The Frontline of Climate Change Response in Mongolia: Villages as the Last Bastion for a Sustainable Future

2025.04.19 / Young-Rae Kim, Professor of UFE & Director of Center for Korea and Mongolia Development

Mongolia is located at 46.9°N latitude and falls under the Steppe Climate category according to Köppen’s climate classification. This climate is characterized by low annual temperatures and limited precipitation, making it unsuitable for tree growth and conventional agriculture. Unlike the temperate zones to the south, which support dense populations and agricultural abundance, or the subarctic and polar zones to the north, where human settlement is nearly impossible, Mongolia lies somewhere in between. It is a space where survival is possible, but growth and prosperity are never guaranteed. Life here has always been a continuous struggle—both in adapting to and resisting nature. The ecosystem we encounter today is the product of that enduring struggle and the wisdom of adaptation.

As of 2023, this land is facing yet another environmental challenge—one that calls for a new era of enduring struggle and the wisdom of adaptation.. According to one statistic, over the past 20 years, Mongolia has lost 1,166 lakes, 887 rivers, and 2,096 springs. The Mongolian government has also announced that 76.9% of the country's land is under threat of desertification and land degradation. This represents an unprecedented environmental crisis—qualitatively different from previous ones—that threatens the very sustainability of life across Mongolia.

While it is difficult to attribute this phenomenon to a single cause, climate change-induced temperature rise is widely recognized as one of the most compelling explanations. Over the past 60 years, global average temperatures have risen by 0.7°C, whereas Mongolia has experienced a dramatic increase of 2.1°C. Given the steppe climate’s inherently dry soil, this warming trend has had a particularly destructive impact—much like igniting a fire on dry hay.

In the face of this crisis, we may be tempted to pose a deceptively simple question: “Can we identify the causes of climate change affecting Mongolia and eliminate them?” Yet answering this question is far from straightforward. Climate change is a transnational phenomenon, making it difficult to isolate causes that affect only Mongolia. Even if such causes are identified, their removal is entangled in complex global interests. Thus, we must confront this crisis with the mindset that “we live and endure this together.” On one hand, we must explore ways to mitigate climate change; on the other, we must find wise and adaptive responses to the inevitable changes ahead.

So who, in Mongolia, should respond and adapt to this changing climate? Climate change affects everyone, meaning that every perceptive and capable individual residing in Mongolia could be a relevant actor. Individual behavioral responses are possible, and the central government can also play a leading role through political and policy interventions. Both are meaningful avenues. However, in Mongolia's case, it is difficult to apply standard models of response directly. This is a country with a unique spatial structure, lifestyle, and deep-rooted nomadic traditions that must be taken into account.

As of 2021, Mongolia has a total land area of approximately 1,564,116 km² and a population of about 3.4 million. Notably, nearly half of the population—1.6 million people—live in the capital, Ulaanbaatar, which occupies only 3% (4,007 km²) of the national territory. The remaining 1.8 million are scattered across the other 97% of the land area—roughly 15.3 times the size of South Korea (100,266 km²). This stark imbalance highlights a significant spatial disparity between urban and rural land use.

This vast territory is divided into 20 aimags (provinces) and 330 soums (districts), with an average population density of only 1.15 people per square kilometer—one of the lowest in the world. It is a landscape where people are dispersed sparsely across expansive terrain, forming what could be described as “almost empty” spaces.  The vastness of the steppe is more than a matter of size; it forms a physical barrier that makes movement and access inherently difficult. The sheer sense of distance—spanning hundreds of kilometers—combined with the open terrain lacking roads or clear boundaries, along with extreme temperature fluctuations, fierce winds, and unpredictable weather, makes the steppe, by the standards of sophisticated civilizations, a harsh and inhospitable space. These conditions render the steppe not merely a distant space but one marked by a profound physical and psychological distance, difficult for outsiders to easily cross. The ruggedness of the steppe arises from the nature of the space itself, remaining a world that feels persistently uncomfortable and alien to those who cannot grasp its rhythms and pace.

The pressing issue is that this vast region encompasses 76.9% of Mongolia’s territory that the government has officially identified as facing the risks of desertification and land degradation. This means that the populations living across 20 aimags (provinces) and 330 soums (districts) are already experiencing, or will soon experience, the impacts of climate change. In short, this expansive territory stands as the frontline where the effects of climate change are being confronted most directly and immediately. If Mongolia does not intend to abandon 97% of its national territory, then crafting adaptation and response strategies centered around the 330 soums on this frontline becomes an unavoidable and urgent task.

Although this vast area has the world’s lowest population density, it is far from an empty space. These soums have long maintained socio-economic communities rooted in Mongolia’s unique nomadic traditions, integrating both settlement and mobility through structures centered around soum centers. Within these networks, forms of trust and cooperation among residents, localized systems of production and consumption, and basic infrastructure have been sustained over time. In other words, a soum is not simply an administrative unit; it is a living, self-sustaining nomadic community deeply rooted in its own history and culture.

Ultimately, it is clear who must defend the frontline of climate change across Mongolia’s vast steppe: the communities who have endured and lived on this land. As previously noted, the vastness and ruggedness of the steppe make external access inherently difficult—not merely because of its size, but because it demands an understanding and adaptation to its unique pace and rhythm. Thus, efforts to address climate change in this space cannot rely solely on external interventions. Only through community-based response and adaptation strategies, led by the nomadic communities who inhabit this land, can Mongolia realistically and justly protect its expansive territory and confront the challenges of climate change. These communities are not only the bearers of the steppe’s way of life but also the final bastions standing against the advancing threat of climate change.

Now is the time for serious reflection. We must ask whether the various climate response and regional development initiatives currently underway across Mongolia are truly aligned with this community-centered perspective. Are these projects genuinely ensuring the participation and autonomy of local communities? Are they providing the foundation for these communities to strengthen their own capacity for adaptation? To succeed in the fight against climate change, we must reframe our strategies with the frontline villages and communities at the very center—rethinking what they can do, and how they can lead the way.