Mongolia became a global leader in conservation by returning to its Indigenous roots

Last fall, Mongolian herder Bazar Losol led our small group of elders through the Altai Mountains. When the afternoon light bathed the rocky cliffs, it revealed a hidden world of petroglyphs depicting ibex, snakes, birds, suns, and moons. All are revered as messengers, connecting us to the heavens, the Earth, and the underworld. The ancient beauty of Bayan Undur, or “rich heights,” mesmerized me. Yet a faint unease settled in. The scene felt incomplete.

Then Bazar stepped out of the shadows. The intricate, shimmering patterns on his dark blue deel, a traditional robe, seemed to mirror the patterns etched in stone. In that moment, I understood the source of my restlessness: the absence of people in this sacred place. Unlike the Western view, which often excludes people from landscapes for protection, our tradition emphasizes relationships with nature. Bazar’s dignified posture and his deep reverence for this place embody our conservation philosophy: the unbreakable bond joining human, nature, and culture. This connection is also evident in the tireless work of Indigenous groups who designated Bayan Undur (Mongolian transliteration system used) as a community protected area. Because of their dedication, these treasures remain largely unspoiled.

This deep connection to our land fuels Mongolia’s progressive conservation efforts. Three decades ago, after the collapse of the socialist order, the country returned to its Indigenous roots and adopted a pioneering plan to protect 30 percent of its land—long before the United Nations endorsed a similar 30-by-30 target in 2022, to safeguard 30 percent of the planet’s land and water by 2030. Over the past few years, Mongolia has dramatically expanded its protected areas—now covering about 21 percent of the land—positioning it among world conservation leaders. The forces of globalization affect Mongolia, no different from other countries, and it faces formidable environmental challenges like mining, overgrazing, and habitat loss. Yet Mongolians hold a powerful asset. By embracing traditional values of reciprocity, spiritual connection, and respect for all life—values shared by Indigenous peoples worldwide—Mongolia can lead by example.

(The U.S. signed on to the 30-by-30 target.)

Bazar, our host and guide, holds a revered position within the Elders Council of the World Union of Indigenous Spiritual Practitioners, an alliance of traditional knowledge holders working together to protect Mother Earth. We, a small group of WUISP members, were embarking on a pilgrimage to the land of the snow leopard. In the breathtaking mountains, we gathered for ceremonies to consecrate WUISP’s highest honor. This year, the elders chose a jade sculpture we’ve named the “Tear of the Snow Leopard” to represent our collective gratitude to Rodney Jackson, an expert on the endangered snow leopard and its ecosystems, who has dedicated more than 40 years of his life to partnering with communities and Indigenous peoples in all 12 countries the animal inhabits.

Photographer Kiliii Yüyan joined us on this pilgrimage, his lens capturing the profound beauty and spiritual significance of the journey. While some communities hide their sacred practices, we believe now is the time for openness. Sharing our ceremonies can inspire critical reflection on humanity’s connection to nature, challenge current approaches, and foster new perspectives.

Buyanbadrakh Erdenetsogt—Buya for short—led our ceremonies, acting as a mediator among humans, spirits, and nature. Though anthropologists use “shaman” (a word of Tungusic origin) to define this phenomenon, in Mongolian culture, our traditional belief system is called Boo murgel, which involves communication with spirits, nature, and ancestors for guidance and healing. We worship the Eternal Blue Sky as our highest deity and Mother Earth as a source of life. Despite influences from Buddhism, other religions, and atheism, Boo murgel remains an integral part of Mongolian identity, particularly in nomadic communities.

(Where reindeer roam: Life among Mongolia’s nomadic herders.)

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Buya, at 39 the youngest member of the WUISP’s Council of Elders, directed our pilgrimage to the heart of the snow leopard’s domain, seeking the blessing needed for the jade miniature. Reaching the road’s end, we abandoned our vehicles and clambered awkwardly onto horses. A challenging ascent was the final hurdle before the blessing ceremony. When we reached a plateau, we set up camp beneath the watchful gaze of Sutai Khairkhan, a magnificent glacial peak and one of Mongolia’s 12 state-worshipped mountains, which the president honors with special ceremonies every four years.

Amid the awe-inspiring landscape, Buya opened the sacred space with an invocation of the local deity, the guardian spirit of the mountain. We then united in prayer for the well-being of all life, for peace and harmony. Our voices carried through the crisp air, expressing our gratitude to Mother Earth and seeking the continued benevolence of the Eternal Blue Sky.

Much to our astonishment, Buya brought with him an unlikely contribution: watermelons. This playful offering aimed to charm the local spirits, echoing the old Mongolian expression “Baigalia argadah,” which translates to “Coax nature.” Even though the spirits typically favor locally produced food—and watermelons are not native to Mongolia—Buya argued that this unconventional gift was more than appropriate, for the powerful spirits of the mountains are sometimes like curious and mischievous children. Perhaps they gazed with amusement upon the watermelons tumbling down the Manhan cliffs the following day, bursting over the white snow with green and pink, covering the valley with seedy blessings.

Ceremonies are conservation. That is their purpose and their power. Buya’s ceremony, and the deep joy and bliss it evoked in all participants, demonstrates this truth. Only by embracing place-based Indigenous wisdom can we possibly hope to protect our shared past and humanity’s shared future.