News Desk
ISLAMABAD — In the dusty outskirts of Gwadar, a port city in Pakistan’s Balochistan province, a new kind of farm is taking shape. It’s not for cattle or goats, but donkeys—hundreds of thousands of them, bred and slaughtered to feed China’s insatiable demand for donkey hides and meat. A Chinese delegation’s recent pledge to build these farms, announced last week, marks the latest chapter in Beijing’s global hunt for donkeys, a pursuit that’s reshaping economies, stirring ethical debates, and straining ecosystems from Pakistan to sub-Saharan Africa.
China’s donkey business, driven by a traditional medicine called ejiao and a taste for donkey burgers, is no small enterprise. It’s a multibillion-dollar industry that’s depleted China’s own donkey population and turned the country into a global vacuum cleaner for hides, sucking in millions of animals from vulnerable regions. While the trade promises economic lifelines for countries like Pakistan, it also lays bare the costs of China’s resource hunger: environmental degradation, cultural friction, and questions about animal cruelty that echo far beyond its borders.
At the heart of China’s donkey trade is ejiao, a gelatin made from boiled donkey hides, prized in traditional medicine for its supposed ability to boost energy, improve skin, and even slow aging. Once a niche remedy, ejiao has exploded into a luxury good, marketed by companies like Dong’e Ejiao to China’s growing middle class. The industry’s value is staggering—over $7 billion annually, by some estimates—with demand for 5 million hides a year. Donkey meat, a delicacy in places like Hebei, adds another layer, with restaurants serving up lǘròu huǒshāo (donkey meat sandwiches) to eager diners.
But China has a problem: it’s running out of donkeys. From 11 million in the 1990s, the country’s donkey population has plummeted to under 3 million, a casualty of over-slaughter and urbanization. Domestic supply can’t keep up, so China has turned outward, forging trade routes to countries with large donkey populations. Pakistan, with 5.9 million donkeys, is the latest frontier, while African nations like Ethiopia and Nigeria have long been key suppliers—until bans and depletion slowed the flow.
In Pakistan, the donkey trade is gaining traction under the umbrella of the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), a flagship of Beijing’s Belt and Road Initiative. Last Saturday, Zhao Fei, vice president of China’s Donkey Industry, met with Pakistan’s food security minister, Rana Tanveer Hussain, in Islamabad. The Chinese side proposed donkey farms in Gwadar’s Export Processing Zone, complete with slaughterhouses and export facilities to ship meat and hides via the nearby port. A $7 million slaughterhouse, run by China’s Hengeng Trading Company, opened in February, capable of processing 216,000 donkeys a year and promising $30 million in annual revenue.
For Pakistan, a country wrestling with a $130 billion debt (including $26.6 billion owed to China), the trade is a tantalizing prospect. Exports could bring in millions, create jobs in rural areas, and bolster CPEC’s faltering image. Last July, Pakistan’s commerce ministry finalized protocols to export donkey skins and meat, a move hailed as a step toward diversifying trade beyond textiles and rice. “This is about economic opportunity,” said Ahsan Ali Mangi, a commerce official, during a Senate briefing. “We’re tapping a market China needs.”
But not everyone’s convinced. Donkeys are workhorses in Pakistan’s countryside, carrying water and crops for millions of farmers. In Gwadar, locals grumble about cultural missteps—donkey meat is taboo under Islamic law—and question whether CPEC’s promises will materialize. “First they built a port nobody uses,” said Aslam, a fisherman in Gwadar. “Now they want our donkeys. What’s next?” Social media posts on X echo the skepticism, with some calling it “CPEC’s donkey circus.”
Pakistan’s venture comes as Africa reels from its own experience with China’s donkey trade. Ethiopia, with 8.5 million donkeys, was once a major supplier, shipping hides until its population began to buckle. Nigeria, Burkina Faso, and Niger followed suit, only to impose bans after donkey numbers crashed—by 50% in some areas—disrupting rural life where donkeys haul up to a quarter of farm goods. In Kenya, undercover footage of donkeys bludgeoned for their hides sparked outrage, prompting calls for tighter controls.
The numbers are grim. The Donkey Sanctuary, a U.K.-based charity, estimates that 5.9 million donkeys are slaughtered globally each year for China’s market, with Africa bearing the brunt. The trade has brought cash—$10 to $20 per hide—but at a steep cost: farmers lose their lifelines, and entire regions face economic ripple effects. “Donkeys are the backbone of rural Africa,” said Faith Burden, a Donkey Sanctuary researcher. “China’s demand is pulling that backbone apart.”
Beijing’s response has been to pivot. With African bans tightening, Pakistan’s proximity and political alignment make it an ideal partner. Yet the African precedent looms large: without careful management, Pakistan risks depleting its donkeys, too.
The donkey trade’s ethical shadows are hard to ignore. Reports from China describe brutal slaughtering practices—donkeys beaten with hammers or skinned alive to cut costs. Similar horrors have surfaced in Africa, where PETA and other groups have documented animals suffering in makeshift abattoirs. Pakistan’s new facilities promise better standards, but skepticism persists. “If China’s track record is any guide, oversight will be lax,” said Ayesha Khan, an animal rights activist in Karachi.
Environmentally, the trade is no less troubling. Large-scale donkey farming requires water and land, scarce resources in places like Gwadar, where drought is a constant threat. In China, ejiao production has been linked to pollution, with tanneries dumping waste into rivers. As demand grows, so does the strain on ecosystems already battered by climate change.
Then there’s the question of sustainability. Donkeys reproduce slowly—one foal every two years—and China’s own collapse from 11 million to 3 million animals shows what happens when greed outpaces biology. Pakistan’s 1.7% annual donkey growth rate can’t sustain 216,000 yearly exports without aggressive breeding programs, which the government has yet to scale up.
The donkey trade fits a familiar pattern: China’s relentless pursuit of resources to fuel its economy, often at the expense of poorer nations. From African cobalt to Southeast Asian timber, Beijing’s playbook involves securing supply chains through loans, investments, and infrastructure projects—many under the Belt and Road umbrella. In Pakistan, CPEC has poured $62 billion into roads, ports, and power plants, but critics say it’s also saddled the country with debt it can’t repay. The donkey deal, while small in scale, reflects this dynamic: China gets what it needs, while Pakistan bets on trickle-down benefits.
Geopolitically, the trade tightens Beijing’s grip. Pakistan’s reliance on Chinese loans—$26.6 billion and counting—raises fears of a debt trap, with Gwadar Port rumored to be collateral. On X, users debate whether Pakistan is selling its sovereignty alongside its donkeys, a sentiment echoed by analysts. “China’s investments come with strings,” said a former Pakistani diplomat. “The donkey trade is just one knot in a tightening rope.”
For Pakistan the donkey trade is a gamble. Done right, it could bring jobs and dollars to a struggling economy. Done wrong, it risks cultural backlash, ecological harm, and a repeat of Africa’s mistakes. The government insists it’s taking precautions—breeding programs, legal safeguards, and humane standards—but execution is uncertain. Senate briefing revealed broader trade woes: a $281 billion debt at the Trading Corporation of Pakistan, domestic onion shortages despite export plans, and a bureaucracy struggling to keep pace.
China, meanwhile, faces pressure to rethink its approach. Animal welfare groups are pushing for synthetic ejiao alternatives, while environmentalists warn that donkey extinction is a real risk. Yet Beijing shows little sign of slowing down, with new farms in Pakistan and trade deals in Central Asia signaling an ever-widening net.
In Gwadar, the donkey farms are just beginning to take shape, their pens empty for now. But they symbolize something larger: a world where China’s needs reshape distant landscapes, from Pakistani ports to African villages. The trade offers a lifeline to some, a loss to others, and a moral quandary for all. As the first donkeys arrive, the question isn’t just about hides or meat—it’s about whether the world can afford China’s appetite, and what it means for those caught in its jaws.
