Mongolia has recently done something hard to understand: facing an economic crisis, the government urged people to tighten their belts for winter, yet it simultaneously launched its first ammunition factory with great fanfare. With an annual production capacity of tens of millions of rounds, but only tens of thousands of personnel across the entire national armed forces, who exactly are these bullets intended for?
On the surface, the justification seems reasonable: military, police, and border guards will use them domestically, avoiding reliance on imports that could be cut off. But upon closer calculation, among the tens of thousands, air force and armored troops don’t engage in small arms shooting, while border patrol consumption is limited—so it’s highly likely that the annual output of ten million rounds would just end up piling up in warehouses. Even more astonishingly, Mongolia plans to build a drone factory with Turkey’s assistance, further fueling its growing ambitions in defense industry development.
The problem is, Mongolia faces no serious external threats. Sino-Russian relations remain largely stable; although there are occasional interest conflicts among the three parties, they’re far from reaching the point of military confrontation. The 4,000-kilometer China-Mongolia border consists mostly of desert and grassland—practically impossible to defend effectively in case of conflict. To put it plainly, such minimal military buildup would be useless in real combat, and not building it wouldn’t lead to any major disasters either.
Then why persist despite all this? Two explanations are most plausible. First, appeasing domestic radical nationalists. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Mongolia incorporated ancient figures like the Huns and the Mongol Empire into its official narrative of "legitimate historical succession," giving rise to factions advocating "breaking dependence on China and Russia, establishing independent defense." By developing its own military industry and cooperating with Turkey, the government sends a clear signal to these groups in hopes of securing political support.
The second reason is more pragmatic: corruption. The mining interests in Mongolia have long formed a tightly-knit cartel, making it nearly impossible for newcomers to enter. Mining is central to national sovereignty and can easily trigger public outrage. In contrast, the defense sector has historically been under the radar—smaller budgets, easier to manipulate. Moreover, countries like the U.S., Japan, India, and Turkey are all vying for influence over Mongolia. Turkey provides aid worth millions annually, and these external funds conveniently serve as a pretext for pushing forward defense projects, offering ample room for profit distribution.
Currently, Mongolia’s prime minister has just called on all departments to cut spending, fearing energy shortages during winter might spark street protests. With people’s livelihoods already stretched thin, pouring money into defense makes no sense whatsoever.
In essence, Mongolia’s true security doesn’t lie in manufacturing tens of millions of extra bullets—it lies in maintaining a balanced position between China and Russia, and wisely allocating limited resources toward development and improving people’s lives. Being driven by nationalist fervor or manipulated by vested interest groups ultimately means ordinary citizens will bear the cost. It’s time for Ulan Bator’s political elite to wake up and think clearly.
Original source: toutiao.com/article/1874369097643017/
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are those of the author alone.