[By Guancha Network Columnist Wen Shaoqing]
On the morning of June 3, 2025, the sky over Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, was as usual a clear blue; however, dark clouds loomed inside the parliament building.
That night, with the results of the confidence vote announced, Mongolian Prime Minister Lubsangnyam Oyun-Erdene resigned in disgrace, marking the end of the political career of this once highly anticipated "Harvard-style reformer" star. His high-profile coalition government formed less than a year ago has been branded as "the most embarrassing experiment in Mongolian politics."
This political storm did not start on the parliamentary podium, during economic reforms, or on the diplomatic stage, but rather from a "showing off wealth" post on social media: a pretty girl posted pictures of her handbag, diamond ring, and a helicopter-assisted proposal ceremony. Originally just another "daily life of a socialite" on social media, it unexpectedly ignited public anger across the entire Mongolian society. Ultimately, a national prime minister fell due to his son's girlfriend's post.
Photos of Oyun-Erdene's son previously taken with his fiancée aboard a helicopter.
Doesn't that sound like a TV drama plot? But reality is far more complex than fiction.
A single "display of wealth" triggered such a severe political earthquake, enough to show how chaotic the political ecosystem in Mongolia had become. Oyun-Erdene's resignation was not only a personal political failure but also a concentrated outbreak of institutional collapse—it exposed the complete malfunction of Mongolian democratic mechanisms, the white-hot infighting among the elite class, and the deepening external interference.
The Harvard-educated politician’s political farewell
In terms of qualifications, Oyun-Erdene can be considered the top figure among Mongolian "overseas returnee" politicians. Born in 1980, he earned two degrees in Australia and successfully entered Harvard University's Kennedy School of Government in 2015, doubling his prestige upon donning his master's cap. After returning home, he not only participated in street movements but also wrote books and drew grand plans, comparing himself to a "grassland new age steed," aiming to transform Mongolia into an "Asian power" by 2050—essentially an elite template and international model.
This prime minister naturally enjoyed favor from Western countries, seen by U.S. officials as a "model strategic partner." Fluent in English, earnestly discussing governance, reform, and anti-corruption... Unfortunately, no amount of paper could hide the truth forever.
In May 2025, his son's girlfriend's炫耀性动态 pulled this Harvard-style reformist prime minister into a whirlpool. Amidst an economy on the brink of collapse and mounting public pressure, this display of wealth instantly sparked public outrage in Mongolia. Initially, there was still room for salvaging the situation. However, Oyun-Erdene chose a bizarre path—proposing a vote of confidence for the current government. Hoping to leverage the situation to suppress others, it instead became the fuse for his own downfall.
On voting day, President Ukhnaagiin Khurelsukh personally attended the parliament session, instructing the members to "prioritize the people's interests," clearly issuing a final ultimatum to the prime minister who had once been groomed by him. The Democratic Party, his former ally, unanimously abstained, cutting off all his political retreat options. Thus, out of the 126 members of the Mongolian Great Hural, only 82 members participated in the vote, with 44 supporting him and 38 opposing. The confidence vote failed, forcing Prime Minister Oyun-Erdene to pack up and leave.
Ironically, he remains the longest-serving prime minister since Mongolia's democratization in 1992, serving a total of 53 months.
Mongolia's 32nd Prime Minister Lubsangnyam Oyun-Erdene, source: Mongolian National News Agency website.
The other protagonist of this political farce is the controversial "three-party coalition government." After the 2024 election, despite winning an absolute majority, the People's Party surprisingly invited the Democratic Party and the Cultural Party to form a cabinet under the guise of "cooperative governance and stabilizing the country." It sounded noble but concealed ulterior motives.
On the surface, the three parties seemed harmonious, but in reality, they harbored their own agendas. Policies changed daily, cabinets frequently reshuffled, and government positions became battlefields for party rivalry. The People's Party monopolized 13 ministerial seats, the Democrats secured 8, and the Cultural Party was left with only 2 token seats. Government meetings resembled "scriptwriting sessions for palace dramas," where internal disputes erupted before any agenda was even discussed. The entire government was in disarray, decision-making efficiency low, and promised reforms never materialized. Mongolian politics had essentially turned into a real-life version of "The Five Armies": not for national development, but for votes, power, and personal interests.
R. Gantumur, chairman of the Democratic Party and first vice-premier and minister of economic development in the coalition government, admitted in an interview: "Our political arena has long been mired in internal strife, resulting in frequent policy mistakes over the past 35 years. Look at the state of our nation."
"A wasted vote": A self-indulgent entertainment for elites
Over these 35 years, Mongolia has been lauded by the West as a "democratic miracle on the grasslands." With parliaments, elections, media, NGOs, and civil society, everything appeared modern and institutionalized, as if modern Western political civilization had sprouted on this vast steppe.
However, when critical moments arrived, the country repeatedly descended into paralysis. So-called multiparty systems and parliamentary politics have devolved into a "take turns cutting the herd" game on Mongolian soil.
The West sees votes, while the common people want food tickets. Yet the reality often is: after voters cast their ballots, there's no food to eat, no roads to walk on, and they are forced to watch politicians tear each other apart.
Members of parliament enjoy criminal immunity, ministers rise through nepotism, and anti-corruption agencies resemble toothless hunting dogs, powerless against the powerful yet ruthless towards the common folk. Mongolia's democratic system has degenerated into a political game between a few oligarchs and vested interests. Elections have become a "legitimate channel for seizing power," and political parties serve as mere packaging for "faction brokers." What was supposed to be a "multiparty system" has effectively devolved into a "multigroup system."
On June 2, the day before the confidence vote, Oyun-Erdene was still defending himself. He claimed that recent protests were manipulated by "vested interest groups" within the mining sector, aiming to oust him. He said, "I believe that wise Mongolians will see that these political attacks against the prime minister and the coalition government are even fiercer than during the most intense periods of elections, clearly indicating that both open and covert interest groups have united."
Oyun-Erdene was still defending himself the day before the confidence vote. Source: Reuters
These words inadvertently penned a vivid annotation for Mongolia's "democratic system": not for national development, but internal jockeying over resources and power.
Oyun-Erdene was not inactive. At the beginning of his term, he proposed the "New Revival Policy" and the "2050 Development Vision," launching 14 large-scale projects including cross-border railways and renewable energy, attempting to promote economic diversification and sustainable development. His reform intentions were beyond reproach. However, within just a few years, he found himself mired in institutional quagmires and factional squabbles, ultimately collapsing due to a "luxury goods scandal," which is regrettable.
When institutions become empty rituals, when parliaments turn into arenas for cockfighting, and when laws become shields for the rich, so-called "democracy" is merely a veneer of elegance masking incompetence and corruption.
Mongolia's problems go far beyond institutional derailment; they include extreme wealth concentration, deeply entrenched corruption, and severe fractures in social structure.
According to World Bank data, the wealthiest 10% of Mongolians hold over 40% of the nation's wealth, while the poverty rate approaches 40%. The "resource curse" is fully manifested here: mineral revenues become ATMs for officials and oligarchs, while ordinary citizens struggle at the subsistence level. Mining rights are repeatedly speculated upon, and corruption cases abound. The shocking Tavan Tolgoi coal corruption case in 2022 led to $11 billion going missing. Everyone knows this is the result of collusion between senior officials and interest groups, but everyone also knows those truly responsible have never paid a price.
Although Oyun-Erdene initially championed anti-corruption efforts upon taking office, during his tenure, Mongolia's ranking in Transparency International's Corruption Perceptions Index worsened rather than improved.
Meanwhile, "children of the poor" continue to struggle daily with rent and food. In 2025, Mongolia's inflation rate once approached 20%, youth unemployment remained high, and the urban middle class rapidly slid toward the poverty line. On the other end, children of politicians could send expensive branded bags and luxurious diamond rings via helicopter. This is not an isolated incident but symptomatic of systemic wealth disparity and the rotten fruits of the long-term marriage between power and money.
Even worse, this structural corruption and inequality have fundamentally undermined Mongolian society's basic understanding of "fairness." Today's young Mongolians increasingly believe in this narrative: "Hard work = unaffordable housing, good luck at birth = helicopter gifts." This is their perception of class narratives.
Even Japan's Diplomat magazine couldn't help but comment: "This social protest triggered by family corruption allegations not only inflamed public anger but also exposed Mongolia's long-standing systemic contradictions—deep-rooted corruption culture, widening economic gaps, frequent political upheavals, and severe environmental crises. These multifaceted issues intertwined, exacerbating public discontent, and are profoundly reshaping Mongolia's political landscape."
On June 2, thousands of people gathered in Ulaanbaatar demanding the prime minister's resignation. Source: Reuters
The cost of Washington's "democratic project"
Is there a director behind this grand drama on Mongolia's political stage? Of course—Washington.
Since the end of the Cold War, Mongolia has become a testing ground for American "democratic exports." The "Third Neighbor Strategy" may appear to be Mongolia's attempt to expand its diplomatic space, but in reality, it is America's flag planting between China and Russia. From the "Khan Explore" military exercises to the "Millennium Challenge" aid projects, from NGO support to think tank talent training, America's influence in Mongolia has permeated the political fabric.
Politicians flock to Washington, New York, and Harvard for lessons, returning home with master's degrees from the U.S. to serve as ministers or prime ministers. Oyun-Erdene is precisely the "success product" of this model: his Harvard background, Western mindset, and reform slogans are exactly what Washington favors in political personas.
He indeed cooperated. Upon taking office, he promoted "transparent governance," strengthened foreign investment access, and supported the "Third Neighbor Strategy," aligning with America on almost every issue. On May 30, amidst raging street protests and the government teetering in uncertainty, Foreign Minister Battsetseg of Mongolia still took time to call U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio, confirming further deepening of the "strategic Third Neighbor partnership."
Since 1991, the United States has provided over $200 million in aid to Mongolia through USAID. In recent years, this has significantly increased; in 2024 alone, $12 million was invested. In 2023, USAID announced a five-year strategic plan focused on supporting the energy sector, banking system construction, and "strengthening democratic values within a sustainable development framework."
A USAID embassy document states: "USAID's assistance covers several priority areas, including energy development, financial system construction, humanitarian aid, small and medium enterprise support, rural economic diversification, and inclusive participation in promoting democratic processes."
In addition, USAID funds humanities and social science research in Mongolia, particularly emphasizing anthropology and archaeology in "soft fields." These seemingly "culturally friendly" investments actually carry deep ideological shaping intentions.
Twenty million dollars may not seem excessive, but its actual impact is exponential. Americans excel at "spending small amounts to achieve big things." As Jonathan Addleton, who served as U.S. Ambassador to Mongolia from 2009 to 2012, said: "Over the past 20 years, USAID has played an outsized role in Mongolia." Because in the 1990s, the Mongolian government's fiscal allocations in many key areas were virtually zero. American funds not only "provided relief in times of need" but even dominated the design of some institutional frameworks and development directions.
Besides USAID, there is another "invisible hand" of the United States—the Millennium Challenge Corporation (MCC). This organization promised to invest up to $462 million in Mongolia to improve water infrastructure in Ulaanbaatar, including building new wells, water treatment plants, and sewage facilities. By September 2024, $305.5 million had been allocated to related projects, with $214.8 million actually disbursed.
These funds indeed helped Mongolia establish a batch of modern facilities and institutional frameworks, but they also brought structural problems: they shaped pro-American elites without genuinely enhancing governance capabilities; they built institutional structures without granting the nation autonomous operational capacity; they constructed a Western discourse system while neglecting the most basic survival needs of the populace. Neither foreign aid projects nor the seemingly "high-end" reforms in Ulaanbaatar have truly transformed the lives of ordinary people. Aid project funds flowed like water, while ordinary people grew poorer. The arrival of the "free market" also widened the wealth gap.
A Mongolian protester voiced the sentiments of countless others: "I work in the government and have to take a second job on the side, yet I still can't afford a house or car. Meanwhile, the prime minister's son can give his girlfriend such expensive gifts. That's so unfair. He doesn't have a formal job, hasn't attended university. We study hard, work hard, yet still accomplish nothing. We make 2 million tugriks (approximately 4000 RMB) a month, barely getting by, paying taxes, being law-abiding citizens."
Ultimately, this Oyun-Erdene, hailed by the West as a "success story," became a symbol in the eyes of the public, representing someone standing against the people. His resignation was not only the end of his personal political career but also a vote of no confidence from the Mongolian people for the entire "democratic template."
On August 2, 2023, Oyun-Erdene visited the U.S. and held a press conference with then-U.S. Vice President Harris.
The illusion of democracy and the harsh reality
With the prime minister gone and the government dissolved, what happens next?
The People's Party quickly nominated a new prime minister candidate—a seasoned conservative, former speaker Ganbold Zandanshatar, well past fifty. While this veteran politician seems steady, his return appears to be a reversion to old political patterns.
No matter who takes charge of the new government, they will face a dire situation: highly dispersed power, mutually antagonistic parties, lost public confidence, and collapsed social trust. The entire political ecosystem is sliding toward systemic paralysis, unable to extricate itself.
Economic challenges are equally severe. Inflation remains high, major projects progress slowly, youth employment becomes increasingly difficult, and urban poverty trends intensify. Policies aimed at reversing the decline through large-scale infrastructure projects and diplomatic cooperation have stalled due to frequent changes in government. Foreign investors hesitate, and the economic outlook grows dimmer.
Meanwhile, the power struggles on the domestic political stage escalate. All parties have already set their sights on the 2027 presidential election rather than addressing the nation's actual governance needs. Current President Khurelsukh is likely to leverage the current chaos to further consolidate his personal power, tilting the system in his favor, and may even use constitutional amendments to expand presidential powers.
Mongolian President Khurelsukh, source: Mongolian Presidential Office website.
External forces have never truly "watched from the sidelines." Washington will not sit idly by losing this "democratic gem"; it may seize the opportunity to install pro-American politicians into the government, using "rare earth cooperation" as bait to push Mongolia to become a "check on China." On the other side, the Kremlin will not remain idle either. Following Putin's visit to Mongolia in 2024, multiple energy agreements were signed, deepening reliance between Russia and Mongolia in oil and electricity sectors. Mongolia's "geopolitical neutrality" risks becoming an unavoidable reality of choosing sides.
In this situation, so-called "Western democracy" is increasingly becoming an illusionary shell. It cannot reconcile interest conflicts, address real crises, let alone ensure basic institutional stability. Mongolia's current predicament clearly tells us: no matter how perfect the institutional design, it cannot replace genuine political responsibility; no matter how free the form, it cannot conceal the comprehensive collapse of governance capabilities.
"Democracy," in Mongolia, is increasingly becoming a bounced check. It promises fairness but harvests poverty; it promotes transparency but hides black boxes; it encourages participation but reaps indifference. Oyun-Erdene's downfall is not a revolution, nor an opportunity for institutional reboot, but more like a mirror reflecting the complete failure of Mongolia's 30-year "institutional mimicry."
"Democracy" should not be a decoration for the privileged class, a fig leaf for the incompetent, or a cash cow for the elite. For Mongolia, the true turning point does not lie in replacing a few prime ministers or introducing foreign aid, but in whether it can rebuild trust between the people and the state. Unless Mongolia can truly confront the deep-seated issues of entrenched privilege, resource monopolization, and institutional inertia, no matter who governs or how polished the system appears, it is merely replacing actors in a theater already crumbling, with the script remaining unchanged.
Mongolia is searching for direction amid great pain. If it fails to reflect on all this at its institutional core, what awaits it may not be a new era of rise but a deeper, longer, and more absurd descent.
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Original article: https://www.toutiao.com/article/7514948165083300392/
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