This year marks the 85th anniversary of the establishment and development of modern circus arts in Mongolia. However, Mongolian circus artists have effectively been “driven out” of their golden arena, barely surviving in condemned buildings. In other words, this art form has been abandoned like orphaned children without parents, left outside state policy and support.
Artists who amaze international judges and showcase the extraordinary skill, flexibility, courage, and resilience of Mongolians on the global stage return home only to become “refugees”, without a proper arena to perform in or a hall to rehearse. In truth, while Mongolia may neglect them, the world continues to recognize their value. Given the lack of even basic living conditions, social security, and fair market compensation, it is difficult to blame them for seeking opportunities abroad.
GUINNESS RECORD HOLDERS ‘EXPELLED’
Mongolia is home to numerous world-class performers who have earned global recognition and set Guinness World Records, including E.Tsatsral, S.Oyun-Erdene, and E.Lkhagva-Ochir. Among them, Contortionist S.Oyun-Erdene, an artist at Cirque du Soleil, made history by performing 28 backbend contortion repetitions in just 30 seconds, with 24 officially recognized. This extraordinary achievement not only highlights her personal excellence but also exemplifies the remarkable endurance, precision, and discipline that define Mongolian circus artistry.
Yet despite their international success, many of these artists share a common aspiration: to return home, establish a world-class performance venue comparable to Cirque du Soleil, and pass on their expertise to the next generation while building sustainable careers in Mongolia. Instead, they face a systemic reality that undervalues their craft, offering limited institutional support and inadequate infrastructure. As a result, the country continues to lose its finest talents to overseas stages, effectively exporting its most skilled cultural ambassadors without fully benefiting from their success.
‘BLACK MARK’ OF PRIVATIZATION AND EMPTY PROMISE BY GRAND CHAMPION
The year 2007 remains a dark mark in the history of Mongolia’s circus arts. After the State Circus was privatized and transferred under a management contract to “Asa Consulting”, circus performers were effectively expelled from their own home. Today, their once-golden arena has been transformed into a rental venue known as “ASA Arena”, hosting rock and pop concerts, e-sports competitions, and even functioning as a marketplace.
At the time, many believed in the promise of the grand sumo champion to elevate the national circus. However, due to the absence of government oversight and civil society accountability regarding the outcomes of this privatization, new business interests have turned a cultural heritage site into a commercial object. As a result, the rightful “residents”, the artists, have been displaced, struggling to survive in cold rehearsal spaces day by day.
Ahead of the 2024 elections, Grand Champion of professional sumo Yokozuna Asashyoryu D.Dagvadorj reassured the public, promising that the circus would reopen on July 7 and that its 80th anniversary would be celebrated retroactively. “Just be patient. I am being patient too,” he said. Trusting his words, circus artists have waited to the very limits of their endurance.
Unfortunately, 19 years after privatization, the circus building has still not been used for its intended purpose. In fact, Mongolian circus performers have not held a single performance there during this time. Meanwhile, starting this month, foreign circus groups have begun renting the arena for their shows.
At the same time, over 80 percent of the students and young performers from the Circus Department of the Mongolian State Conservatory, commonly referred to as the circus school, are forced to train in an old building that is largely burned and condemned.
They endure crumbling ceilings, damp brick walls eroded by moisture, the smell of mold, and freezing temperatures without heating in the harshest winter. To keep warm, they layer their outdoor clothing and sit shivering in basement-like conditions. The relevant ministry should be ashamed on their behalf.
In such unsafe and impoverished conditions, where even the rigging and safety measures are unreliable, young performers practice “death-defying” roller acts on a tiny platform only 80 centimeters in diameter. These are not merely artists; they are fighters risking their lives. Circus, by nature, is an art of space. International standards require ceilings 12 to 15 meters high to allow for aerial performances. Yet Mongolian performers are forced to train in frozen halls with ceilings under three meters. Just imagine that.
‘ART WITH 85 YEARS OF HISTORY MUST NOT BE ABANDONED LIKE THIS'
Circus is one of humanity’s oldest, and perhaps most “honest”, art forms. There are no edits, no playback tracks, no post-production tricks. Everything unfolds live, in real time, before the audience. In countries such as Canada, France, and China, the circus is recognized as a national brand and a strategic cultural sector, receiving strong state support. Canada, through Cirque du Soleil (“Circus of the Sun”), has stamped its reputation on the global stage and generates billions through its creative industries. Meanwhile, Mongolia has spent nearly two decades effectively “giving away” its invaluable human talent to foreign countries for free.
Far from preserving our cultural identity, we have become little more than a supplier to the international labor market. On this issue, representatives of the Circus Department at the Mongolian State Conservatory stated, “The fact that world-class performers continue to emerge from such conditions is not the result of state policy or system support. It is the product of the innate talent, resilience of Mongolian circus artists, and the tireless dedication of their teachers.
The decline of Mongolian circus can be directly traced back to privatization. From the beginning, the State Circus should have been operated according to its intended purpose. However, under the pretext of ‘management privatization’, this decision was gradually altered. National cultural heritage came to be viewed not as a cultural value, but as a source of economic profit—seen through the lens of greed. This was the greatest policy mistake.”
The representatives then highlighted that, “As a result, our artists have scattered, and we no longer even have proper rehearsal spaces. Today, we have lost our own space. Government officials speak endlessly about developing the circus, but in reality, none of our fundamental problems have been addressed. The circus school building is on the verge of collapse. This is not just our school’s problem, but it reflects the broader decline of national cultural policy.”
“An art form with 85 years of history must not be discarded like this. Up to now, we have managed to survive without any state support, relying solely on our own efforts to keep it alive,” said the relevant representatives at the department.
It is deeply disheartening that while Olympic medalists are awarded apartment keys, and winners of local wrestling festivals receive properties and cars worth billions, circus artists who elevate Mongolia’s name on the world stage are not even provided with the most basic working conditions. In fact, the budget for just one year’s opening and closing ceremonies of the national Naadam festival could fully renovate the circus school. The issue is not a lack of financial capacity, but a lack of will among those in power to invest in the future generation.
AT RISK OF BECOMING ONLY MEMORY
Those who grew up in the 1970s and 1980s fondly recall going to the iconic blue circus tent with their families or classmates, filled with excitement and wonder. It was in that arena that they first experienced beauty, resilience, and the magic of performance.
Sadly, today’s children encounter the circus not as a living art, but through YouTube. What should be a cornerstone of our cultural identity—our traditional arts, world-renowned contortion, and the breathtaking equestrian performances rooted in nomadic heritage—is instead fading away. Losing such a valuable cultural legacy by our own hands is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all.
Under the white banner that reads “Circus is Trust”, artists continue to endure, warming themselves with nothing but their passion. But how much longer can they survive under such harsh conditions?
Do those in power have even the slightest willingness to end this neglect and provide circus artists with at least a single proper training facility? Or will we continue sending all our talent abroad as “gifts,” while standing before empty buildings at home and proclaiming, “Mongolians are talented”?
If this continues, future generations may come to know Mongolian circus not as a living, breathing art—but only through history books and archival television footage.
