Guest Post: May Day by Natsagdorj

By Khishigtugs Amarbayasgalan

Natsagdorj Dashdorj (1906–1937) is widely regarded as the founder of modern Mongolian literature. Natsagdorj was part of the first generation of Mongolian students sent abroad after the revolution (1921 revolution in Mongolia), and among the earliest to study in Germany—an experience that deeply influenced his modernist, globally engaged writing. A poet, playwright, and journalist, he was part of the first generation of Mongolian intellectuals shaped by revolutionary ideals and international education. He studied in Leipzig, Germany, and his works blended Mongolian tradition with modernist influences. Despite his short life, Natsagdorj left a lasting legacy, capturing the voice of a new, modern Mongolia in transition. His detailed biography is here.

Natsagdorj died tragically young, at just 31 years old, and the exact cause of his death remains unclear. Older generations often say he drank heavily and died on the street. More recent interpretations, however, suggest he may have been a victim of political repression—possibly purged by the brutal totalitarian regime of the time (watch documentaries as well as here). I think both explanations might hold some truth. Living under a system that stifled thought and punished dissent, intellectuals like Natsagdorj often faced unbearable pressure. A value crisis—a sense of alienation, loss, or disillusionment—can be as deadly as any bullet. Oppressive systems do not always kill with violence; sometimes they destroy slowly, through despair. Today, his legacy lives on. The Natsagdorj Library in Ulaanbaatar, named in his honor, is the second-largest library in Mongolia—a quiet but enduring tribute to the power of ideas and literature.

In his well-known short story “The Old Boy”, Natsagdorj wrote: “Blue mongolia became red mongolia. The old boy became the new boy.” I think the color blue symbolizes the old, conservative, feudal society, while red represents the new, progressive, socialist society. This transformation is not just personal—it reflects the sweeping changes Mongolia was undergoing during the revolutionary period.

Interestingly, the Mongolian national flag itself reflects this tension and transition. Its background is made up of three vertical bands: red, blue, red. Red dominates two-thirds of the flag, while blue occupies only one-third. It is as if the old Mongolia—the blue, traditional steppe—now stands flanked by a new, rising force of socialist transformation. Through both story and symbol, Natsagdorj captured a nation in the midst of redefining itself.

In 1931, Natsagdorj translated Part 1 Commodities and Money of the first volume of Karl Marx’s Capital into Mongolian. He completed this translation in collaboration with Tseveen Jamsran, working from February to May of that year in the Yuruu River basin of Selenge Province.

Historically, on April 29, 1922, the Ministry of Military Affairs of the Mongolian People’s Government issued Order No. 31, declaring the celebration of May 1st. The order was signed by General Sukhbaatar Damdin, stating: “Year Twelve, Third Month, Third Day. Minister of Military Affairs and Commander-in-Chief of All Armed Forces, Sukhbaatar.” Mongolia has stopped celebrating this day since shifting to capitalism 1990, and even the current younger generation does not know about this significant day.

May 1 in a Capitalist Country

“May 1 in a Capitalist Country” by Natsagdorj Dashdorj, to my knowledge, has never been translated into English before—so I decided to translate it myself. Nearly a century later, I find myself in Germany too—just like Natsagdorj once was. I translated “May 1 in a Capitalist Country” while sitting on Karl-Marx-Straße in Mannheim, right outside my student dorm. There was something quietly powerful about that moment: a Mongolian student reading a Mongolian revolutionary, on a street named after Marx.

“May 1 in a Capitalist Country” by Natsagdorj Dashdorj

On a gentle spring morning, the large red sun had just risen in the northeast sky. Its radiant light streamed through the third-floor window of a tall building facing away from the street, in one of Western Europe’s great cities. The light reached inside and flickered in Ochir’s eyes, waking him from sleep.

He got up right away, stretched a few times, and was washing his face and hands when suddenly, the sound of a heavy trumpet and drums echoed from outside. Curious, he listened attentively. The music blended beautifully with the sacred freshness of the morning air and drifted in through the open window, filling Ochir’s heart with delight and a pleasant feeling.

Soon, the music grew closer—its melody delicate and flowing like a mountain spring, gentle and intermittent. Deeply intrigued, Ochir half-wiped his face and leaned out the window. Along the wide avenue, a long procession marched forward. Workers paraded, waving red flags, singing The Internationale, and staging a powerful demonstration that shook both heaven and earth.

It was the international celebration of workers on the first of May.

Though armed, harsh-faced police surrounded the area, the workers’ march neither hesitated nor faltered. Their ranks remained perfectly aligned. Singing revolutionary songs in booming voices, they marched in unison with firm steps, showing off their fierce courage and unbreakable resolve.

Coming from a revolutionary country himself, Ochir was deeply moved. He leaned out and watched the procession intently, captivated until the very end.

(1928)

The Tibetan word “dorj” in the name Natsagdorj, the great writer himself, is a Sanskrit word for “ochir”. Therefore, Ochir is Natsagdorj himself.

For Natsagdorj, May Day was not just a political event—it was a symbol of modernity, a moment when the East and West shared a rhythm. Natsagdorj wasn’t just imitating European modernism—he was critiquing capitalism from the outside, using global tools (like May Day) in a Mongolian voice.

And now, almost a century later, I find myself in a similar place—far from home, yet walking streets once familiar to Natsagdorj. Like him, I carry Mongolia with me: in my language, in my questions, in my voice. The past and present, Mongolia and Germany, Ochir and I—we all meet in that window, looking out at the world, still asking what kind of future is possible, and what it means to belong.

On May Day, May 1st, 2025, I joined a demonstration in Mannheim, Germany. As I stood among the crowd, I realized that although the form of May Day has evolved, its core message remains the same: we must not tolerate inequality, we must protect working people, and we must resist the violence—material and symbolic—of exploitative systems like capitalism. What has changed is the scope and tone of the movement. Today’s May Day includes voices from the LGBTQ+ community, the Free Palestine movement, and environmental justice campaigns. The struggle has expanded, and become more intersectional.

I also noticed that people have changed. In Natsagdorj’s time—97 years ago—the world felt more radical and polarized, split into opposing ideological extremes. Today, many people still fight passionately, but there is more room for dialogue, more respect for human rights and diversity of thought. For example, in Natsagdorj’s story, the police are portrayed as a harsh, repressive force. But at the protest I attended, the police were not violent; they simply ensured public safety.

And yet, despite the differences in era, tone, and form, one thing remains constant: people are still searching for a better world. That spirit—that refusal to accept injustice—is what May Day continues to represent.

I’m grateful to Julian Dierkes for encouraging me to join the May Day demonstration and for capturing some memorable photos of the day.

About Khishigtugs

My name is Khishigtugs Amarbayasgalan (LinkedIn). I published a sociological book called Alienation in 2020. Currently pursuing my master’s degree in Sociology at the University of Mannheim, Germany. My academic focus lies in the study of social inequality—including class structures, stratification, educational disparity, values crisis and the broader implications of the Anthropocene.