Bogdan Lytvynenko is a research and editorial intern at the Center for International Relations and Sustainable Development and a Master’s student at the University of Oxford.

Nearly 35 years after the USSR’s collapse, the five ex-Soviet Central Asian states—Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan—have made noticeable progress in establishing their national identities. Nonetheless, a subtle yet enduring force retains a geopolitical and cultural grip on these nations: the language of Tolstoy. While foreign language proficiency is generally encouraged for economic opportunities and academic growth, Russian influence in Central Asia is distinct. It has effectively become a native tongue for millions of citizens, extending far beyond the region’s ethnic Russian minority.

The danger of this phenomenon is that Russian acts not only as a tool of communication but also shapes the population’s worldview. It reinforces “shared” identity ties with Russia and facilitates external manipulation, effectively distancing societies from their own nation-building processes. Central Asian governments are well aware of this dynamic; however, given their existing dependence on—and consistent pressure from—the Kremlin, the path to complete de-Sovietization remains a high-risk mission.

 

Gradual Russification in the Soviet Era

Beginning in the late 1930s, Stalinist policies enforced a rigorous Russification across the five Central Asian Soviet Socialist Republics (SSRs) to ensure their total integration with Moscow.

The first step was linguistic. Russian became mandatory in schools, intended as the region’s lingua franca. By 1940, local languages—previously written in Arabic and then Latin scripts—were forced to adopt Cyrillic. This severed the Turkic (Kazakh, Kyrgyz, Uzbek, Turkmen) and Persian (Tajik) populations from their literary history and bound them to the Slavic alphabet.

Russian quickly became the sole avenue for upward mobility, dominating administration and commerce. This linguistic shift was cemented by a radical demographic engineering. Through the forced deportations that occurred during World War II and the industrial influx of the 1950s, the ethnic balance shifted dramatically—most notably in Kazakhstan.

By 1959, Kazakhs had become a minority in their own homeland, constituting just 30 percent of the population (a steep drop from 81.7 percent in 1897), while ethnic Russians had risen to 42.7 percent.

The cultural impact was absolute. By 1991, Almaty had over 100 schools, yet only two taught in Kazakh. Advanced university degrees were accessible only through Russian. This pattern mirrored itself in other SSR capitals such as Tashkent and Bishkek (then-Frunze), making Russian synonymous with the urban elite. The result was a generation of ethnic Central Asians who spoke “the language of Pushkin” even at home. Children of Turkic parents were raised in Russian-speaking households, ensuring that when independence finally arrived, all five Central Asian capitals were predominantly Russophone.

 

More Than a Language

Revitalizing the titular languages of Central Asia is not a mere exercise in cultural heritage; it is a critical imperative for national sovereignty and state survival.

Russian continues to dominate the streets of Astana and Bishkek, but it does not exist in a vacuum. It acts as a bridge to the “Russian World,” championed by a Kremlin leadership that views the Soviet collapse as the century’s “greatest geopolitical catastrophe.”  Through this linguistic conduit, the language of Pushkin becomes a potent vehicle for Moscow’s soft power.

Fluency in Russian immerses Central Asians in Moscow’s information sphere, shaping narratives to fit Kremlin interests. Data supports this: A 2022 Demoscope poll in Kazakhstan found that 45 percent of Russian speakers supported Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, compared to only 20 percent of Kazakh speakers. Most telling was the demographic overlap: 77 percent of respondents chose to answer in Russian, despite ethnic Kazakhs comprising over 70 percent of the population. This confirms that linguistic Russification—regardless of ethnicity—correlates with pro-Kremlin sentiment.

PONARS Eurasia reinforces this, arguing that “language should be disaggregated from ethnicity.” This trend holds in Kyrgyzstan as well, where 46 percent of Russian speakers justified the war, versus 31 percent of Kyrgyz speakers.

This sentiment has tangible consequences for elections and foreign policy. It blurs the lines of history and identity: Was the Soviet era an occupation or a “brotherly friendship?” If Central Asians view Russian not as a foreign tongue but as their own, the political distance from Moscow shrinks, complicating the region’s ability to chart an independent course.

 

Endless Pressure

While Russia has lost direct control over Central Asia’s domestic policy, it continues to police the region’s cultural sphere, exerting significant pressure on all five states to preserve the legal dominance of the Russian language.

Demographics have shifted against Moscow. Since the 1980s, the emigration of ethnic Russians and high indigenous birth rates have restored the titular majorities in all five republics. Even in Kazakhstan, Kazakhs have regained their absolute majority. Yet, despite these shifts, Moscow treats any move toward de-Russification as a hostile act.

In July 2023, Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov publicly condemned Kyrgyzstan’s requirement that public servants be proficient in Kyrgyz, warning that the move was “not entirely democratic.” The irony is stark: Lavrov targeted a nation where Russian still enjoys official status, despite ethnic Russians comprising just 3.8 percent of the population.

The contrast with the Baltic states is instructive. In Latvia—a NATO member where ethnic Russians make up 22 percent of the population—strict linguistic sovereignty is enforced. Over 160,000 residents remain “non-citizens,” barred from voting or holding public office because they have failed to pass Latvian language and history exams. Riga refuses to compromise: you either integrate into the independent state or remain on the margins.

In Central Asia, however, linguistic sovereignty is tentative. If officials in Bishkek remain unable—or unwilling—to conduct business in Kyrgyz after 34 years of independence, they reinforce the colonial mindset that “Russian alone will suffice.”

Kazakhstan faces similar scrutiny. When Astana announced a transition to the Latin alphabet in 2017—a purely internal linguistic reform—Russian State Duma deputy Alexey Zhuravlev branded it “an unfriendly step against the Russian Federation.”

The message from Moscow is clear: any attempt to strengthen national identity will be branded with Kremlin’s weaponized label of choice: “Russophobia.” The question remains: is it time for Central Asian governments to stop fearing the label?

 

Ukraine vs. Belarus Scenario

Since the 2013 Euromaidan demonstrations, Russian state media has aggressively primed public opinion for conquest, propagating the narrative that Russian speakers in Ukraine face existential threats. This fabrication served as the primary justification for the 2014 intervention in Donbas and the 2022 full-scale invasion. As Russia’s UN Ambassador Vasily Nebenzya declared to the Security Council: “Russophobia has become the ideology of an independent Ukraine.”

Yet, the claim that Moscow acts to protect persecuted speakers collapses under scrutiny. In Crimea, prior to the 2014 annexation, Russian was already an official regional language. It thoroughly dominated Ukrainian in commerce and education, with 90.7 percent of Crimean children attending Russian-language schools. Even total linguistic dominance was not enough to save Crimea from the pretext of “protection.”

The lesson for Central Asia is stark: no degree of tolerance will satisfy the Kremlin short of the “Belarus scenario.” This model involves two state languages on paper, but the total displacement of the titular language in practice. In Belarus, the native tongue has been reduced to a ceremonial prop—used in metro announcements and folk symbols to maintain an illusion of independence. The reality is grim: in 2024, fewer than 2 percent of Minsk’s first graders began school in Belarusian.

This linguistic erasure mirrors political erasure. As the Belarusian language fades—now classified as “vulnerable” by UNESCO—so does the state’s sovereignty. Belarus has effectively become a satellite, its territory used as a launching pad for the invasion of Ukraine.

If Moscow’s rules prevail, a similar fate awaits Central Asia. The five republics face a brutal dilemma: provoke Russia and risk their immediate security, or accept creeping Russification and forfeit their long-term sovereignty.

 

Countering Silent Russification

“For the Kazakh government, especially after the Ukrainian case, it’s too fragile to remove the Russian language from the constitution,” warns Kazakh sociologist Issatay Minuarov. Given the high concentration of ethnic Russians in northern Kazakhstan—a region bordering Russia—abrupt changes could trigger a Moscow-backed separatist movement mirroring the 2014 Donbas case.

The path forward requires subtlety. First, the region should accelerate the transition from Cyrillic to Latin following the precedent set by Turkmenistan (completed in 1996) and Uzbekistan (finalized in 2023). Kazakhstan must prioritize its ongoing transition to encourage Kyrgyzstan—the last Turkic state using only Cyrillic—to follow suit. The Organization of Turkic States (OTS), with support from Türkiye and its TİKA cooperation agency, is well-positioned to fund and facilitate this shift. Tajikistan faces a steeper challenge, as reverting to the Perso-Arabic script requires a far more complex literacy overhaul than the Latin shift.

Second, education reform must be demographic, not punitive. Rather than converting existing Russian schools—which invites backlash from the Kremlin—governments should ensure that all newly-built schools teach exclusively in the titular languages. English, Russian, and other languages will be taught as foreign languages. This aligns with the region’s population growth while sidestepping accusations of “Russophobia.”

Third, the information space must be reclaimed. Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan already enforce quotas for state-language broadcasting (55 to 60 percent). Gradually increasing these thresholds alongside a revamped education policy would craft an alternative to Russia’s information space and its worldviews. Moreover, this multi-sector approach would reduce the Soviet-imposed reality where one must speak Russian to function in society, particularly in capitals like Astana and Tashkent.

Finally, even symbolic actions matter. In 2023, despite Putin’s insistence that Kazakhstan is a “Russian-speaking country,” President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev opened his remarks in Astana in Kazakh. This unexpected move forced Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov and other top Russian officials to scramble for their translation earpiece. Just as Putin systematically avoids English to deny it status, Central Asian leaders must normalize diplomatic bilingualism, signaling that the era of Russian defaultism is ending.

 

Tomorrow’s Words, Today’s Choices

Crucially, the burden of change cannot fall on individuals. Russophone Central Asians should not be blamed for a linguistic habit imposed by seventy years of Soviet rule. However, if governments maintain a laissez-faire approach, this habit will be passed to the next generation, entrenching Moscow’s influence and its inherent risks for decades to come.

The state must intervene to create an environment where Kazakh, Kyrgyz, Tajik, Turkmen, and Uzbek naturally become the languages of higher education, commerce, and media in their respective nations. More importantly, they must become the languages of inter-ethnic communication.

The logic is simple: In Russia, minorities like Chechens are expected to use Russian to communicate with the majority. Why, then, is it controversial to expect ethnic Russians in Uzbekistan to speak Uzbek? If the former example is not “Chechenophobia,” then the latter is not Russophobia. It is the normal functioning of a sovereign state—a normalcy that is long overdue after 34 years of independence.

Ultimately, the stakes go beyond whether two Kazakhs greet each other with “Salem” or “Privet.” The question is whether Central Asia will finally consolidate its sovereignty—or surrender it, one Russian conversation at a time.

Back to CIRSD news