Putin Has Squandered the Most Valuable Legacy of the Russian Empire

Peter Lee

Empires represent a distinct stage in human history. From the Roman, Persian, and Mongol empires to the Spanish, British, and Russian empires, each was the zenith of a civilization during its prime. Every empire, like a blooming flower, had its own season. And when the flower fades, it leaves behind fruits—cultural, legal, political legacies that shape future generations.

The Spanish and British empires may have declined, but the legacies they left behind—language, legal systems, political institutions—continue to exert powerful influence. English and Spanish are official languages in vast parts of the world. Many countries still operate under British common law and parliamentary democracy. English has become the global lingua franca, even among European Union members. In many ways, the legacy of the British Empire has outlived the empire itself and continues to benefit global civilization.

In contrast, the legacy of the Russian Empire is being actively erased. Countries that once belonged to it—such as the Baltic states, parts of the Caucasus, the five Central Asian republics, and Mongolia—are deliberately distancing themselves from Russian language, culture, and influence. This process of “de-Russification” is the exact opposite of what happened with the British Empire. Former British colonies often preserved English as a tool for progress; former Russian territories are striving to eliminate every trace of Russian legacy.

Why the difference? One key reason lies in how Britain handled its former colonies. The British never insisted that their language or legal systems be used as instruments of control. There was no doctrine claiming that “wherever English is spoken is inherently part of Britain.” Russia, however, has used such logic to justify territorial aggression—claiming, for instance, that its invasion of Ukraine was partly to protect Russian-speaking populations. This has alarmed neighboring countries with Russian-speaking minorities, pushing them to accelerate de-Russification and seek closer ties with the EU and NATO.

This desire to escape empire echoes in East Asia as well. For centuries, Korea and Vietnam used Chinese characters. But in modern times, both countries replaced Chinese script with their own national writing systems. Initially puzzling, this choice now appears deliberate: a way to break from the gravitational pull of the Chinese empire and prevent any future claims of cultural or territorial continuity.

Both Russia and China still cling to imperial mindsets, viewing vast territory as the core of national greatness. But this outdated belief creates repulsion rather than cohesion. Instead of unity, it fosters centrifugal forces—driving neighboring countries further away. The war in Ukraine has sharply accelerated this trend, not just militarily but symbolically. It marked the beginning of the end for Russia’s cultural sphere of influence.

Today, countries like Azerbaijan, Armenia, the Central Asian republics, Mongolia, and the Baltic states are pivoting away from Moscow. Russian no longer dominates their schools, institutions, or public life. Soviet-era institutions and aesthetics are being replaced by Western models. What could have been Russia’s “soft power”—language, customs, systems—is being methodically dismantled. Putin’s war may well go down in history as the event that obliterated Russia’s most valuable imperial legacy.

Empires, like the Great Wall of China, were grand achievements in their time. But trying to rebuild the Great Wall today would be absurd. So too is any attempt to rebuild a lost empire under the guise of shared language, culture, or ethnicity. Those who pursue such dreams today are not visionaries—they are swimming against the tide of history. And history, eventually, washes them away.