distinction is of more relevance among them but doubt it very much.

Social webs and hierarchies 217 Relations with Qazaqs from other parts of Mongolia used to be rather limited, except for close kin. Most contacts concentrated on families in northern Khovd-aymag, that is to say the districts of Khovd, Erdenebüren, Buyant, Duut, and Myangad, as well as those in the provincial capital who form one larger network of relationships. There are rather few encounters with those from the southern sum of Bulgan and Üyench. Northern Khovd is also the range where most marriages used to take place. Until recently, it was rare to hear that a bride had come from Bayan-Ölgiy or that a daughter had moved there after her wedding. This has changed to some degree. Although I am unable to give any concrete numbers, the mentioning of quda relationships with Bayan-Ölgiy has clearly accelerated, presumably also due to the fall in the population at home. Still, the majority of marriages take place within northern Khovd province. This identifcation with home continues also after a move to Ulaanbaatar, or Qazaqstan for that matter. At university, so I was told, one used to hang out with Mongols from Khovd rather than with Qazaqs from Bayan-Ölgiy who are experienced as being different. Identifcation with the sum is strong, and even the bag serves as an object of some emotional attachment, although this naturally varies from individual to individual. Such loyalties show up, for example, at horse races and wrestling competitions during nawrız, the Qazaq New Year, or naadam, the Mongolian national holiday, while for private parties kinship is more important. Such a feeling of loyalty also applies to local Mongols, although some of them dream of a larger Ööld territory in combination with Erdenebüren. And while accusations of systematic discrimination by the Qazaq dominated, in fact exclusively Qazaq administration is rare, Mongols are indeed less integrated into public life and social networks. Qazaqs, on the other hand, usually show no signs of feeling like a minority and their attitude towards Mongols is one of confdence, for lack of a better term. I have earlier depicted the political situation of Qazaqs in Mongolia as having been fairly good and characterised by little discrimination (Finke 2004). This is still true today, although times are changing. Of course, the out-migration of half of the community has had an impact in this respect. As a consequence, Qazaqs not only decreased in numbers but also lost standing in the eyes of many Mongols, as demonstrated in Chapter 5 with regard to rights on pastures. This has been fuelled by allegations of cases where people migrate back and forth, capitalising on both locations by receiving dual pensions or engaging in illegal trade activities. Still, compared with many places in the world, Qazaqs fare well and have in principle equal rights and protection. In the political realm, they still have their positions, in parliament and other national organisations, but less than they used to. In the early 1990s, the situation was fraught for some time by the establishment of organisations asking for formal autonomy and more religious freedom for the Muslim minority in Mongolia. These have silenced, however, also because the massive out-migration has taken much legitimacy from such demands. Occasionally, disputes arise regarding their loyalty to the Mongolian state. And when demands on a vice-president of Qazaq ethnicity were made a few years ago, several members of parliament forcefully spoke out against it. In

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2014, fnally, rumours of a leading Qazaq politician being under house detention circulated in the country. But there are, as yet, no signs of politics directed to encourage Qazaqs to leave the country. On the contrary, there seems little effort to prevent individuals from coming back. The overwhelming majority of Qazaqs in Khovd-sum feel safe and more or less welcomed. In fact, Mongolia is usually praised as a haven of peace and freedom. Rarely did I hear any derogatory remarks. This is frequently contrasted with the situation in Qazaqstan where standards of democracy and economic self-determination are perceived as less advanced. Also, those who have left still consider Mongolia superior when it comes to political rights and liberties. And with the decision to stay, people had increasingly turned their strategies towards Ulaanbaatar in the course of the 2010s. Many families again sent their children to study in the capital or other Mongolian cities, as this was believed to increase their future job opportunities. Learning the national language, almost seen as an unnecessary burden some years ago, had become a priority again. Mongolian TV also regained importance, although channels from Qazaqstan are equally popular. The fact that the latter have greatly increased their proportion of flms, music shows, and series in the national language has certainly contributed to that. Russian language, by contrast, has greatly lost in relevance. Those who still live in Mongolia have a very ambivalent opinion about migration. While the motives for leaving are comprehensible to everyone, it has created a divided community, with roughly one half living on each side of the border. And as shown above, this affects each and every family and incurs not only fnancial but also emotional costs. It is diffcult to say for whom this is more of a burden, but the ones living in Qazaqstan today show even stronger transnational thinking than the ones who stayed (Finke 2013). The lack of integration at their new home only adds to the feeling of nostalgia for one’s place of birth (tuwğan jer), which is usually the frst thing people mention when asked about Mongolia. As indicated, this situation is to some degree gendered. And it is a challenge for everyone to keep up with all social expectations that are still in place. There is no family, which is not divided (bölünbegen üy joq). Of course, this is bad. And it is particularly diffcult when people die. For a wedding they can tell you months in advance, and you can plan on when and how to go. But for a funeral, you should be there within a day. That is, of course, impossible. But you should according to our tradition. (Jengis, 42-year-old former herder now residing in the sum-centre). Qazaqstan is perceived as a powerful and prosperous state where future perspectives are overall bright. But it is also blamed for a lack of democracy and individual freedom as well as widespread corruption. Qazaqstanian citizens I talked to were often amazed by the open and fearless appearance of migrants from Mongolia, taking their stand against authorities. But this did not prevent them from marginalisation. Those regions where the migrants from Khovd are

Social webs and hierarchies 219 concentrated are usually dominated by ethnic Russians or have been so until recently. And even local Qazaqs often have given up their native language or mixed it to a degree that makes it diffcult to understand for those coming from Mongolia or China. A lack of knowledge of Russian is in those places still a severe disadvantage on the job market, when engaging in trade or even for a visit to the public administration. It may thus be no surprise that for many families in Qazaqstan, especially the ones who arrived there after 2000, Mongolia is still an important point of reference and conversations often centre around relatives left behind (Finke 2013). Mutual relations are intensive, and information spreads very quickly across the border. People know within hours when important things happen. And such events will be a topic of conversation all over the sum. At the same time, what has increased is insignia of a shared Qazaq culture. The infuence on consumption patterns, especially food and drinks, has already been mentioned. CDs and videos with traditional music, either from Qazaqstan or from Xinjiang, has become very popular since the early 2000s. TV series from Qazaqstan – besides those from Turkey, India, and Korea – are broadcasted. So are the frequent music shows and comedies. But Qazaqstan is also a model for modernity and a place for national aspirations. During ceremonies, more and more songs stress a link to the imagined national home. Mutual visits are another source of information exchange, and they happen very frequently. During summer, there is virtually no moment without visitors from Qazaqstan who bring along news for everyone in the sum. They usually stay for several weeks during which they have to be hosted and entertained by kin and friends. Some make the trip almost every year. Especially the older generation who have children on both sides of the border may spend up to half of the year (usually the summer) in Mongolia, and the remaining months in Qazaqstan. All these visits impose not only physical hardship but also signifcant costs, both for the people travelling and for those who have to entertain them. It takes several days by car or bus and the crossing of one more border, either Russia or China, to reach their destination. And these days are neither comfortable nor safe, considering road conditions and custom practices. A visit to Qazaqstan costs you around a million tögrög. Half of this goes for travelling. The other half is for presents that you bring along. And, of course, it is expensive for those you visit as well. When we were in Pavlodar and Temirtaw last year, they slaughtered seven sheep in seven days for us. This is how we do it. (Talğat, 45-year-old farmer, in 2018) Trips to and from Qazaqstan are usually done by private cars. It needs quite a bit of organising to fll up one’s vehicle or to fnd a convenient seat, a frequent topic of conversation in summer. The alternative is to go to Ölgiy where there are taxis to major destinations in Qazaqstan waiting at the bazaar (cf. Illustration 6.2). On the other side of the border, there are also regular buses from Pavlodar and other cities, but they drive only up to the Russian-Mongolian border. An alternative is

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Illustration 6.2 Taxis at the bazaar in Ölgiy with their destinations in Qazaqstan (Peter Finke, 2011)

to go via China, which used to be preferred by Mongolian citizens who did not need a visa. The opposite was true for those with Qazaqstanian passports who could enter Russia freely. The situation has changed since the Russian president Vladimir Putin announced visa-free travel for citizens of Mongolia in the mid2010s. During the Corona Pandemic, all borders have been closed, and it needs to be seen what long-term impact this has on inter-state relationships. Weddings are probably the most single important event for mutual visits. Amazingly rare have so far been trans-border marriages between families who have left for Qazaqstan and those who stayed. I am aware of only a few individual cases, and these all took place during the last ten years or so. One reason for this gradual change is apparently the spread of new communication tools that allow schoolmates to stay in contact after one family has migrated. In either case, since weddings can be planned months ahead this is also less a problem, as Jengis noted. By contrast, funerals are obviously different, and a cause for frustration and pain if it turns out to be impossible to go on time when a close relative has passed away. To fulfl the necessary ceremonial duties, some of the commemorations, such as those on the seventh and the fortieth day, will be conducted on both sides. All this has put Mongolian Qazaqs into an intermediate position between both states, something that can be a burden or a source of suspicion as well as

Social webs and hierarchies 221 an asset to use. For the time being, both states have a relationship that is neither very close nor troubled by dissenting interests. The only issue seems to be the fate of the Qazaq community in Mongolia. And neither government is interfering much into this. Amazingly enough, so far there has also been no concerted action on the part of Ulaanbaatar to prevent Qazaqs from coming back or commuting between both places. But in relative terms, the bargaining position of Qazaqs has clearly worsened. Not only has the Mongolian state become much more national in character since the end of the socialist era, but also the constant fows back and forth across the border have devalued any entitlements, at least in the eyes of the majority population. And it is to be expected that further emigration will accelerate this process, leading to a situation where “one day we will all have to go”, as Azat put it. It is equally clear that the option of a return will not apply the same way in the future. People in Qazaqstan stated that now they cannot move back again. This was an option during a time of crisis in the 1990s when everyone understood this as a sensible decision. However, to come back now, from a place deemed as booming and full of potential, would admit a failure, as I was told when visiting people in their new homes in northern Qazaqstan. Either way is risky, to stay as well as to leave. At the same time, the usage of partial commuting between both states by some has not made the standing of Qazaqs in Mongolia easier in recent times. It is not so much that people envy them, but reports of individuals with two passports and two pensions have been bandied about and contribute to resentments. Nevertheless, so a common claim among Qazaqs, many of the local Mongols do not want them to go. They purportedly prefer to reside with people they know rather than with co-ethnics who would otherwise come in from neighbouring districts. Indeed, I heard Mongols such as Luvsan or Nergüy saying with sincere regret, although not about Qazaqs as a group but about particular individuals, that in their view it had been a mistake to go. And many kept asking me, with genuine concern it seemed to me, about the whereabouts of people I was expected to have met in Qazaqstan. But such a situation can change rapidly with new confgurations and alliances once the demographic balance will take a turn.

Conclusion An out-migration of such scale would undoubtedly cause ruptures in any setting in the world. It has resulted in a split society where literally every individual Qazaq and Uygur family has members living on the other side of the border. Transnational ties between both countries are accordingly strong and constitute an important part of everyday life, including relations with the majority population. Considering the economic diffculties and the constant political changes, inter-ethnic relations are still remarkably peaceful, if not particularly intimate. But should the migration accelerate again, within a short period of time few Qazaqs may be left behind and an infux of Mongol households from outside might be expected. As a consequence, the sum would probably be dissolved, putting the

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remaining Qazaqs in an even more precarious situation. Already now their bargaining power has clearly suffered from the transformations going on since the early 1990s. Striking is the low degree of mutual trust that people openly bemoan, and which is manifested in particular situations. Possible reasons for this are manifold. The most obvious candidates seem the rise of capitalism and the rapid social change as well as the comparatively short time horizons that grow out of that. But also, the on-going migration plays a role for similar reasons. And, if one of the principal arguments of this study holds true, it is also the highly individualised decision-making typical, and indeed necessary, in a pastoral economy that contributes to that. Some would claim that the socialist legacy – somewhat counter-intuitively – was also instrumental in de-legitimising informal institutions by replacing horizontal relationships within communities with vertical ones towards the state. This has impeded on any kind of collective action or the emergence of grass-root organisation as strategies to manage the contemporary world. On the other hand, the situation is not as bad as local discourses would prompt one to think. Mutual support does take place and is often quite generous, as shown in the case of Süleymen at the beginning of this chapter. It has so far prevented anyone from falling into a poverty trap that could be life threatening. In everyday matters, however, help is less generous and has to be requested, often with some insistency, before being granted. Although social embeddedness is certainly important, a strong idea of individual responsibility comes into play. It also accounts for the diffculties in resolving conficts on the local level. Social networks are crucial and usually entail a large number of people, but their robustness is limited beyond the scope of the extended family. The questioning of institutional reliability may therefore be justifed and, in turn, does not facilitate collective action. The acceleration of social stratifcation equally does not favour cooperative structures, if only for the fact that the likelihood of receiving reciprocal support is decreasing. One important tool to sanction uncooperative behaviour is then also disappearing. Although it would be premature to speak of a class society, people started to invest in ways, such as educational strategies, that make a permanent economic distinction more likely and more visible. A further increase in economic inequality will be a burden on social cohesion and possibly lead to the re-emergence of patronage constellations or other types of hierarchical labour relations. So far, there is a strong ideological component, inherited from socialist times, that condemns such distinctions. Time will tell how well this accommodates with a market logic promoting the legitimacy of individual luck and inequalities.

Notes 1 I myself was often called the German Botaqara or Šaqu, in reference to the lineage of my principal host family. 2 As in other Central Asian societies, name avoidance is a trait especially in affnal relationships. Daughters-in-law are not supposed to address any of the senior

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3 4 5 6

7

kin of their husbands by name. More generally, younger ones do not call their parents, elder siblings, and other patrilineal or matrilateral relatives older than themselves by name. Bride abduction seems to have been a common practice also during socialist times (Anna Portisch, personal communication). The ceremony of the frst haircut is not conducted with all children of a family but usually only one son or daughter. This may be either the frst-born or one where circumstances were special, e.g., a severe illness in early childhood. In Qazaqstan, by contrast, awıl is the term for village. During socialist times, a new term for the seasonal camp was also introduced, the suur’. Deriving from a verb suukh, “to sit, to settle down”, it was to foretell the on-going sedentarisation of pastoralists in Mongolia. In practice, however, nothing distinguished a suur’ from an awıl or khotayl. Relations between Qazaqs and the also Turkic-speaking but predominantly Buddhist Tuvinians in the very west of Bayan-Ölgiy-aymag are reportedly more strained (Taube 1996). The same is true for the situation in Bulgan-sum of southern Khovd province (Szynkiewicz 1987; Gil-White 1999). Here, in recent years fghting between Qazaqs and local Torguuts, another Oyrat group, has led to several casualties.

Bibliography Abildenova, Dinara. 2023. Marriage Ceremonies in Kazakhstan: Social Norms and Their Change. PhD diss., University of Zurich. Finke, Peter. 2004. Nomaden im Transformationsprozess: Kasachen in der Postsozialistischen Mongolei. Münster: Lit-Verlag. Finke, Peter. 2012. “Property Rights in Livestock among Mongolian-Pastoralists: Categories of Ownership and Categories of Control.” In Who Owns the Stock? Collective and Multiple Property Rights in Animals, edited by Günther Schlee and Anatoly M. Khazanov, 159–175. Oxford and New York: Berghahn Books. Finke, Peter. 2013. “Historical Homelands and Transnational Ties: The Case of the Kazak Oralman.” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie (Special Issue on Mobility and Identity in Central Asia) 138 (2): 175–194. Gil-White, Francesco. 1999. “How Thick Is Blood? The Plot Thickens...: If Ethnic Actors are Primordialists, What Remains of the Circumstantialist/Primordialist Controversy?” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22: 789–820. Hudson, Alfred E. 1938. Kazak Social Structure. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Marin, Andrei. 2008. “Between Cash Cows and Golden Calves: Adaptations of Mongolian Pastoralism in the “Age of the Market”.” Nomadic Peoples 12 (2): 75–101. Nyambuu, X. 1992. Mongolyn ugsaatny züy: Udirtgal [Ethnography of the Mongols: An Introduction]. Ulaanbaatar: Mongolian Academy of Sciences. Potkanski, Tomasz. 1993. “Decollectivisation of the Mongolian Pastoral Economy (1991–92): Some Economic and Social Consequences.” Nomadic Peoples 33: 123–135. Rinchen, B. 1979. Mongol ard ulsyn ugsaatny sudlal, khelniy shinjleliyn atlas [Ethnographic and Linguistic Atlas of the Mongol People]. Ulaanbaatar: Academy of Sciences of the Mongolian People’s Republic. Schlee, Günther, and Elisabeth Watson. 2013. Changing Identifcations and Alliances in North-East Africa (2 volumes). London and New York: Berghahn.

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Šildebay, Qılanbayulı, and Äbilmäjinulı Khovdabay. 2000. Qobda aymaq qazaqtarının šejiresi men Qobda sumın tarikhı. Ulaanbaatar: Mongolyn neelttey niygem khürleelen soros sangees sankhullev. Sneath, David. 2007. The Headless State: Aristocratic Orders, Kinship Society, and Misrepresentations of Nomadic Inner Asia. Columbia: University of Columbia Press. Szynkiewicz, Slawoj. 1987. “Ethnic Boundaries in Western Mongolia. A Case Study of a Somon in the Mongol Altai Region.” Journal of the Anglo-Mongolian Society 10 (1): 11–16. Taube, Erika. 1996. Zur gegenwärtigen Situation der Tuwiner im westmongolischen Altai. In Symbolae Turcologicae. Studies in Honour of Lars Johanson on his Sixtieth Birthday 8 March 1996, edited by Berta, Arpad, Bernt Brendemoen, and Claus Schönig, 231–225. Stockhom: Swedish Research Institute in Istanbul, Transactions, Vol. 6.

7

Flexibility and adaptation in pastoral decision-making

Change has been a key concept in this book. And I used it in two different meanings. One was to describe the inevitable nature of human life and society, which is dynamic and ever-changing, offering precarities and opportunities along the way. To this, people in western Mongolia have shown great adaptability, as they do everywhere in the world. The other type of change refers to the fundamental and often rough transformations that people faced during the last decades. The establishment and the later replacement of a socialist system with one driven by market forces has affected life in deep and irreversible ways. And so has the ongoing out-migration of half of the local population. Much of this applies to all countries in the region. But even among the former socialist states, Mongolia is in many respects something of an exception. The implementation of a planned economy happened smoother than in the Soviet Union and allowed adjustment to local peculiarities to a certain degree. For that reason, also pastoralism survived and, one might say, even fourished, alimented by its vertical integration into the multilateral socialist trade system, the COMECON. Equally, the transformation to a market-based economy since the 1990s followed its own path, one of rapid privatisation and liberalisation. In its early days, the consequence was a dramatic crisis and decline in living standards for almost everyone. But with time, a gradual recovery and adaptation set in, although still exposed to new downturns and insecurities. Qazaqs as the largest and most distinct minority in the country take a special position in this scenario. During socialist times, their status was, by all accounts, more or less equal to other ethnic groups, in spite of their relatively recent arrival. This has begun to change due to, on the one hand, the competitive nature of a capitalist economy and, on the other hand, the fact that half of them have left to resettle in the newly independent Republic of Qazaqstan. This has not only undermined their standing in Mongolia but, for many, also questioned their loyalty to the state. And it has jeopardised the reliability of investing in social networks due to the fact that everyone around could be gone by tomorrow. Like other nearby districts, Khovd-sum was severely affected by these frequent reshuffings and demographic changes, losing half of its former population. In spite of that, Qazaqs still dominate and, in fact, their proportion among the offcially registered households has even increased at the expense of Mongols and DOI: 10.4324/9781003148692-7

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Uygurs. Located near to the provincial capital and from there to the border with China, trade opportunities are comparatively good. At the same time, the capital of Ulaanbaatar is 1,500 km away and, also mentally, part of a different world. One goes there only in rare cases, such as for special medical treatment or enrolling at a national university. But the peculiarities do not stop here. Mongolia, and its western regions in particular, is a very unique place also for other reasons, with one of the coldest climates and the lowest population densities in the world. In combination with scarce and unpredictable natural vegetation, this forces people to adopt strategies that are often ad hoc and at times opportunistic when it comes to coordination with others. The situation is particularly severe in times of unfavourable weather conditions, which may leave little room for compromises. Households are then stuck in a dilemma between cooperating for the sake of one’s reputation and future participation in social networks or pursuing their individual interests to secure the survival of livestock as their prime means of production. Of course, pastoralism is quasi by defnition a risky business, and the past decades have shown this very vividly, culminating in the loss of millions of livestock during the recent jüt. At the same time, it offers the potential for a quick recovery and has thus been an attractive option even for those who had moved temporarily into other sectors. Luckily for pastoralists in Mongolia, they have one product to offer with a rather constant demand on the world market. The other good thing about cashmere is that it is easy to procure, store, and transport. In addition, it is of little value for domestic purposes, thus creating little opportunity costs. On the other hand, the increase in goat numbers may cause problems for the sustainable usage of pasture resources and create new economic dependencies or accelerate them. This could be envisioned when the Corona Pandemic caused the global market to crumble, and producers in Mongolia were left with piles of cashmere impossible to trade in. Never have pastoralists been autarch, but now that households are left on their own, this may quickly drive many of them into poverty. Systems of production and exchange come and go, but they leave their footprints behind. The transformations that pastoralists in Mongolia experienced over the last decades have been tremendous and changed life beyond recognition. Gone are the days of secure and suffcient incomes during socialist times, however ineffcient this system may have been. Today, also the ferce quarrels over modes of privatisation are a thing of the past that is rarely adhered to. So are the early days in its aftermath, when the country was shaken by a dramatic economic decline. People have, by and large, accommodated to the new area, with all its unpredictability. And they look somewhat more optimistically towards the future, although respect towards the volatility of a market economy is widespread and surely justifed. But compared to the frst years of transformation, the majority has clearly profted. It is market restrictions and defciencies, such as export bans or clandestine trade networks, that prove to be the greatest obstacles to successful adaptation.

Flexibility and adaptation in pastoral decision-making 227 One telling example of this is trade. This was not something that individual households had to bother with during the period of the negdel, which was the sole responsible organisation on the ground. Its dismantling left them without a functioning channel to sell their surpluses and buy needed goods at acceptable prices. Transaction costs were often prohibitively high, and as a consequence, the rural areas in Mongolia exhibited a partial retreat to barter trade and subsistence production, except for the sale of cashmere. Since the market gradually evolved as the principal institution for exchange, pastoralists and farmers alike have begun to make extensive use of it and in their majority are now able to derive a decent living from their products. Still, the fuidity of demand and prices poses a great challenge. The establishment of local grass-root organisation to facilitate joint trade activities and thus beneft from lower costs has so far been unsuccessful due to the lack of mutual trust, so the common explanation. People are then forced to be as fexible as possible when it comes to utilising economic opportunities. Livestock is a means of production of a very vulnerable nature, and once it is gone cannot reproduce anymore. This is different from a farmer who owns the land even after a crop failure. There is thus much at stake when times are rough, and cooperation may not be high on the agenda of those affected. One could model this as a social dilemma that, in the end, leaves everyone poorer and more exposed to the threat of natural hazards or resource degradation. But, on the other hand, the fexibility such a confguration offers seems to make up for that. While it may drive individual households out of the business, sometimes temporarily and sometimes permanently, the overall situation does not look that bad after all. And although the case of the Khovd-sum is not representative due to the availability of arable land and the population loss as a consequence of out-migration, neighbouring areas without such changes do confrm the general picture (Kelley 2019). Households as the main units of decision-making bear the risks and the opportunities that come along with the new economic regime. Consequently, diversifcation was the dominant strategy to encounter the uncertainty that characterised the early days of the transformation period. This is still the case but has turned into a mode of entrepreneurship over the years. And so has the trend to invest more broadly into the future. At the same time, decision-making processes are still impeded by a lack of suffcient information, maybe more than in other settings. Even if this has become better over the years, it still poses a challenge for successful calculation. Theories of bounded rationality equip us with tools of explanation to show that in such situations careful planning may actually be counterproductive. When too many factors are involved, and their relative measuring is unclear, decision-making becomes a kind of gambling and may paralyse actors, as has also been shown in relation to the second wave of migration to Qazaqstan. It is then usually better to search for heuristic shortcuts (Finke 2022). Of course, risk-aversion or risk-proneness is also related to economic status and wealth, as Cancian (1980) has already shown many years ago. Beginning with privatisation, a gradual stratifcation of society has set in and has been accelerating

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over the years. Ecological disasters played their role in this, although they may in pastoral societies also contain levelling aspects. But with time, patterns of social distinction started to become frmer and are now being transferred to the next generation. As has been demonstrated, a mixture of livestock and cultivation activities proves not only the safest but, in most cases, also the most lucrative strategy if the necessary labour force is available. The existence of arable land is certainly a great fortune for people in Khovd-sum and enables many families without sizeable herds to achieve a decent living. Land for pasturing and cultivation is the other crucial resource in this context. For both there exist very different forms of property rights and rules of allocation. Arable land is a rather straightforward matter and is assigned on a longterm lease basis. Because of the out-migration, there is not much dispute on that at the moment. This is very different from pastures. In principle, the previous regulations inherited from negdel times are still in power, but growing disregard initiated a transition from a common pool resource to an open access situation. And this, in turn, resembles indeed the basic structure of a ‘tragedy of the commons’, as fawed as the model by Hardin may be, eventually causing degradation of natural resources. This is grounded, however, not so much in the principal lack of institutional arrangements. Detrimental is rather the breakdown of existing mechanisms for sanctioning trespassing and the failure to establish new ones. To come to an agreement is not easy, given the temptation for individual herders to free ride but also as a consequence of growing inequality and ethnic oppositions. But externally imposed regulations based upon long-term user groups, such as the Green Gold campaign, will also not do the job because they interfere with herders’ needs for fexibility. The reason for that is, on the one hand, the complexity of seasonal migration patterns, caused by topographic and climatic peculiarities, and, on the other hand, the need to adapt to multi-species herds as a consequence of privatisation and the demands of the market. Freedom of movement is highly esteemed and seems a necessary condition for pastoral management. But it may, at times, threaten sustainable usage and cause conficts to erupt when trespassing of boundaries or time margins abound. From an institutional perspective, what exaggerates the situation is that at some point adherence to a particular rule, in this case, a type of property rights regime, becomes obsolete even for those who approve of it (Olson 1965; Ostrom 1990). When defance exceeds a certain threshold, the one obeying will be on the losing side and mutually agreed upon patterns can no longer be trusted. This is even more true in a context where monitoring and enforcement are costly and diffcult to implement. At the same time, there is a certain understanding of the need to bend existing rules to fnd suffcient grazing. For this reason, transgressors will usually get away as long as they do not cause an imminent threat to someone else. Pasture usage is closely related to patterns of joint residence and neighbourhood. In contrast to access to land, however, the issue here is not so much about the threat of conficts but the challenge of cooperating. Beyond the camp, as the main unit of pastoral management, everyone is part of multiple social networks

Flexibility and adaptation in pastoral decision-making 229 that encompass kin, friends, and neighbours. These are instrumental when it comes to pooling labour, herding each other’s animals, or supporting those in need. All this happens, maybe even more than people themselves report. No one will be left alone if the survival of the household is threatened. Social networks among pastoralists may be looser, or more fexible, than in other types of communities. But they fulfl important functions in case of need – and for the sake of sociality. And, for most situations, also trespassing of rules follows a known script that is mutually accepted and, to a certain degree, predictable. Otherwise, people risk more serious sanctions and ostracising. However, reciprocity and solidarity work only as long as the expectation to continue being in the same game prevails. The radical changes in the last decades together with the rapid social stratifcation and the on-going option of migration have put additional stress on that and will continue to do so. As game theory would predict, short time horizons are not a friend of cooperative patterns (Axelrod 1984). What this boils down to is the question of institutional reliability. For successful interaction, humans are dependent on the expectation that existing rules and regulations will be followed by others at least with a certain probability. Otherwise, developing one’s own plans and strategies becomes fruitless or a matter of gambling. As I have argued for the early post-socialist period, the rupture of state-backed formal institutional arrangements had contributed to a general distrust in their reliability or the likelihood that people will adhere to rules of any kind. At the same time, an expected return to informal institutions, based on kinship, joint residence, or the local community, was hampered by their weakening during socialism, presumably intended by the state or the communist party (Finke 2004). The on-going disputes on pasture allocation and mutual coordination within social networks then refect the general dilemma that this book tried to shed light on. Like humans everywhere, people in Khovd-sum are dependent for their living on a careful balance of pursuing their own interests and adhering to a given set of social rules of conduct. While most of the time, this does not jeopardise mutual relations, there is always the potential of confict if the situation should get out of control. Even then, the mechanisms for keeping things within limits are usually suffcient. It will have to be seen how the situation develops in the face of an increasingly globalised economy, the challenges of climate change, and a possible acceleration of stratifcation processes. Wealth is not the only source of inequality in this setting. There are other distinctions by which people exert power towards others. Obviously, this applies to gender and generational relations, as has been explored in this book. Ethnicity is another one, in particular with the rapidly nationalising character of the Mongolian – and Qazaqstanian – state. Differences in relative bargaining power over institutional arrangements have been shown to be of key relevance in explaining social confgurations and change. They had a deep impact on the way means of production were redistributed during privatisation, disfavouring Mongolian households and urban dwellers in general. And they also play an important role in the re-construction, or rather de-construction of allocation rules to land rights,

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where claims by Mongol herders for unconditional freedom of movement go largely unchallenged. The Qazaqs as the largest and most distinct minority in Mongolia always occupied a special place in the overall socio-political confguration. But the standing invitation to migrate to Qazaqstan, and the fact that more than half of them have already done so, did not change this for the better. While until recently little discrimination existed, this began to change with decreasing bargaining power in an atmosphere of growing nationalism and economic crises. On the local level, such contestations do not translate into violence so far, and hopefully will not do so, but many expressed increasing concern for their future in Mongolia. Friendships beyond ethnic boundaries still exist, but the bulk of one’s social networks and everyday encounters takes place within them, more than was true in the past. It is to be hoped that relationships stay as amicable, if distanced, as they are. Very much will depend on the future economic development. Most people have, as demonstrated, accommodated to the new market system and are eager to make use of the opportunities it creates. Today, few people feel nostalgic about a past where everything was readily available, and one had not to plan much in advance or take measurements against bad times. The volatility of the market is taken as a matter of fact. And it is consensus that things have improved remarkably since the chaos of the early 1990s. However, the future is anything but certain. The Corona Pandemic has been hitting Mongolia hard and has isolated it from world markets. Time will tell if and how the country will recover from that. Qazaqstan has been equally affected, which has not only stopped migration but also interrupted mutual transnational visits. The world is not the same anymore, but, if some of the arguments of this book hold true, the people in Khovd-sum and beyond will yet again fnd the means to adapt to this new situation. What then is to learn from this case? Clearly, Qazaqs in Khovd, and more generally pastoralists in Mongolia, tried hard to adapt to the new era of the market even if this was met with some suspicion in the beginning. This included a great deal of entrepreneurship whenever there seemed the opportunity. It could be hypothesised that the fexibility and individuality inherent in a pastoral way of life might have been an advantage in this regard. But such a claim would necessitate further comparative research. What it does equip people with are tools to deal with a particularly risky environment, ecological as well as political. This is a precondition to minimise the precarities at hand and to enable a household to make ends meet. I have also shown that at times trespassing becomes the dominant mode when there seems too much at stake to allow for much compromise. But even these situations, except for rare occasions, follow certain rules of conduct. Equally, mechanisms of sanctioning take effect only when deemed necessary. Nobody goes for a punitive expedition just for the sake of doing so. In a good year, people can move rather freely into unassigned territories without having to fear serious consequences. High opportunity costs may play a role here. But so does a prevailing attitude of generosity and laissez-faire rather than jealousy and

Flexibility and adaptation in pastoral decision-making 231 resentfulness, although both of these undoubtedly also exist. But as long as there is no imminent harm to be expected, people concede each other the right to search for the best opportunities at hand. It remains to be seen how sustainable such an attitude is in the face of growing stratifcation and strained inter-ethnic relations.

Bibliography Axelrod, Robert. 1984. The Evolution of Cooperation. New York: Basic Books. Cancian, Frank. 1980. “Risk and Uncertainty in Agricultural Decision Making.” In Agricultural Decision Making: Anthropological Contributions to Rural Development, edited by Peggy Barlett, 161–176. Orlando: Academic Press. Finke, Peter. 2004. Nomaden im Transformationsprozess: Kasachen in der PostSozialistischen Mongolei. Münster: Lit-Verlag. Finke, Peter. 2021. “Pastoralist Dilemmas: Where to Go and When to Move, or with Whom to Talk About.” Human Ecology 49 (4): 831–842. Finke, Peter. 2022. “Is Migrating a Rational Decision? Motives and Procedures of Qazaq Repatriation.” In Dynamics of Integration and Confict: Essays Inspired by the Anthropology of Günther Schlee, edited by Markus Hoehne, Echi Gabbert, and John Eidson, 272–290. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books. Kelley, Linda. 2019. Fleeting Hooves? Coping with Uncertainty in Times of Economic Boom and Bust in Contemporary Western Mongolia. PhD diss., University of Zurich. Olson, Mancur. 1965. The Logic of Collective Action. Public Goods and the Theory of Groups. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ostrom, Elinor. 1990. Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Glossary

aaruul abısın ağa aq süyek arıq awıl aymag ayrag ayran

(mgl.) dried curd made from fermented milk (cf. qurt) (qz.) women married to brothers or other close patrilineal relatives (qz.) elder brother or other close patrilineal relative older than oneself (qz.) traditional aristocratic estate in Qazaq society (qz.) irrigation channel (qz.) nomadic encampment (cf. khotayl) (mgl./qz.) province, upper level of the administrative structure in Mongolia (mgl.) fermented horse milk (cf. qımız) (qz.) yoghurt

bawırsaq bod

(mgl./qz.) sub-district, lower level of the administrative structure in Mongolia, brigade of socialist times (qz.) men married to sisters or other close female patrilineal relatives (qz.) younger brother of one’s wife or other close male patrilineal relative of hers (qz.) fried pastry (mgl.) large stock unit

dzüd

(mgl.) natural disaster (cf. jüt)

eń

(qz.) piece of material attached to the ear of small stock as property marker

ferm

(mgl./qz.) delivery point for milk in socialist times

ger

(mgl.) nomadic tent made out of felt (cf. üy)

ırımšıq

(qz.) cottage cheese

bag baja baldız

234

Glossary

jaylaw jezde jeti ata jurt jüt

(qz.) summer pasture area (cf. zuslan) (qz.) husband of one’s elder sister or other close female patrilineal relatives (qz.) literally: seven ancestors’; minimal lineage for exogamous purposes (qz.) place of home; customary seasonal campsite (cf. nutag) (qz.) natural disaster (cf. dzüd)

küzew

(mgl./qz) trade organisation as successor to the negdel (qz.) youngest son, heir to the parental household (mgl.) type of bush in the lowlands, used also for fuel and cooking (mgl.) animal shelters (cf. qasha) (mgl./qz) spring pasture area (mgl./qz.) sub-section of the brigade in socialist times (mgl.) small stock unit (mgl.) grass-root organisation, mostly for trade purposes (mgl.) territorial fefdom in pre-socialist times (mgl.) nomadic encampment (cf. awıl) (qz.) son in law or husband of other younger female patrilineal relatives (qz.) autumn pasture area (cf. namarjaa)

manjin

(mgl.) type of rutabaga

naadam nağašı namarjaa nawrız neg nutgiynkhan negdel nutag

(mgl.) main national holiday in Mongolia, 11.-12. July (qz.) collective term for matrilateral kin (mgl.) autumn pasture area (cf. küzew) (qz.) New Year holiday (of Iranian origin), 21. March (mgl.) people of one locality (mgl.) cooperative enterprise during the socialist period (mgl.) place of home; customary seasonal campsite (cf. jurt)

ondıq

(qz.) literally: group of ten; neighbourhood unit (out of function) (qz.) return migrant to Qazaqstan (cf. qandas) (qz.) seasonal move to distant pastures (mgl. otor) (mgl.) winter pasture area (cf. qıstaw)

kampan kenje khargana khashaa khavarjaa kheseg khonin tolgoy khorshoo khoshuu khotayl küyew bala

oralman otar övöljöö qandas qara šanğıraq qaša qayın

(qz.) literally: ‘blood-fellow’; return migrant to Qazaqstan (cf. oralman) (qz.) the fatherly yurt or roof wheel, symbolising the continuation of the household (qz.) animal shelters (cf. khashaa) (qz.) relatives of one’s wife or husband

Glossary 235 qımız qıstaw quda qurdas qurt

(qz.) fermented horse milk (cf. ayrag) (qz.) winter pasture area (cf. övöljöö) (qz.) affnal relatives by way of marriage of a family member (qz.) individuals of the same age, being born in the same year (qz.) dried curd made from fermented milk (cf. aaruul)

šejire shimiyn arkhi šubat sum

(qz.) genealogy (mgl.) distilled liquor made out of fermented milk (qz.) fermented camel milk (mgl./qz.) district, middle level of the administrative structure in Mongolia (qz.) lineage, clan; patrilineal descent unit of different genealogical levels (synonym to ruw used in Qazaqstan)

süyek

tam tańba tezek tögrög toy

(qz.) permanent houses in pasture areas or settlements (qz.) property marker branded on large stock (qz.) animal dung used as fuel (mgl.) national currency of Mongolia (qz). ceremony

üy

(qz.) nomadic tent made out of felt (cf. ger)

zuslan

(mgl.) summer pasture area (cf. jaylaw)

Index

aaruul see qurt adaptability 2, 4, 225 adaptation 2, 17, 54, 158–9, 161, 225–6; ecological adaptation 40, 196, 199; to the market 5, 82, 164 adoption 189, 191 affnes 51–2, 191, 193, 197–8, 200, 203, 206, 213 agriculture 1, 4, 6, 11, 16, 42, 55–9, 64, 67, 71–2, 86–7, 107–9, 111–2, 116, 122–3, 125, 134–5, 138, 141–2, 164, 175, 187, 199, 211, 215; see also arable land Altay, Mongolian 30–2, 34, 40, 153 annual cycles see grazing cycles aq süyek 49; see also elders arable land 1, 64, 68, 89, 124–5, 138, 174, 213, 227–8; see also agriculture authorities 20, 70, 170–1, 204, 212, 218; local 46, 76, 79–80, 122, 145, 175–6, 180, 214; national 4, 8, 76–7, 146, 175, 180, 202; within family 52, 102, 191, 198, 212 awıl 122–3, 144, 152, 159, 166, 169–70, 196, 198, 216, 223n5–6 Awız-Suw 156, 160, 171, 173, 175, 178–80 aymag-centre 35, 55, 58, 80, 91, 95, 111, 113, 122, 158, 161, 164, 169, 177, 194, 199, 204–6, 208; see also Khovd city ayrag see qımız bargaining power (theory) 9, 16–7, 48, 79–80, 97, 177, 181, 188, 221–2, 229–30 barter 75, 86, 89, 97, 107, 132, 227 Baruun-Salaa 44, 59n3, 155, 158, 162–5, 172, 178, 204–5

bawırsaq 131, 138 Bayan-Ölgiy 30–2, 34–5, 43, 46–7, 49, 60n5, 85, 89, 142n1, 182n1, 207, 217, 223n7; see also Ölgiy bazaar in 29, 82, 86–9, 95, 97, 109, 139, 160–1, 164–5, 219–20 bod 105, 114–5, 136; see also khonin tolgoy bounded rationality 14, 197, 227 bride abduction 193, 223fn3 bride-wealth 193 brigade 8, 20, 34, 44, 55, 70–5, 115 Buddhism: believes and practices 2, 13, 31, 215; clergy 8, 13; monasteries 70, 166 Buyant: district 33–4, 46, 68, 122, 126, 142n5, 146, 158, 169, 172, 176, 217; River 29–30, 34, 40, 44, 67–8, 79, 88, 109, 146, 148, 174, 216 carrying capacity 147 cars 47, 102, 105, 139–40, 193, 219 cashmere 107, 119, 126, 132, 226; export 85–6, 226; trade 66, 74, 82, 84–6, 97, 108, 128, 133–4, 136–8, 227 ceremonies 45, 128, 133, 135, 140, 153, 194, 201, 205, 215, 219; life cycle 134, 139, 193, 210, 223n4; master of 194; wedding 45, 47, 83, 133, 135, 139, 164, 193–5, 212–4, 217–8, 220 chiefs 20, 115, 150, 173, 177–8, 211–2, 216 China 7, 11–3, 35, 48, 219–20; trade with 30, 82, 84–7, 108, 120, 139, 226 city-dwellers 10, 35, 59, 82, 89, 165 climate change 1, 64, 229

Index collective action 15, 102, 141, 174, 180–1, 214, 222 collectivisation 8, 22n3, 32, 35, 58, 70, 78 COMECON 4, 9, 225 common property see property rights confict resolution 6, 175, 180, 213–4 consumption patterns 18, 48, 90, 140–1, 219 cooperation 2, 6–7, 14, 54, 141, 150, 185–6, 200–1, 203, 211, 214, 227; within families 112, 191, 194–6, 207 cooperatives see negdel Corona Pandemic 2, 38, 92, 134, 220, 226, 230 credit 8, 84, 117, 130 de-collectivisation 10, 18, 56, 59, 66, 74–5, 80, 101, 106, 197 debt 12, 85, 135 decision–making 3, 20, 91, 93–4, 111, 158, 170, 188, 225, 227; individualised 2, 6, 14, 102, 141, 144, 181, 186, 203, 214, 222 degradation 12, 15, 145, 147, 166, 181, 227–8; see also overgrazing democracy 3, 10, 94, 218 Democratic Party 10, 21, 46, 82, 212 descent 48, 50, 53, 60n8, 190–1, 194; see also patrilineal dilemma 5–6, 14–5, 167, 171, 174, 181, 226–7, 229 dispute 17, 21, 49, 52, 132, 170, 172–3, 175–6, 213–4, 229 diversifcation 6, 18, 58, 63, 72, 97, 101, 106–7, 125, 142, 164, 227 dowry 51, 69, 187, 193 Dund-Us 40, 44–7, 55, 57, 67, 72, 89, 104, 167, 202, 206, 211; see also sum-centre Dungan 35, 39, 52, 58, 68, 72, 90, 214, 216 dzüd see jüt education 9, 37, 46, 77, 82, 196; higher 33, 91, 95, 112; and stratifcation 90, 92, 96, 98, 101, 111, 121, 210, 222 elders 49, 102, 166, 187–8, 212 elections 10, 18, 21, 46, 212 electricity 47–8, 93, 187 emigration see migration entrepreneurship 9–10, 101, 141–2, 212, 227, 230 epidemics 12, 119, 125, 129

237

equality 7, 76, 81, 212 Erdenebüren 33–4, 38, 70, 166, 169, 172, 182n4, 217 ethnicity 2, 6, 33, 36–7, 52, 54, 79, 137–8, 142n4, 168–9, 172, 200–1, 217, 229 expectations, social 2, 5, 14, 16, 21, 214, 218 expenditures see expenses expenses 83, 87, 89, 112–3, 119, 131–2, 134–5, 138–9, 152, 186, 193 extended family 51, 54–5, 57–8, 71–3, 80, 93, 102, 107, 123, 186–9, 195, 197–8, 203, 222; see also nuclear families felt 44, 69, 102–3, 128, 133, 140, 201, 204–5, 215 fexibility 2, 4–7, 13, 63, 97, 101–2, 125, 141, 155, 159–60, 169, 176, 181, 214, 225, 227–8, 230 fock size see herd size four 69, 82, 85, 88–9, 95, 130, 135, 138–9 foodstuff 10, 85, 87, 89, 128, 131–2, 135, 138–9, 194, 198, 204 free riding 76, 145, 176 gender 13, 92, 102, 125, 186, 229 ger see yurt gift exchange 75, 86, 133, 204 gold mining 12–3, 70 government: local 79, 88, 91; Mongolia 10, 12, 30, 32, 46, 76–7, 98, 105, 130, 144, 149, 166, 175, 180, 186, 221; Qazaqstan XI, 1, 36–8, 90–3, 96, 221 grass-root organisation 85, 98, 180, 202, 222, 227 grazing cycles 19, 42, 55, 57–9, 73, 102, 104, 111, 145–7, 153, 155, 157–9, 162–3, 166–7, 169, 176, 181, 188, 200 Green Gold initiative 167, 200, 228 handicraft 69, 140 hay 43, 56, 67–70, 74, 76, 81, 87, 89, 102, 106, 120, 122–3, 129, 134, 148, 153, 155–6, 161, 204–7, 216 herd: herd size 4, 10, 65, 67, 70, 102, 107, 110–1, 113–4, 117, 119, 121, 124, 138, 145, 159, 162, 175, 197–8, 209; multi–species 6, 59, 107, 145, 163–4, 172, 177, 228; private

238

Index

animals 15, 56, 74–8, 80, 101, 162, 166 hides 63, 69, 74, 84–5, 87, 103, 125, 128, 133–4, 136–8 hospital 45, 47, 70, 72, 87 hospitality 52, 207, 215 houses 30, 46, 48, 90, 92, 104, 111, 121, 139–40, 142n1, 202, 210, 215; see also tam income 10, 12, 56–7, 69, 72, 82–3, 88–9, 97, 101, 105–6, 108–10, 112, 114, 116, 123–5, 131–9, 142, 150, 162, 164, 186, 206, 209, 226 industry 10, 80; industrial enterprises 11, 30, 80; industrial labour 33; industrial production 4, 9, 11, 30, 140; industrial sector 10, 22n5 inequality 4, 6, 9, 70, 78, 83, 98, 101– 2, 162, 185, 197, 209, 222, 228–9 information costs 15, 17, 76, 84, 87, 91–2, 102–3, 108, 111, 114, 145, 160–1, 164, 171, 208, 212, 219, 227 infrastructure 5, 30, 43, 63, 77, 81–2, 90, 96, 141, 146, 162 inheritance 50, 52, 186–8, 191, 209, 213 institutions 2, 5–7, 13, 15–8, 48, 64, 82, 102, 145, 150, 177, 180–1, 186, 189, 200, 212, 214, 222, 227, 229; institutional change 12, 16–7, 77; institutional reliability 222, 229 intermediate stops/movements 103, 156, 162, 164, 171–3, 178, 180 inversions 42, 153 irrigation 67, 109, 122; see also water Islam 133–4, 215–6 joint residence 54, 193, 196, 203, 228–9 Jungar see Oyrat jurt 51, 170 jüt 1, 4, 39, 42–3, 56–7, 59, 65–6, 68, 72, 81, 91, 98, 102, 108–11, 113–7, 119–21, 129–30, 132, 134, 138, 140, 146–8, 152, 162, 172–3, 204, 207–10, 226 kampan 81–3, 85 Kerey 49, 192 Khalkha-Mongols 30, 32–3, 72, 211 khargana 42, 47, 104, 135, 139, 155 khashaa see qasha khonin tolgoy 105, 114, 147; see also bod

khorshoo 85–6 khoshuu 166, 168–9 khotayl 158, 169, 196, 198–9, 223n6; see also awıl Khovd: city 41, 46–7, 58, 65, 68–9, 86–7, 89, 111, 113, 140, 165, 196, 215; province 32–3, 142n5, 168, 172, 217; River 29–30, 32, 34, 40, 42, 98n5, 146, 149, 157, 163 kindergarten 45, 70, 82, 202 kinship 13, 19, 48, 50, 52–4, 185–6, 190, 195, 199–200, 202–3, 207, 212, 217, 229 labour: force 8, 30, 33, 43, 66, 72, 87, 102, 107, 119, 122, 126, 132, 140, 148, 150, 152, 196, 205, 216, 228; pooling of 102, 152, 196–7, 229; wage labour 6, 131–2 language: Mongolian XI, 91, 218; Qazaq XI-XII, 31–2, 35–6, 59n3, 96, 218–9; school instruction 33, 35, 46 lease: agricultural land 97, 105, 122–3, 148, 211, 228; contracts (late socialism) 9–10; pastures 105, 166–7 leather see hides lineage 21, 48–50, 52–4, 60n8, n10, 160, 166, 189–91, 194, 197, 200, 212–3, 222n1 livestock theft 66, 106, 119, 138, 151, 213–5 living standards 9, 76, 101, 225 manjin 68, 130–1, 134 marriage 18, 50–3, 112, 135, 187–8, 190, 193, 196, 200, 217, 220; interethnic 2, 52, 215; lineage exogamy 50, 189–90, 199; see also bride abduction, bride-wealth matrilateral 51, 54, 189–90, 197, 203, 223n2 melons 68–9, 86, 88–9, 109, 123, 130, 134, 142n5, 204, 208 merchant(s) 69, 84, 86–8, 110 migration (to Qazaqstan) 4, 32, 35–6, 38–9, 52, 65, 80,90, 92, 104, 116, 167, 221, 230; impacts 4–5, 20, 38, 46, 80, 98, 112, 125, 147, 165, 167, 174, 177, 182, 188, 200, 217, 221, 228; and time horizons 5, 14, 85, 102, 186, 222, 229; motives 92, 95–6, 218, 221, 227 mobile phones 18, 48, 141, 151, 153

Index mobility 4, 44, 106, 113, 211–2; pastoral mobility 6, 12, 18, 39, 54–7, 67, 104, 106, 144–5, 153, 157–9, 161–2, 167, 181, 200 Mongolian Revolutionary People’s Party 8, 212 mosque 45, 47 mosquitoes 19, 42, 45, 130, 144, 146, 155, 158–61, 164–5, 173–4, 178–9 Muslim 2, 21, 31, 35, 43, 194, 215, 217 mutual support 6, 52, 152, 185–6, 190, 194, 199, 202, 207, 216, 222 naadam 217 nağašı see matrilateral nawrız 45, 217 Nayman 49–50, 190, 192 neg nutgiynkhan 169, 200 negdel: dissolvement 11, 77–83; foundation 8–9, 70–1; functioning 54, 56, 58–9, 67, 71–6, 106, 190, 212, 227; negdel and pasture allocation 145, 149, 159, 162–3, 166–8, 170, 175, 181, 188, 196, 228 neighbourhoods 21, 87, 95, 152, 164, 180, 193, 196, 199–202, 205, 228 networks 9, 97, 202–4, 207, 217, 222, 225–6, 228–9; ethnic 2, 107, 201, 216–7, 230; kin 53–4, 133, 165, 185–6, 190, 199, 202, 204, 212; solidarity 5–6, 190–1, 204 new nomads 108, 113, 116, 119, 172, 178, 201, 215 non-equilibrium system 147, 181 nuclear family 94, 102, 188, 198; see also extended family nutag see jurt Ölgiy 30, 33, 92, 219–20; see also Bayan-Ölgiy Ööld Mongols 33–5, 53, 60n10, 71, 86, 214, 217 open access 15, 145, 177, 181–2, 228 opportunity costs 80, 89, 107, 146, 164, 176–7, 206, 209, 226, 230 oralman see qandas Örgön-Shireg 156, 160, 162, 165, 169–72, 204 Orta Jüz 48–9, 192 otar 152–3, 167, 172, 177 overgrazing 12, 145, 148; see also degradation Oyrats 5, 31–3, 59n2, 166, 223n7

239

pasture: allocation 6, 10, 15, 17, 80, 104–5, 163, 166–8, 190, 201, 212, 228; confict/misuse 49, 107, 119, 122, 144–5, 148, 163–4, 171–3, 175–80, 182, 214–5, 228–9; high–altitude 39, 42, 44, 55, 128, 146, 153–5, 162, 172–3; lowlands 34, 39–40, 42, 68, 120, 146, 148–9, 153–6, 159, 162, 165, 176, 179; midlands 40, 45, 70, 146–7, 149, 154–5, 159, 167; pasture user groups (PUG) 169, 200 path dependency 17, 83 patrilineal 50–2, 54, 73, 189–91, 196–9, 203, 206–7, 213, 223n2 pension(s) 9, 37, 93, 116, 132, 217, 221 planned economy 3, 8, 64, 76, 82, 225 polygyny 50 post-socialism 6, 18, 63, 83, 114; postsocialist period 139, 144, 176, 229; post-socialist society 3, 15, 18; postsocialist world 10, 105 potatoes 1–2, 47, 64, 68–9, 85, 87–8, 107–10, 116–7, 122–4, 130–1, 134, 136–7, 139, 141, 161, 175, 204, 209 precarity 1, 4, 7, 101, 141, 225, 230 predators 12, 64, 150, 161, 165, 207 predictability 5, 15, 105, 181 prices 12, 15, 74, 76, 81–5, 87, 90, 97, 135–8, 140, 164, 227; agricultural products 89, 109, 134; commodities 89–90, 130, 139, 148, 162; livestock 43, 63, 78, 90, 106, 115, 133–4 private property see property rights privatisation 1, 5, 15, 17, 19, 82, 101, 107, 225; impacts 6, 63–4, 107–8, 113–5, 124, 147, 188, 227–8; local implementation 56, 59, 77–8, 229; opinions about 81–2, 211, 226; procedure 11, 77–8, 80 property rights 5, 16, 77, 97, 102, 104–5, 124, 228; common property 10, 15, 144, 168, 179, 181, 228; in pastureland 80, 144, 166–7, 228; private property 9, 74, 97, 167, 211, 213 qandas 36–7, 112 Qaq 155, 158, 161, 163, 165, 167, 171, 173–4, 177–9, 201 qara šanğıraq 51, 189 qaša 77, 81, 150, 153, 155, 157–8, 162, 165, 167–8, 172, 179, 188, 196

240

Index

qımız 74, 103, 111, 119, 127, 133, 153, 160, 194, 204, 208 quota system (for migration to Qazaqstan) 37–8, 91, 94, 96 qurt 127–8, 131, 133, 142n4 reciprocity 86, 132, 202–4, 209, 229 residential units 54, 73, 196, 199, 202 rhetoric skills 160, 173 risk 10, 42, 63, 84, 98, 101–2, 134, 141, 227; risk aversion 15, 67, 91, 96, 142, 227; risk management 4–6, 14, 18, 66, 88–9, 98, 101, 106, 110, 129, 140–1, 197, 205 Russia 9, 11, 30, 36, 43, 72, 74, 82, 84, 87, 96, 139, 219–20 Russian language XI-XII, 36–7, 46, 96,210, 218–9 salary see income sanctions (sanctioning) 9, 15, 47, 74, 76, 105, 131–3, 137–8, 145, 150, 175–6, 178–9, 181, 197, 203, 209, 213–4, 228–30 Sart see Uygurs school 9, 50, 96, 139, 146, 196, 203; Khovd–sum 37, 45–7, 70, 94, 202, 212 sedentarisation 2–3, 22n3, 165, 223n6 šejire 190, 192 shimiyn arkhi 84, 128, 133, 179, 194, 216 shock therapy 3, 82 shops: Dund–Us 45, 75, 83, 85, 89, 131, 139; Khovd city 47, 87–8 social change see transformation socialism 8, 12; end 9, 13, 18, 35, 76, 196; legacy 3, 64, 101, 229; system 3, 5, 8, 48, 71, 77 Soviet Union 2–3, 8–10, 18, 20, 30, 33, 106, 215, 225 state: authorities 77, 146, 175, 202; employees 11, 35, 56, 59, 71, 74, 80, 138; enterprises 10 stratifcation 4–6, 9, 18–9, 83, 90, 102, 112, 114, 124, 138, 141, 186, 193, 209, 212–3, 222, 227, 229, 231 sum governors 33, 46, 60n6, 71, 179, 211, 213 sum-centre 44, 47, 103–4, 140, 193, 201, 210; functions 71, 75, 83, 88–9, 139, 216; inhabitants 54, 56–7, 71–2, 86, 108, 123, 130–1, 134–5, 148, 151, 157, 204–6; see also Dund-Us sustainability 6, 12

tam 104, 139, 186, 188, 193; see also houses Taryalan 71–2 taxes (taxation) 83, 98, 105, 113 technology 18–9, 97, 128, 130, 140, 180 time horizons 14, 102, 186, 203, 214, 222, 229 time margins 145, 167, 228 toy see ceremonies trade: international 85, 102; petty 1, 6, 35, 142; terms of trade 84, 87, 97, 113, 134, 204 tragedy of the commons 15, 144, 166, 179, 181, 228 transaction costs 5, 15–7, 63, 84, 86, 90, 97, 102, 111, 141, 164, 214, 227 transformation 3, 5, 21, 21n1, 185–6, 222, 225; post–socialist 3, 5–6, 10–1, 56, 63, 77, 81–2, 97, 101, 106, 141, 225–7; socialist 8 transnational ties 6, 20, 214, 218, 221, 230 transportation 15, 17, 19, 47, 76, 81, 97, 121, 133, 148, 164, 170, 173, 200; means of 11, 77, 83, 119, 128, 148, 176, 210, 212; transportation costs 12, 74, 85, 139–40, 152, 158, 161–2, 199, 205 trespassing 15–6, 175, 228–30; agriculture 45, 174; pastures 6, 144–5, 161, 170, 172–3, 175–8, 180–1, 213–4, 228 trust 1–2, 4–7, 14, 18, 83, 85, 150, 169, 174, 185–6, 198, 202, 214, 222, 227, 229 tuition 135, 139 Tümtid 129, 155–7, 162–3, 173, 182n2, 187, 200 Ulaan-Khargana 44–5, 58–9, 72–3, 87, 111, 116, 119, 122, 134, 155–8, 162–4, 169, 176, 178, 196, 199 ultimogeniture 50, 187, 189; see also inheritance uncertainty 4, 6, 15, 63, 67, 80, 84, 86, 97–8, 101–2, 121, 170, 174, 227 university 46, 50, 90, 95, 97, 112, 134–5, 139–40, 187, 210–1; during socialism 9, 106; Khovd city 29, 112, 216; Qazaqstan 37–8, 91, 112; Ulaanbaatar 33, 92, 112, 217, 226 urban population see city-dwellers Uryankhay 31, 33–5

Index Uygurs 31, 35, 39, 52, 226; economy 58–9, 68, 72–3, 86, 88, 107, 109, 111, 122–3, 138, 211; history 34–5, 68, 71; in Khovd city 60n9, 165, 216; society 52, 54, 123, 152, 188, 194, 214–6, 221 vegetables 1, 8, 47, 68, 87–9, 108–10, 116–7, 122–4, 130–1, 134–7, 213 veterinarian(s) 20, 47, 55, 129, 203, 207, 216 veterinary services 8, 74, 129 vouchers 11, 77–8, 80 water 40, 42, 145–6, 149, 155, 168, 173, 196, 205; for irrigation 68–9,

241

109, 122, 129–30; rivers 40, 154; wells 8, 40, 46–7, 148–9, 155, 162, 168 wedding see ceremonies winter slaughter 86, 106, 133–4 wolves 13, 43, 69, 79, 130, 132, 150, 152, 161, 185, 200, 207 wool 8, 64, 73–4, 84–5, 107, 125, 128, 132–3, 136–40, 205 Xinjiang 31–2, 34, 48, 50, 52, 58, 68, 71, 142n1, 182n1, 216, 219 yurt 43–4, 104, 202; as household 51, 54, 72, 112, 186–8; construction 48, 69, 103, 140; Qazaq and Mongol 44, 103, 216