Mongolia steps in the wrong
direction By Jeffrey Reeves
Two recent developments in Mongolia
provide insight into the country's political and
economic development. First, a jury sentenced
former Mongolian President Nambaryn Enkhbayar to
four years in prison on corruption charges. The
charges ranged from the very serious (millions of
dollars stolen from Mongolia's Erdenet Mining
Corporation) to the absurd (illegal use of just
over US$100 in office equipment in 2000). While
Enkhbayar can appeal, it seems very likely he will
spend at least some time in jail.
Second,
the Ulaanbaatar city government pulled down the
statue of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin that sat
prominently in front of the country's flagship
Ulaanbaatar Hotel, just off the capital's S
khbaatar Square. The city
has announced plans to auction off the statue,
with bidding starting at around $400.
At
face value, these two developments support the
narrative that Mongolia is developing into a
country committed to rule-of-law and capitalist
economic development. Analysts determined to
support Mongolia's current development trajectory
point to the government's willingness to pursue
corruption among politicians at the highest level
as a harbinger of good governance. Similarly, the
city's decision to topple the statue of Lenin is
evidence of good economic policy.
This
symbolic reading misses larger points about
political, economic, and social development in
Mongolia. Rather than heralding a new dawn of
transparency and accountability, both cases
suggest that Mongolia is flirting with a system
led by cronyism where the social contract between
the state and society is jettisoned in the name of
capitalism.
The sentence against Enkhbayar
tells us that Mongolia's judiciary is beholden to
prevailing political leadership. Enkhbayar's trial
was a rushed affair at best or a miscarriage of
justice at worst.
Enkhbayar answered all
charges against him but was still convicted
without compelling evidence. Many of his accusers
did not even bother to appear in court, choosing
instead to attend the Olympic Games in London.
Meanwhile, the conditions of Enkhbayar's detention
were so poor that Amnesty International felt it
necessary to lobby the Mongolian government for
better treatment on his behalf.
Enkhbayar's conviction also shows that
those in power are capable of using supposedly
nonpartisan institutions for political ends.
Mongolia's Independent Authority Against
Corruption (IAAC), which led the investigation
against Enkhbayar, reaffirmed its reputation for
inefficiency and even corruption, by leading what
many Mongolians view as a politically motivated
attack. While most Mongolians agree that Enkhbayar
is likely guilty of corruption, they also believe
he is no guiltier than other Mongolian
politicians.
The third important
conclusion is that the Mongolian government is not
interested in dealing effectively with corruption,
which is a real problem for the state. Rather than
systematically working to mitigate mechanisms that
allow members of Parliament to use political
positions for material gain, the Enkhbayar case
shows those in power will preserve their
privileges. Only those outside the existing
political structure need worry about corruption
charges.
What does all this have to do
with the statue of Lenin in front of the
Ulaanbaatar Hotel? For the 70 years that Mongolia
was a communist state, the Mongolian People's
Revolutionary Party (MPRP) ruled Mongolia with a
so-called system of democratic centralism. Under
this system, the MPRP promoted collectivization of
herds and industrialization in urban areas. While
the establishment of the system came at
considerable social cost, by the 1980s the MPRP's
policies had generated impressive economic growth.
The MPRP used this economic growth to
develop comprehensive education, health, and
welfare systems. The result was a safe, literate
society where the vast majority of citizens had
access to basic social goods. Regardless of one's
personal feelings about Lenin, most Mongolians
benefited under this system.
Since
Mongolia's transition to democracy and a liberal
economic system, social indicators have fallen
across the board. While the overall literacy rate
remains high, youth literacy has decreased since
the 1990s. More important are the massive gaps
that have opened in the quality of education
between rural and urban areas.
The health
system in Mongolia is in tatters, with infectious
disease on the rise and doctors demanding payment
before administering rudimentary care. Mongolians
with any means travel to China's Inner Mongolia
for health services, creating a vicious cycle
where much-needed development funds are diverted
abroad from Mongolia's domestic health sector.
Environmental problems in Mongolia have
grown exponentially since the end of the Cold War.
Ulaanbaatar is by some accounts the world's most
polluted city, and residents increasingly
experience respiratory disease during the winter.
Both legal and illegal mining are damaging
Mongolia's environmental health. Crime in Mongolia
- almost nonexistent under the communist system -
is steadily increasing in the state's capital and
countryside. Thousands of homeless children live
in Ulaanbaatar's sewers.
Given these
social realities, Ulaanbaatar's decision to tear
down the Lenin statue is worrying. Despite the
failure of the country's current economic and
political systems to provide social goods equal to
those available during communism, it appears the
state is doubling down on laissez-faire capitalism
and hoping the invisible hand will solve social
development problems. The emotional response to
the city's decision by many Mongolians, evident in
social media, demonstrates that the symbolism of -
the move is not lost on the Mongolian public.
Both instances are important indicators of
Mongolia's national development. While western
analysts applaud Mongolia for consolidating its
democracy, in truth it remains a state devoid of
political accountability and rule of law. While
much is made of its economic growth, this growth
is inequitable, uneven, and vulnerable to
reversal. It is important to recognize these
symbolic occurrences for what they really are: an
ineffective government's attempt at window
dressing and its unwillingness to accept
responsibility for the country's growing social
needs.
Dr Jeffrey Reeves is
Associate Professor at the College of Security
Studies at the Asia-Pacific Center for Security
Studies in Honolulu.
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