Up there, at 3.000 meters, Kyrgyzstan doesn't do things by halves: wind, snow, and animals that regard you as if you were an intruder. On these remote high plateaus, a family of herders, the Akmatovs, have, over the years, cultivated a herd of… white yaks. A rarity, almost a signature. The country sees it as more than just a pastoral curiosity: a symbol of agricultural revival in a Central Asia weakened by soil degradation and overgrazing.
Amantour, 30, herds nearly 300 head of cattle on horseback, in a silence that clings to your ears. He sums up the compelling argument in a very simple sentence: "The temperature drops to -40°C at night; the cows couldn't withstand it… But the yaks can graze freely." Hardy, undemanding, and able to thrive where the promise of pastureland sometimes seems like an unfulfilled commodity, these high-altitude cattle tick all the boxes that the authorities want to emphasize in the face of climate change. Except that here, nature never offers respite: growth remains slow (one calf every two years on average), and the wolves serve as a constant reminder that the mountains rule, with some twenty yaks already devoured in recent months.
A white fleece, a clear message: stand up to the climate
Behind the rural fable lies a real political agenda: to have the breed officially recognized by the Ministry of Agriculture. A kind of state seal of approval, which would open the door to wider distribution, and eventually to export, the Akmatovs hope. The Kyrgyz Ministry is already touting a "promising" sector and emphasizing the strategic importance of these animals, which "reduce pressure on rural land" by utilizing isolated high-altitude pastures. The national yak herd, which declined after the end of the USSR, now exceeds 60.000 head, a sign that in Bishkek, they have understood the value of getting back into the business of producing white wool, preferably.
The most striking aspect is that this adventure also bears the mark of a Soviet history that has never truly closed. Patriarch Tashtanbek Akmatov, 88, a former deputy to the Supreme Soviet and ex-speaker of the Kyrgyz Parliament, a two-time "Hero of Socialist Labor," traded the trappings of politics for the Kara-Saz plateau. His obsession: to make yaks, originally black, "white" after a decade of selective breeding. Both a story of family legacy and an exercise in national prestige, the project ticks another box: in a country where agriculture employs a quarter of the workforce, improving livestock productivity is anything but a hobby.
The crux of the matter remains, a very down-to-earth one: land itself. "To increase the number of yaks, the state must allocate grazing land; that's the biggest problem," asserts Baatyrbek Akmatov, who advocates for herd rotation to preserve the soil. The FAO is already warning of management practices deemed unsustainable, exacerbated by global warming.
