The Longest Trial: How Inner Mongolia’s Herders Fought Back Against Injustice
Luna Tian
“They protect the land. The land protects them. Now both are on trial.”
In the dry, wind-scarred plains of Inner Mongolia’s Urat Front Banner, 78-year-old Jiren Huoyar walks the earth of his ancestors. A lifelong herder, a former village chief, and a respected elder, Huoyar is no stranger to hardship. But nothing—not harsh winters, nor failing rains—could prepare him for what began in the summer of 2020: the day police came with rifles, not reason.
This is not just the story of one man. It is the story of a community criminalized for defending the grass under their feet. A record-breaking trial. A collapsing legal system. And a haunting question: who is really on trial in China’s rural heartlands?
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I. A Land Worth Defending
The Urat steppe, part of China’s vital ecological barrier against desertification, is home to ethnic Mongolian herders who have lived with the rhythms of nature for centuries. But in recent decades, the balance has tilted. Mining companies, driven by profit and often shielded by local officials, have torn into the soil—bulldozing grasslands, draining resources, and leaving behind barren pits and toxic tailings.
In 2013, Huatuo Mining, a local company, began operating without the legally required permits. By the time it secured partial approvals in 2018, over 600 acres of native grassland had already been stripped bare. Local officials turned a blind eye.
But the herders did not.
Jiren Huoyar, along with fellow villagers in Bayinwendur Gacha, began organizing peaceful resistance: petitions, roadblocks, and visits to government offices. Their message was simple: stop the destruction, respect the law, compensate those whose land had been taken.
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II. Armed Raids for Peaceful Protest
On August 13, 2020, nearly 100 armed officers from Bayannur City descended on the quiet grasslands. In a sweeping raid, they arrested 11 herders, including Huoyar, labeling them an “organized criminal gang.”
The charge? “Picking quarrels and provoking trouble”—an ambiguous offense under Article 293 of China’s criminal law. Originally intended to tackle public disorder, it has since become a go-to charge against protesters, whistleblowers, and land rights defenders.
The herders, many elderly and in poor health, were placed in detention. Their families were left to graze sheep and care for children alone.
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III. Prosecution by Bypass
Initially, the case appeared too weak even for China’s judiciary.
The Bayannur Municipal Procuratorate—the city’s top prosecution office—refused to approve the arrests, citing “unclear facts and insufficient evidence.” They noted that the herders had entered into formal grazing compensation negotiations with the mining company and that the alleged “interference” was civil in nature.
But instead of dropping the case, local police rerouted it. They transferred the investigation to a lower-level office, the Urat Front Banner Procuratorate, which eventually approved the arrests.
Legal experts say such jurisdictional gamesmanship is rare but not unheard of in politically sensitive cases.
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IV. A Legal Circus: Four Indictments, No Verdict
Since then, the prosecution has rewritten the case four times, filing four versions of the indictment between 2021 and 2024. The charges shifted. New claims were added. Old ones dropped. Legal standards eroded with each draft.
In June 2023, the case finally went to trial. But the herders, now released on bail, were frequently too ill or frail to attend. Sessions were repeatedly postponed. By July 31, 2024, the court had convened for 93 separate hearing days—a record for any case involving this charge.
Still, no verdict.
Defense attorneys have called the process “a farce,” noting that changing indictments mid-trial undermines the integrity of the judiciary. “The law has lost its seriousness,” one lawyer said.
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V. The Justice System’s Double Standard
While the herders were dragged through court, Huatuo Mining walked free.
Though prosecutors acknowledged that the company illegally occupied hundreds of acres of land, they declined to press criminal charges. Instead, the company paid a fine of 846,000 yuan (about $117,000) and received an official non-prosecution decision. The rationale? Officials cited the need to “protect private enterprises” and “optimize the legal business environment.”
In contrast, the herders—who merely resisted this very destruction—were branded as criminals and “a threat to social order.”
Huoyar’s family members were outraged. “Why is it a crime to ask for compensation? Why is it legal to destroy the land, but illegal to defend it?” one relative asked.
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VI. Media Theater and Official Rewards
Even before the trial began, local media had launched a campaign to portray the herders as villains. In May 2021, police issued press releases celebrating their success in arresting “a dangerous criminal gang.”
By September, officers involved in the case received third-class honors from the Inner Mongolia Public Security Department for “distinguished service.”
Meanwhile, the 1,400 pages of complaint materials Huoyar had gathered against mining operations were seized by police—and never returned.
The message was clear: dissent would not only be punished—it would be erased.
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VII. The Land They Tried to Save
Photos taken by villagers show the stark reality: sheep grazing next to giant excavators, tailing ponds built near homes, and grass once green now barren.
In April 2022, a central environmental inspection group confirmed the community’s claims. The report condemned Huatuo Mining’s long-standing violations and documented the failure of local officials to enforce basic regulations.
Shortly after the report, several senior officials in Urat Front Banner were investigated or dismissed. One committed suicide. Others were linked to corruption and complicity in shielding the mining operations.
But the trial against the herders continued.
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VIII. Retaliation, Not Rule of Law
Defense lawyers argue that the case against Huoyar and his fellow villagers is not about law—it’s about revenge. Local police and prosecutors, some now exposed for corruption, are trying to save face by turning victims into scapegoats.
One attorney noted: “These herders should be honored for alerting authorities to environmental crimes. Instead, they are punished. Not for breaking the law, but for breaking the silence.”
In a bitter irony, two of the alleged “crimes” listed in the indictment involve peaceful roadblocks organized in 2013 and 2017—years before many charges were even filed.
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IX. The Trial That Should Never Have Happened
All 11 herders have now been released on bail. The charge of “criminal gang activity” has been dropped. Even state prosecutors have admitted that the facts are difficult to establish.
Yet the trial drags on.
The cost? Years of stress. Legal fees. Lost time. A community torn between fear and pride. And a legal system that appears more interested in protecting power than protecting people.
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X. Conclusion: Whose Land? Whose Law?
In a country where the line between justice and control is increasingly blurred, the story of Jiren Huoyar and his fellow herders poses uncomfortable questions.
What happens when the law is used to silence those it should protect?
What happens when environmental destruction is tolerated—and resistance punished?
And what happens to a nation when its oldest voices—those who live with the land, not above it—are dismissed as troublemakers?
The answer, perhaps, lies not in courtrooms or government buildings, but in the wind that still blows across Inner Mongolia’s steppes. It remembers the herders. It carries their stories. And it waits.
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Author’s Note
This article is based on Chinese-language investigative reports, court documents, and interviews with legal professionals. Names and identifying details have been adapted for clarity and safety.