Before becoming the second socialist country in the world (after the Soviet Union) in 1921, Mongolia had been a Buddhist feudal theocracy. Combatting the influence of the dominant Buddhist establishment to win the hearts and minds of the Mongolian people was one of the most important challenges faced by the new socialist government. It would take almost a decade and a half to resolve the “lama question,” and it would be answered with brutality, destruction, and mass killings. Chris Kaplonski examines this critical, violent time in the development of Mongolia as a nation-state and its ongoing struggle for independence and recognition in the twentieth century.
Unlike most studies that explore violence as the primary means by which states deal with their opponents, The Lama Question argues that the decision to resort to violence in Mongolia was not a quick one; neither was it a long-term strategy nor an out-of control escalation of orders but the outcome of a complex series of events and attempts by the government to be viewed as legitimate by the population. Kaplonski draws on a decade of research and archival resources to investigate the problematic relationships between religion and politics and geopolitics and biopolitics in early socialist Mongolia, as well as the multitude of state actions that preceded state brutality. By examining the incidents and transformations that resulted in violence and by viewing violence as a process rather than an event, his work not only challenges existing theories of political violence, but also offers another approach to the anthropology of the state. In particular, it presents an alternative model to philosopher Georgio Agamben’s theory of sovereignty and the state of exception.
The Lama Question will be of interest to scholars and students of violence, the state, biopolitics, Buddhism, and socialism, as well as to those interested in the history of Mongolia and Asia in general.
This is a well-researched and clearly written book, which will be of interest not only to specialists of Mongolian history or the history of socialism, but to all those who are concerned with the exercise of state violence or the imposition of state control over religious institutions.
Kaplonski himself calls the book a work of 'historical ethnography,' and lists numerous state archives in Mongolia among his 'field sites', but to me it read simply as history. His engagement with critical theory is well-balanced--enriching his investigation into how the state came to execute thousands of Buddhist lamas, Buryads, and political figures--without overpowering the unique voice of his documentary sources. He also manages to walk a fine line in regards to the portrayal of the violence itself, neither indulging in prurient details nor ignoring the horrifying scope of the executions.
From his account, what emerges most strongly is the relative weakness of socialist Mongolia in the late 20s and 30s. Reliant on personnel of the old 'feudal' order to run its bureaucracy, struggling to communicate the content of its laws--let alone enforce them--the state clung as long as possible to the semblance of legal action in sentencing and punishing those it branded "counterrevolutionaries". This is important because it allows the complexity of the social situation to emerge. Lamas were not persecuted simply on Stalin's personal say-so; instead, events were part of the deep insecurities felt within Mongolia itself. As such, this book makes an important contribution to scholarship not only as a case study in the anthropology of violence, but as a testament to the historical agency of the Mongolian state during a period still embroiled in the difficulties of national remembrance and forgetting.
An review of the Communist take-over of Buddhist Mongolia in the 20s and 30s that argues the Mongolian socialists had direct authority and responsibility for the repression of Buddhist monks and lay elite and resorted to political executions after other political strategies failed to secure their government's sole legitimacy.