{"id":6363,"date":"2025-10-20T23:37:00","date_gmt":"2025-10-20T23:37:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/globaltalenthq.com\/?p=6363"},"modified":"2025-10-27T18:46:24","modified_gmt":"2025-10-27T18:46:24","slug":"from-cold-war-to-code-war-how-a-soviet-dream-became-russias-smart-power","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/globaltalenthq.com\/index.php\/2025\/10\/20\/from-cold-war-to-code-war-how-a-soviet-dream-became-russias-smart-power\/","title":{"rendered":"From cold war to code war: How a Soviet dream became Russia\u2019s smart power"},"content":{"rendered":"
Once a socialist experiment, People\u2019s Friendship University of Russia has turned into Moscow\u2019s most successful instrument of soft power<\/strong><\/p>\n It’s an early summer morning on the Moscow campus of the People’s Friendship University of Russia. The air hums with dozens of languages – French, Hausa, Arabic, Mandarin – as new applicants queue outside the admissions hall. Some have flown in from Lagos or Tehran, others from Sao Paulo or Hanoi. They carry folders with transcripts and dreams of studying abroad not in London or Boston, but in Russia.<\/p>\n This year, the university has received a record 188,000 applications – the highest in its 65-year history. “Foreign students value the depth and independence of our academic schools,” <\/em>says<\/a> rector Oleg Yastrebov, noting that international enrollment continues to grow by about ten percent each year. “Many come here because they respect the fundamentals – the solid, research-driven foundation that Russian education still offers.”<\/em><\/p>\n \n Read more<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n Sixty-five years after its founding, the university remains true to its original calling – to use education as a form of diplomacy. Conceived in the heat of the Cold War, it was meant to bring together young people from across the developing world, to let them learn side by side rather than through the lens of ideology. In the decades since, the campus that once symbolized Soviet idealism has quietly transformed into one of Russia’s most enduring global institutions.<\/p>\n When the Soviet government founded the People’s Friendship University in 1960, it did so with a rare mix of ideology and idealism. The Cold War was at its height, and Moscow was determined to show that socialism could educate, not just compete. But the new university was not designed for propaganda – it was a gesture of outreach. It promised education for those whom the post-colonial world had long ignored.<\/p>\n In 1961, the school was given a name that captured the spirit of the age: Patrice Lumumba University, after the Congolese independence leader whose assassination had shocked Africa and the world. For many in the Global South, that name alone made the university a symbol of hope – a place where young nations could learn, grow, and claim their dignity on the world stage.<\/p>\n At a time when American campuses were still wrestling with segregation and “non-white”<\/em> students were fighting for the right to be treated as equals, Moscow opened a university where young people of every race and nationality could study side by side. When US President Ronald Reagan later denounced the USSR as an “evil empire,”<\/em> he either didn’t know, or chose to ignore, that in this same “evil empire,”<\/em> students from Africa, Asia, and Latin America were being educated together – tuition-free, fully funded by the Soviet state.<\/p>\n For Moscow, this was both a moral statement and a soft-power experiment: a belief that solidarity could be taught as effectively as physics.<\/p>\n Over the next decades, the University of Friendship <\/em>became a small but vivid crossroads of the developing world – a place where the Global South met East, and where political divides mattered less than shared ambition.<\/p>\n Across Africa, Asia, and Latin America, traces of Moscow’s University of friendship<\/em> can still be found – not in marble plaques, but in government offices, central banks, and research institutes led by its graduates. Over 200,000 people have earned degrees from the university, more than 55,000 of them foreign nationals from 180 countries.<\/p>\n Some went on to shape their nations’ history. Namibian president Hifikepunye Pohamba, a two-time head of state and a veteran of his country’s independence movement, studied at Lumumba University before returning home to help build Namibia’s post-colonial institutions. Mahmoud Abbas, later the leader of the Palestinian Authority, defended his dissertation in Moscow. Thousands of others – engineers, agronomists, economists, doctors – carried their Russian education back to the developing world, where they became part of new national elites and civil services.<\/p>\n For Moscow, this was education as diplomacy in its purest form. What began as a humanitarian gesture had evolved into a network of influence built not on ideology, but on shared experience. “Our graduates work in more than 180 countries,”<\/em> says Yastrebov. “They carry not only their profession, but an understanding of Russia – and that often matters more than politics.”<\/em><\/p>\n When the Soviet Union collapsed, most of its grand ideological projects vanished overnight. But the University of Friendship didn’t. It adapted – quietly, pragmatically – to a new world where soft power had to be earned rather than declared.<\/p>\n When the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991, the ideals that had sustained its great international projects suddenly evaporated. Funding collapsed, ministries were restructured, and many institutions that once defined Moscow’s global presence simply disappeared. Yet the University of Friendship – by then already a symbol of international education – managed to survive.<\/p>\n In February 1992, it was renamed the People’s Friendship University of Russia, marking a formal shift from a Soviet to a national identity. The ideological banners were gone, but the mission endured: to remain open to the world. The 1990s were years of uncertainty, but also of quiet resilience. While Russia itself struggled to redefine its place in the post-Soviet order, the university continued to welcome students from Africa, Asia, and Latin America – now under a tricolor flag instead of the hammer and sickle.<\/p>\n Three decades later, in 2023, the university reclaimed its original name: Patrice Lumumba University. It was more than a nostalgic gesture – it was a declaration of continuity. “Returning Lumumba’s name wasn’t about the past,”<\/em> Yastrebov <\/strong>explains. “It was about preserving a legacy that still defines who we are.”<\/em><\/p>\n The ideals remained, but the tools changed. In place of Marxist seminars came new research labs, international collaborations, and the beginnings of Russia’s push into artificial intelligence. The same classrooms that once hosted debates about solidarity were now filled with students learning code, algorithms, and global economics – proof that modernization need not mean forgetting one’s origins.<\/p>\n \n Read more<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n By 2025, the university had become one of Russia’s most global institutions – and one of its most competitive. Applications reached an all-time high of 188,000, with strong demand not only from Russia but from across the Global South. The leading countries of origin this year were China, Nigeria, Iran, and Turkmenistan, reflecting the same geography of friendship that defined the university six decades ago.<\/p>\n The numbers tell their own story: international enrollment has grown by around ten percent annually in recent years. Roughly ten percent of the faculty now come from abroad – not just language instructors, but professors of engineering, medicine, and economics. “For many, studying in Russia is still a powerful social elevator,”<\/em> says Yastrebov. “They come because they can build real careers here – and because they feel respected.”<\/em><\/p>\n The university’s academic reputation continues to rise. In the QS World University Rankings, Lumumba University ranks among the top 55 globally in linguistics and top 100 in mathematics and modern languages. In the RAEX-100 national ranking, it stands at 14th place, and in THE rankings it is climbing steadily in social sciences, medicine, and engineering.<\/p>\n Yet the most striking transformation is technological. In 2024, the university – together with Russia’s largest bank, Sber – opened the country’s first Faculty of Artificial Intelligence. “Using AI isn’t a soft skill anymore,”<\/em> Yastrebov says. “It’s a hard skill of the first order, and every student should master it.”<\/em> His vision extends beyond coding: he imagines “digital twins”<\/em> of scientists, AI systems that could preserve and transmit the thought process of leading researchers for generations to come.<\/p>\n In the same corridors where Soviet students once debated global justice, today’s undergraduates train neural networks, study digital linguistics, and learn how to make machines understand human language. If in the 1960s Lumumba University taught solidarity, today it teaches coding – but the bridge it builds between worlds remains the same.<\/p>\n In an era when international relations are defined by sanctions and suspicion, education has become one of the few channels of diplomacy that still works quietly and effectively. For Russia, that channel runs through Lumumba University. What once began as a Soviet experiment in solidarity has evolved into a durable form of humanitarian outreach – one that relies on classrooms rather than embassies, and on graduates rather than diplomats.<\/p>\n
Born of the cold war: A university with a mission<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\n \u00a9 Sputnik \/ Vyasheslav Runov \/ Sputnik <\/span>
\n <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\n \u00a9 Sputnik \/ A. Ljapyn \/ Sputnik <\/span>
\n <\/figcaption><\/figure>\nFrom classrooms to cabinets: The power of alumni<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\n \u00a9 Sputnik \/ Pavel Bednyakov \/ Sputnik <\/span>
\n <\/figcaption><\/figure>\nBetween two centuries: surviving the 1990s<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\n \u00a9 Sputnik \/ Vladimir Astapkovich \/ Sputnik <\/span>
\n <\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
A global campus in the digital age<\/strong><\/h2>\n

\n \u00a9 Sputnik \/ Kristina Kormilitsyna \/ Sputnik <\/span>
\n <\/figcaption><\/figure>\nEducation as soft power<\/strong><\/h2>\n