Dialogue Earth sat down with White to discuss his research and its significance in understanding how environmental policies are made and re-made in China. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Much of your book focuses on the re-definition of camel-based \u201cpastoralism\u201d in Chinese official discourse \u2013\u00a0from a source of ecological problems to a unique cultural heritage. Tell us about how this unfolded and its relevance to Inner Mongolian environment and culture.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n![\"book]()
<\/div>(Image courtesy of University of Washington Press)<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\nThomas White:<\/strong> Pastoralism refers to an extensive kind of animal husbandry that tends to rely on collectively managed, natural grasslands. It has long been treated as problematic in Chinese official discourse, since it has been seen as \u201cbackward\u201d and relatively economically unproductive. In recent decades, it has also been accused of destroying the grasslands and causing desertification, although this is disputed by many ecologists. As a result, since the beginning of the 21st century, pastoralism in China has faced a variety of restrictions, including on the number of animals that herders can keep, as well as when and where they can graze their animals. In some cases, pastoralists have even been resettled away from the grasslands. <\/p>\n\n\n\nFor many ethnic Mongols in Inner Mongolia, pastoralism remains a central part of what it means to be Mongol, even though the actual proportion of ethnic Mongols who are pastoralists is quite small. In my book I show how in Alasha, a region in the far west of Inner Mongolia, local Mongols sought to push back against the policies targeting pastoralism by reframing it as a distinctive form of local heritage. This meant focusing on the heritage value of camel husbandry, since the camels are strongly associated with arid and remote Alasha. Partly as a result of these efforts, and others which I discuss in the book, the camel was exempted from some of the strict limits on livestock numbers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
This emphasis on the local, however, also involved a de-emphasising of ethnic identity. That represented a strategic adaptation, on the part of those who wanted to defend pastoralism, to the broader political climate in China, in which the distinctive identity of ethnic minorities has increasingly been seen by the state as something problematic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the book I also discuss how this emphasis on pastoralism as heritage in Alasha has largely been confined to camels, because they are locally distinctive. This has meant that the sheep and goats on which most pastoralists in the region actually depend both for cash and for food have not been exempted from the state\u2019s restrictions on pastoralism that are part of its environmental policies. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the same time, you show how the emphasis on the heritage of pastoralism in Inner Mongolia is not simply nostalgia for old times, but also associated with progress and modernisation. Tell us a bit more about what you call \u201ctechno-pastoralism\u201d.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n![\"Thomas]()
<\/div>Thomas White (Image courtesy of himself)<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\nAs well as by foregrounding the heritage value of camel husbandry, advocates of pastoralism in Alasha tried to find other ways to make the case that this way of life should be supported by the state rather than targeted as backward and environmentally destructive. One of these was to propose a vision of mobile pastoralism enabled by technology, involving satellite tracking of camels and automatic watering troughs, for example. I refer to this as \u201ctechno-pastoralism\u201d. This vision is an argument against the increasing enclosure of the grasslands with fences, which has been government policy in recent years. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
According to its proponents, techno-pastoralism is ecologically beneficial, since camels would be free to adapt their movements according to the grass available, and fencing would not restrict their movements. Instead, they would be monitored via computers, with urbanised herders occasionally travelling to the countryside to round them up when necessary. This idea of technology-assisted pastoralism on open rangeland is also seen as in keeping with fundamental \u201cnomadic\u201d principles, since it enables the free movement of camel herds, as opposed to the more intensive version of animal husbandry on enclosed land which the state has promoted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
However, techno-pastoralism also aligns itself with the state\u2019s vision of urbanisation as modernisation, since it imagines herders managing their animals remotely from the city. The proponents of techno-pastoralism were trying to counter the stigmatisation of pastoralism as backward and belonging in the past. But I think there are also problems with this vision, since it downplays the skills and knowledge of herders themselves. Techno-pastoralism does not conceive of herders as possessing \u201ctraditional ecological knowledge\u201d about the grasslands or skills in livestock husbandry; instead, pastoralism is reimagined as something that happens with little human input.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Recently, however, there has been more emphasis on the skills involved in camel husbandry. This is bound up with a shift to camel dairying, catering to demand in Chinese cities, which the local government has been promoting as a key pillar of its rural development strategy. This is something that I address in the last chapter of the book. For a while, herders from across the border in Mongolia were being hired to train locals how to milk camels, since in many parts of Alasha these skills had been forgotten.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What do all these dynamics tell us about the nature of environmental protection and policy making in China? Is it a top-down process or shaped by bottom-up pressure, or a blend of both?<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Recently, some scholars<\/a> have emphasised the top-down, coercive nature of environmental governance in China. But I think it\u2019s also important to realise that environmental policies are often implemented in quite locally-specific ways in China, even if the broad policy goals are set by the central government.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
![\"book](\"https:\/\/dialogue.earth\/content\/uploads\/2025\/06\/20250611_book-cover-Chinas-Camel-Country-.jpg\")
<\/div>Thomas White:<\/strong> Pastoralism refers to an extensive kind of animal husbandry that tends to rely on collectively managed, natural grasslands. It has long been treated as problematic in Chinese official discourse, since it has been seen as \u201cbackward\u201d and relatively economically unproductive. In recent decades, it has also been accused of destroying the grasslands and causing desertification, although this is disputed by many ecologists. As a result, since the beginning of the 21st century, pastoralism in China has faced a variety of restrictions, including on the number of animals that herders can keep, as well as when and where they can graze their animals. In some cases, pastoralists have even been resettled away from the grasslands. <\/p>\n\n\n\n For many ethnic Mongols in Inner Mongolia, pastoralism remains a central part of what it means to be Mongol, even though the actual proportion of ethnic Mongols who are pastoralists is quite small. In my book I show how in Alasha, a region in the far west of Inner Mongolia, local Mongols sought to push back against the policies targeting pastoralism by reframing it as a distinctive form of local heritage. This meant focusing on the heritage value of camel husbandry, since the camels are strongly associated with arid and remote Alasha. Partly as a result of these efforts, and others which I discuss in the book, the camel was exempted from some of the strict limits on livestock numbers. <\/p>\n\n\n\n This emphasis on the local, however, also involved a de-emphasising of ethnic identity. That represented a strategic adaptation, on the part of those who wanted to defend pastoralism, to the broader political climate in China, in which the distinctive identity of ethnic minorities has increasingly been seen by the state as something problematic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In the book I also discuss how this emphasis on pastoralism as heritage in Alasha has largely been confined to camels, because they are locally distinctive. This has meant that the sheep and goats on which most pastoralists in the region actually depend both for cash and for food have not been exempted from the state\u2019s restrictions on pastoralism that are part of its environmental policies. <\/p>\n\n\n\n As well as by foregrounding the heritage value of camel husbandry, advocates of pastoralism in Alasha tried to find other ways to make the case that this way of life should be supported by the state rather than targeted as backward and environmentally destructive. One of these was to propose a vision of mobile pastoralism enabled by technology, involving satellite tracking of camels and automatic watering troughs, for example. I refer to this as \u201ctechno-pastoralism\u201d. This vision is an argument against the increasing enclosure of the grasslands with fences, which has been government policy in recent years. <\/p>\n\n\n\n According to its proponents, techno-pastoralism is ecologically beneficial, since camels would be free to adapt their movements according to the grass available, and fencing would not restrict their movements. Instead, they would be monitored via computers, with urbanised herders occasionally travelling to the countryside to round them up when necessary. This idea of technology-assisted pastoralism on open rangeland is also seen as in keeping with fundamental \u201cnomadic\u201d principles, since it enables the free movement of camel herds, as opposed to the more intensive version of animal husbandry on enclosed land which the state has promoted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n However, techno-pastoralism also aligns itself with the state\u2019s vision of urbanisation as modernisation, since it imagines herders managing their animals remotely from the city. The proponents of techno-pastoralism were trying to counter the stigmatisation of pastoralism as backward and belonging in the past. But I think there are also problems with this vision, since it downplays the skills and knowledge of herders themselves. Techno-pastoralism does not conceive of herders as possessing \u201ctraditional ecological knowledge\u201d about the grasslands or skills in livestock husbandry; instead, pastoralism is reimagined as something that happens with little human input.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Recently, however, there has been more emphasis on the skills involved in camel husbandry. This is bound up with a shift to camel dairying, catering to demand in Chinese cities, which the local government has been promoting as a key pillar of its rural development strategy. This is something that I address in the last chapter of the book. For a while, herders from across the border in Mongolia were being hired to train locals how to milk camels, since in many parts of Alasha these skills had been forgotten.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Recently, some scholars<\/a> have emphasised the top-down, coercive nature of environmental governance in China. But I think it\u2019s also important to realise that environmental policies are often implemented in quite locally-specific ways in China, even if the broad policy goals are set by the central government.<\/p>\n\n\n\nAt the same time, you show how the emphasis on the heritage of pastoralism in Inner Mongolia is not simply nostalgia for old times, but also associated with progress and modernisation. Tell us a bit more about what you call \u201ctechno-pastoralism\u201d.<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
![\"Thomas](\"https:\/\/dialogue.earth\/content\/uploads\/2025\/06\/Thomas-White_square.jpeg\")
<\/div>What do all these dynamics tell us about the nature of environmental protection and policy making in China? Is it a top-down process or shaped by bottom-up pressure, or a blend of both?<\/h3>\n\n\n\n