Jits temperature in Ulaanbaatar, the coldest capital in the world, reached minus 30°C. That didn’t deter thousands of Mongols from heading to the city’s sprawling Sukhbaatar Square for a remarkable series of anti-corruption protests. As The Economist in press, the spontaneous protests appeared to be about to enter their third week.
Nearly a third of Mongolia’s 3.3 million people live below the poverty line. But the mining economy of this continent-sized country has created a lot of wealth. Hummers are the vehicle of choice for the Mongolian elite. A developing Mongolian copper mine, Oyu Tolgoi, or “Turquoise Hill”, will be the fourth largest in the world. Yet, for now, coal is king. Northwest of Oyu Tolgoi are some of the largest deposits of high-grade, thermal coking coal in the world. They are dug up and transported in truck fleets (and more recently by a new railroad) across the Gobi Desert to China. This operation is managed by a public entity, Erdenes Tavan Tolgoi (and). It has long been synonymous in Mongolia with callousness and mismanagement.
The spark for the protests was an alleged massive theft of coal from the state-owned company’s stockpiles near the border with China; 385,000 tons may have disappeared. Crowds of mostly young Mongols poured into Sukhbaatar Square to show their disgust. After an initial attempt to storm the main government building adjacent to the square, the protests were peaceful. An optimistic, almost studious atmosphere permeates them. Participants debate new issues every day, such as the pros and cons of nonviolent protest. The scene is reminiscent of protests in the same square in the 1990s that toppled the former Mongolian communist regime.
A well-connected “coal mafia” is believed to be behind the theft. The names of its reputable members, including politicians, circulate on social networks. Many are familiar. More surprising is the response of President Ukhnaagiin Khurelsukh and his ruling party, the Mongolian People’s Party (provincial deputy). Several elders and leaders were arrested following the scandal. On December 13, the Mongolian anti-corruption body said a former president, Khaltmaagiin Battulga, was among nearly two dozen people under investigation.
It will take more to appease the protesters, suggests Oyungerel Tsedevdamba, a former minister who visits Sukhbaatar Square daily. The anti-corruption body is not independent. The fines and sentences imposed by the courts on those convicted of corruption are often disjointed. Moreover, the grievances voiced in the square, from the capital’s pea-soup smog to high inflation, go beyond coal theft.
Mr Khurelsukh may feel the need to offer protesters a sacrificial lamb, perhaps even his prime minister, Luvsannamsrain Oyun-Erdene. Or the protests could run out of steam, snuffed out by the cold. A third possibility, warns Julian Dierkes of the University of British Columbia, is that the so far leaderless movement could be hijacked by those seeking to circumvent the political process altogether. This would send Mongolia down the path of protest and revolution that has hurt other Asian countries, including Kyrgyzstan. A cold wind blows on the steppe.■