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The challenge of maintaining family ties despite tensions and disagreements – one that I assume everyone can relate to, at least to some extent – is a question I explore in my PhD thesis, which more broadly examines social relations in Mongolia, both within kin networks and among neighbours.

Over several years, I lived among pastoralist families in Mongolia, sharing their daily lives. Several things struck me. On the one hand, the remarkable strength of kin ties and the networks of ‘relatives’ (ah düü) within which each individual is embedded – which function as systems of solidarity and mutual support. On the other hand, these relations also appeared fragile, with disagreements arising between individuals, sometimes escalating into serious disputes. At such moments, the web of social relations could seem as though it were on the verge of collapse, as if everything might suddenly come apart.

Yet, this network, while at times seemingly volatile, appears to hold together nonetheless. I therefore sought to understand more concretely how people in Mongolia maintain this balance and prevent the relational fabric from unravelling. In other words, how do Mongols deal with family members they do not particularly like within a context of strong interdependence? I will explore this question through the case of Saran, a woman in my host family’s kin network who was not held in much esteem, tracing how members of my host family navigated their relationship with her.

When ‘truths’ emerge in the course of events

During my fieldwork, I stayed both with Saran and her husband and, more frequently, with members of her husband’s extended family, including Gerel. In terms of kinship, Gerel and Saran are not related by blood, but by marriage. Nevertheless, they belong to the same network of ‘relatives’ – commonly referred to in Mongolian as ah düü – and thus maintain ‘strong ties’ (Granovetter 1973).

As Gerel was always respectful and helpful to Saran, it took me some time to realise that she was not particularly fond of her. If not for certain events that unfolded during my stay, Gerel would probably never have voiced her feelings, as she was careful not to speak ill of others, even in private contexts. It was only after a fairly large sum of money had been stolen from me that I was told, in confidence, that Saran had a reputation for stealing – even from members of her own family – and that I should therefore be cautious. It is worth noting that my involvement in this event made it possible for me to hear stories that would otherwise have remained untold (cf. Favret-Saada 1977). Several years later, another episode following the death of one of Saran’s family members further suggested Gerel’s low esteem for her. During the funeral ceremonies – when it is important to ‘make merit’ to help the deceased’s soul be reborn, in accordance with Buddhist practice in Mongolia – Saran chose to spend time away with friends rather than receive guests, as was expected. This behaviour shocked Gerel and appeared to confirm her existing reservations about Saran.

Yet Saran is never openly confronted. While she is widely known to have repeatedly stolen from family members, and darker accounts circulate locally concerning her treatment of younger relatives, no one addresses these issues directly. The general strategy is therefore to take precautions while avoiding open conflict.

Respect towards elders

Gerel not only refrains from speaking negatively about Saran, but also continues to help her whenever need arises. This support and ‘respect’ (hündlel) are embedded in a complex system of reciprocal obligations (Sneath 1993), grounded in the elder-younger relationship, as Saran is about ten years older than Gerel, and in broader patterns of interdependence between their respective households.

Gerel’s family, who are herders, regularly supplied Saran’s household with meat and other home-produced goods during visits to the village. In turn, Saran and her husband hosted Gerel’s daughter in their home for several years while she was attending school, until the end of her secondary education. Such forms of exchange – meat provision from herders and accommodation in villages or towns – are extremely common in Mongolia, when relational networks allow it (Fox 2019). However, these practices are not understood in terms of transaction or exchange, but rather in ethical terms, as part of appropriate conduct between elders and juniors. Moreover, such exchanges do not follow a simple logic of equivalence, as obligations are often asymmetrical: they are mutual without being necessarily balanced (Sneath 1993). Gerel’s assistance to Saran thus expresses ‘respect’ towards her elder rather than altruistic benevolence, enacting a pre-existing relationship structured by specific expectations. Saran, for her part, occasionally reciprocates by hosting her ‘younger relative’ (düü) when needed.

Given these strong dynamics of interdependence and mutual obligation within ah düü networks, individual disagreements therefore tend to be downplayed in favour of maintaining smooth relations, which are essential for ongoing cooperation.

The virtues of silence

In fact, the most obvious way to avoid conflict appears to be silence. Gerel not only refrains from openly criticising Saran, but also avoids sharing any discrediting information about her with others – a second form of silencing closer to secrecy.

Silence, as a relational modality, can indeed be a powerful tool for avoiding conflict. In Mongolia, this preference for silence over open disagreement reflects a performative logic of speech and emotion: speaking about a problem may amplify it, while remaining silent is believed – at least in principle – to reduce it. There is also a widespread idea that one should not speak of ‘bad things’, whether external misfortunes or personal suffering such as physical or psychological pain. Silence therefore becomes an appropriate response in many situations: in illness, in the face of upsetting events, when unable to fulfil a request, or when receiving unwanted visitors. In such cases, the only acceptable phrase is: za, za, yahavdee, hamaagüi – ‘it doesn’t matter’ (Haas 2012: 93).

Given the performative power attributed to words and emotions, it is important to act as though no disagreement or hostility exists. Gerel therefore chooses to ignore – and remain silent about – her elder’s faults, thereby preventing open confrontation and continuing to behave as an exemplary ‘younger relative’, regardless of her personal feelings.

The second mode of silencing, closer to secrecy, is the deliberate withholding of certain information. In this respect, Gerel’s silence helps sustain and soften others’ relations with Saran, by avoiding negative framings and thus contributing to the maintenance of the broader network of ‘relatives’ (ah düü). Concealing unflattering aspects helps preserve fragile but necessary relations, allowing people to continue dealing with one another despite imperfections and things that are sometimes better left unknown.

To speak or to remain silent: differentiated circulations of speech

Not everyone however shows the same restraint or finesse when it comes to expressing – or withholding – negative opinions about relatives. Naraa, Gerel’s sister, who far blunter in her speech, is more willing to share her reservations about certain individuals. One evening she asked me if, in my view, Saran was a ‘good person’, before openly expressing her disapproval of the ‘respect’ her elder sister shows her, given Saran’s ‘bad’ (muu) nature and cruelty towards others. She also suggested that if no one in the family dares to confront her, it is because Saran inspires fear within the kin group: known for being a gossip (hel amtai), she also became involved in spiritual practices, which seemed to reinforce the wider reluctance to challenge her.

The stakes, however, differ significantly between the two sisters. Naraa is not involved in any direct relations of interdependence or exchange with Saran. She is also geographically distant and largely ‘out of reach’, unlike Gerel, who has little choice but to accommodate her. In fact, there seems to be no clear way of managing difficult relationships that require reciprocity and exchange other than silence, which works to sustain a fragile equilibrium.

Drawing on Granovetter’s (1973) ‘strength of weak ties’ theory and applying it to the ah düü kinship network, which includes both strong and weak ties, one can suggest that the strength of weak ties, such as that between Naraa and Saran (in contrast to the strong tie between Gerel and Saran, characterised by interdependence), lies in their capacity to allow the expression of things otherwise silenced in the name of social harmony: hostility, moral judgement, resentment, disagreements, and even secrets.

It is also noteworthy that the two occasions on which the darkest secrets (involving forms of mistreatment) about Saran reached me were disclosed by individuals within the ah düü network who maintained weak ties with her (including Naraa). By contrast, Gerel never mentioned these to me, despite our close relationship. Weak ties thus appear particularly conducive to revealing internal dysfunctions within the ah düü network, and to breaking the protective and structuring silence of relations.