President of Kazakhstan Kassym-Jomart Tokayev spoke at the international symposium “The Golden Horde as a Model of Steppe Civilization: History, Archaeology, Culture, Identity,” which took place in Astana on May 19-20, 2026. In his speech, he called the Golden Horde one of the largest and most influential empires of Eurasia, emphasizing its role in the development of civilizations and the formation of statehood.
For Kazakhstan, this is not just a conversation about archaeology or medieval history.
It is part of a broader process: Astana is reassembling its own historical framework and rejecting old imperial clichés, where steppe states were long described as “quasi-states,” and nomadic peoples as a spontaneous force without a complex political culture.
Tokayev directly stated that Kazakhstan is actively revising outdated dogmas and stereotypes that, for political ambitions, diminished the significance of steppe empires. He called for studying the intellectual heritage of the Golden Horde, its governance system, and economic model.
Why Tokayev’s speech caused a nervous reaction in Russia
Pro-Russian resources perceived Tokayev’s speech not as a historical discussion, but as a political gesture. In their interpretation, Kazakhstan allegedly claims rights to the heritage of the Golden Horde while simultaneously diminishing Russia’s role in Eurasian history.
Some commentators began to explain this process as “British influence” and “Turkish penetration,” claiming that both London and Ankara are using the historical theme against Moscow. Others saw in Tokayev’s speech an attempt to present Kazakhstan as the main and more legitimate heir of the Golden Horde.
Such a dispute shows not so much an attitude towards medieval history as a fear of modern decolonization of memory. If Kazakhstan openly speaks about its own statehood, the continuity of steppe institutions, and the role of the Ulus of Jochi in Eurasia, then the old Russian scheme of “center-periphery” begins to crack.
History turns into a question of sovereignty
For Astana, the Golden Horde becomes not a museum topic, but an element of national identity. Kazakhstan shows that its history does not begin with the Soviet period and does not need Russian permission for independent interpretation of the past.
This is what irritates Russian imperial circles the most.
When former Soviet republics begin to speak about themselves through their own historical traditions, Moscow loses its usual tool of influence. It is impossible to simultaneously demand a “common history” and forbid neighbors from reading this history not according to the Kremlin’s textbook.
The Golden Horde as a challenge to the Russian imperial myth
In Russian polemics, harsher assessments were also voiced. One comment called the Golden Horde a “machine for controlling transit routes and collecting tribute,” effectively denying its contribution to the development of civilizations. Others saw in Tokayev’s speech an “anti-Russian” and even “Russophobic” discourse that allegedly reached the state level.
But the very framing of the question indicates a weak point in Russian historical policy.
It is convenient for Moscow to present the Golden Horde either as an external darkness or as a secondary episode, after which Russia supposedly inevitably rose. Kazakhstan offers another view: steppe states had complex institutions, a transit economy, diplomatic ties, and their own political culture.
NAnews — Israel News | Nikk.Agency considers this discussion an important example of how post-Soviet countries are emerging from under Russian historical tutelage. For the Israeli audience, there is an understandable parallel: the struggle for memory and the right to one’s own history often becomes part of the struggle for security, independence, and a place in the modern world.
Why this is important against the backdrop of Russia’s war against Ukraine
After Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022, many post-Soviet countries became more cautious about Russian claims to “historical lands,” “common destiny,” and “protection of Russian speakers.” For Kazakhstan, such formulas sound especially sensitive because threats to its northern regions have repeatedly appeared in the Russian public sphere.
Against this backdrop, Tokayev’s appeal to the heritage of the Golden Horde looks like a response not only to historians but also to political propagandists. Kazakhstan demonstrates: its statehood has deep roots, and its identity is not derivative of Moscow.
And this is no longer a dispute about the past. It is a conversation about who has the right to determine the future of Eurasia.
Kazakhstan changes course — Moscow loses monopoly
The reaction of pro-Russian resources coincides with a broader process of cooling between Kazakhstan and Russia. Astana is strengthening its own subjectivity, expanding ties with Turkey, China, the West, and other partners, and participating in the development of transit routes that bypass Russia.
In this sense, the dispute over the Golden Horde overlaps with economic geography. The middle corridor through the Caspian and the Caucasus is gradually becoming not just an alternative, but part of a new Eurasian logistics. For Russia, this is painful: it loses not only political control but also the role of an obligatory transit center.
This is why Tokayev’s historical speech caused such a sharp reaction. In Moscow, they felt that Kazakhstan is not talking about the past, but about the future — about its own place between East and West, about the right to independently choose allies, and about gradually emerging from the shadow of the former metropolis.
For Israel, this topic is also important because regional security today depends not only on the Middle East. Central Asia is becoming a zone where the interests of Russia, China, Turkey, the West, and the Muslim world intersect. Kazakhstan, strengthening its historical and political subjectivity, can play an increasingly independent role in this complex system.
Tokayev’s speech about the Golden Horde was not just a cultural statement. It showed that the post-Soviet map is changing more deeply than it seems at first glance. Former republics no longer want to be an appendix to the Russian past — they are building their own language of memory, diplomacy, and future.