The Green Illusion: Nomadic Herders Trapped Between Tradition and Modernity

For generations, Mongolian herders lived by one principle: follow the water and grass. It was more than an economic strategy; it was a way of life that shaped the Mongolian language, social structure, and values. Spiritual traditions like Shamanism and Tibetan Buddhism cultivated a philosophy of balance, reverence, and coexistence with nature. Practices such as worshipping "Eternal Heaven" (Tengger) or offering to Aobao hill shrines reflected an ecological ethic, preserving grasslands through centuries of oral transmission (Ma).

This ancient tradition, however, has been systematically fractured in the modern era. Collectivization and settlement in the 1950s first eroded pastoral mobility. The household responsibility system in the 80s then fixed pasture use rights. By the turn of the 21st century, confronting severe grassland degradation and desertification, the Chinese government launched the "Returning Grazing to Grassland" program, introducing institutionalised grazing bans, rotational grazing, and stocking quotas. Ecological protection was elevated to a national strategy.

From a macro perspective, these measures appear justifiable. The initial policies in 2000 involved cutting herds in degraded areas and compensating herders with subsidies—the first "one-size-fits-all" restoration attempt. In 2011, a national subsidy and reward scheme further institutionalized those annual payments based on pasture area (Xinhua). Ecologically, the results seem positive, with official data indicating a steady improvement in grassland vegetation coverage since 2000, alongside a slowdown in desertification (Xinhua); between 2000 and 2020, NDVI indices in places like Hulunbuir climbed sharply, signalling a return of green to the pastures.

Recent policies have sought further refinements. In 2025, Inner Mongolia tied grazing bans directly to subsidy disbursement: households that fail to comply lose funds (Xinhua). That spring, 970 million mu of pasture entered resting periods, including 380 million mu under total bans and 590 million mu under stocking quotas, with "paid leave–style" subsidies provided (Xinhua). At the national level, new rules from the Ministry of Finance and the National Forestry and Grassland Administration mandated performance-based management of subsidies from 2025 onward. Compared with the crude bans of the early 2000s, today's system is, arguably, more transparent and precise.

A Herder's Perspective: Acceptance and Nuanced Realities

Amidst the policy debates, the voices of herders themselves often reveal a more complex picture. In interviews, many express a pragmatic acceptance. "Government policy has both good and bad aspects," one herder noted, "but herders can accept it." He acknowledged that tourism, promoted as an alternative income source, brings its own problems: "The constant movement of people causes serious damage." Yet, he also saw the environmental rationale: "The government implemented grazing bans to let the grass grow, which is good for the environment."

On the critical issue of subsidies, the herder confirmed they receive them annually but were clear-eyed about their limits: "It's only a partial compensation, not a full one, though it helps maintain our livelihood. The subsidy is tied to the grassland—no grassland, no subsidy." This sentiment echoes the broader structural mismatch between support and actual costs. When asked about the survival of traditional pastoralism, he pointed to seasonal adaptations: "Tourism is usually in summer. In winter, there's no tourism, so we can maintain our traditional herding ways." Yet, he also observed environmental change, recalling a time when "the grass was taller and greener," attributing the decline to both human activity and broader environmental factors.

Regarding international criticism of China's grassland policies, the herder's response was measured and highlighted local implementation over blanket condemnation: "Some areas don't feel that kind of pressure. There's no perfect solution; it's just that policy and local reality can differ. No one accepts it 100% or rejects it 100%—everyone has their own view. And the national policy has its own considerations." This pragmatic stance challenges simplistic narratives of either wholehearted endorsement or outright victimization.

The Unseen Costs: Beyond Ecology

Yet, even with this nuanced on-the-ground acceptance, the ecological gains come with deep social costs that subsidies alone cannot mend.

Surveys indicate 67% of herders believe maintaining nomadic ways is essential for cultural inheritance, yet grazing bans and sedentarization make "following water and grass" impossible (Wu & Du). For elders, this is an act of cultural uprooting. However, the heavy blows to traditions and identity are often overshadowed by more immediate economic predicaments. Herders are caught in a vicious financial cycle. Cattle and sheep prices have slumped; raising a single cow now incurs average losses surpassing thousands of yuan, with over a third of pastoral households reporting money loss (Sina Finance). Meanwhile, feed and labor costs soar, with subsidies covering only part of the gap. Living costs in pastoral areas far exceed those in farming regions: medical expenses are 2.4 times higher, education 2.1 times, transport and communication six times (Institutional Studies). For many families, grazing bans pile hardship upon hardship.

The lack of educational resources in pastures also forces families apart—with stresses fracturing familial ties, while anxiety and depression fuel. "Because there are no schools in the grasslands," said Subudehu, a professional psychologist who has worked for nearly a decade counselling pastoral families in Inner Mongolia, "mothers have to move to towns for their children's education, while fathers stay behind to look after livestock. Many couples grow distant after years apart." Furthermore, Mandarin proficiency has become the imperative ticket to education and formal employment, marginalizing older generations who are less adaptable and hence reliant on Mongolian. In cities, their inability to speak or be understood effectively sees opportunities vanish. "I have to teach in Mongolian," the psychologist said, "because some students don't fully understand Mandarin. If I speak Mandarin, they can't really follow." However, whenever she conducts livestream lessons in Mongolian, the platform shuts her down. This is quite a paradox, for the language policy born under practical concerns has complicated the situation even more, while almost serving as a constant reminder of how inconvenient the language of her people has become in a country that enforces an official tongue.

As deeper impacts of the grazing policies are being unravelled, earlier measures come off as insufficient. Cash subsidies may compensate for some lost income, but they do not tackle education, language, or psychological needs. A structural mismatch continues between subsidy levels and the actual costs borne by herders, and disparities across regions remain pronounced. This "green illusion" conceals social decline beneath improved ecological data. As Thomas Sowell warned, elites often trust aggregate figures while ignoring local knowledge and human costs.

If grassland governance is to be truly sustainable, it must restore balance between people and the environment. That means ensuring children in pastoral regions can attend school without breaking families apart; safeguarding Mongolian language education so that culture is not erased in the process of ecological protection; and acknowledging that herders' knowledge of land and livestock is not an obstacle but an asset to be integrated.

The grasslands undoubtedly need protection. Yet, the revival of green fields should not come at the expense of sacrificing herders' well-being and cultural heritage, but rather honoring both the land and its people.

Author: Weini Wang Editor: Qiyi Liao