Alexey Vinokurov never wanted to leave his hometown, Yakutsk, the coldest city on earth. Nested in Russia’s Siberia within the Republic of Sakha, it lies over 8,000 kilometres from Moscow and only 450 kilometres from the Arctic Circle. He found everything he needed there: a comfortable job as a graphic designer, a loving family, and lifelong friendships.
But when Russia invaded Ukraine, his life unravelled. His Instagram posts condemning the war quickly led to two administrative convictions for discrediting the Russian army. Vinokurov knew that one more outspoken post could mean up to seven years in prison.
His cousin, an IT specialist and former soldier, faced immediate danger. Ethnic minorities with military background like him were among the first drafted into Putin’s war. (Data from October 2022 shows that Yakutia residents were mobilised at 1.47 times the national target rate).
Leaving the country became their best chance to escape the crisis. An opportunity soon emerged when Arsen Tomsky, the owner of inDrive – Yakutsk’s most successful IT company and employer of Vinokurov’s cousin – publicly condemned the war and made a bold announcement.
InDrive would shift its Russia and Ukraine offices to remote work, offering employees an additional 20 per cent of their salaries to locate to safety. In the same Instagram post, Tomsky revealed that inDrive is “considering options to open a new office in a neutral country to support relocation of employees.”
As it soon turned out, Kazakhstan emerged as the chosen destination. Most of Tomsky’s 1,000 Yakutsk employees relocated to the new Almaty office, now inDrive’s largest globally. Kazakhstan has since become a primary refuge for Sakha people seeking a new home outside Russia.
Putting down roots
“InDrive supported employees with apartment rentals, but affordable housing was scarce. So, some guys rented an old kindergarten, renovated it, furnished it with beds, mattresses, and linens, and created a free shelter for Yakutia residents,” says Vinokurov, who fled Russia in September 2022.
“I knew nothing about Kazakhstan, but I was positively surprised. Stunning mountains, high-rise buildings, and a post-Soviet vibe. People began organising tours, and we realised this is a new hub for our people.”
The Ginger Bar in central Almaty does not stand out amid hundreds other beer places in Kazakhstan’s former capital. The mostly Asian crowd which gathered there on a warm evening last September speak Russian, as is still the case in most Kazakh bars and restaurants. Except that none of the bar’s staff and clients was born in Kazakhstan.
They are all Sakha. Unlike other migrants from Russia who flocked to Kazakhstan since 2022, the Sakha people have seamlessly integrated into Almaty’s vibrant social tapestry.
The exact number of Sakha living in Kazakhstan remains uncertain due to a lack of official statistics. However, the Free Yakutia Foundation, a decolonial Sakha movement, told me that for their community it is “the most common destination.”
In Almaty, Sakha have opened bars, restaurants, and shops, often blending in as Kazakhs. Only keen observers might notice that the tradition-inspired jewellery frequently worn by Sakha women differs from Kazakhstan’s popular ethnic accessories.
The Sakha and Kazakhs share a nomadic heritage, Turkic language and the memories of Russian colonialism. By the 1840s, much of what is now northeast and central Kazakhstan was absorbed into the Russian Empire. In the 20th century, the Soviet Union sought to suppress Kazakh language and culture, and in the early 1930s, an artificial famine – triggered by land nationalisation and collective farms – claimed the lives of 1.5 million Kazakh nomads.
In Yakutia, the colonisation concluded earlier. In 1632, Cossacks built the first Russian fort in the region. Sakha uprisings against the colonisers which took place from 1634 to 1642 were ruthlessly crushed. By the 18thcentury, Yakutia was fully absorbed into the Russian Empire, and the Sakha’s traditional nomadic and pastoral way of life was eradicated.
In the 20th century, both Kazakhstan and Yakutia were home to numerous Gulags, Soviet labour camps used for punishment and exile of those deemed subversive
by the regime. During this period, both Yakut and Kazakh cultures were supressed in favour of the official Soviet one and new historical narratives.
“Most of the Sakha people are unaware of their own history, but recent years have brought a surge in decolonial thinking and grassroot national initiatives,” says Egor, a historian and academic from Yakutia who relocated to Kazakhstan after Russia’s invasion. He requested anonymity to protect his family members still in Russia.
“Our history includes several cases of resistance against the Russians, but research of these events is often censored – for example regarding the 17th century onset of colonisation. There is very little research and scholars tend to gloss over controversial points to avoid raising questions. For example, Russian historiography claims the civil war ended in 1924, yet partisan groups in Yakutia continued to operate into the 1930s.”
In Yakutian schools, the history of the Sakha Republic was often an optional subject or was entirely omitted, Egor explains. He learned about his nation’s past through conversations with his grandparents and other elders. He pursued his own research as an academic, but since relocating to Kazakhstan, his work has stalled. Now employed at a private company, he has set aside his research pursuits.
“I would like to live in Yakutia, work there, and bring a benefit to my republic. I miss the nature and food – frozen meat and fish. I miss my family and friends,” Egor says. “But I like Kazakhstan because of its open society. No one would attack you verbally on the street the way they do in Moscow and St Petersburg. There, I’ve always felt like an outsider. In Kazakhstan, I feel a cultural closeness.”
Independence calling
Vinokurov, the graphic designer, shares Egor’s sentiment. He values Kazakhstan for the same reasons that he dislikes European Russia. After moving to Kazakhstan in autumn 2022, he met a Russian man from Tomsk, a former rocker, who, like him, sought to avoid being drafted to the front.
Unlike Vinokurov, the Russian strongly supported Vladimir Putin. He wasn’t opposed to the war but had no desire to die in it. After a brief, respectful exchange of views and life stories, the man offered what he likely meant as a compliment: “This is the first time I’ve met a smart Asian.” Vinokurov, needless to say, was unimpressed.
“He is a visitor here, yet this chauvinism does not leave him. Russians must understand that this is racism, they come to an Asian country and act superior to locals and all Asians,” Vinokurov said in an Almaty café. “They assume Asians are less intelligent, ignorant of politics and economics. This arrogance makes them imperialists.”
In Almaty, Vinokurov says, he has never felt discriminated against or unwelcome. The locals speak a Turkic language, like the Sakha, and the winters are milder, far from Yakutia’s -50 degrees Celsius. Migrant life isn’t easy – he misses the nature, his family, and sometimes struggles to make ends meet – but such is the nature of starting anew, Vinokurov says.
He hopes to return home someday, perhaps to an independent Yakutia that governs itself. Though Russia colonised his homeland a long time ago, Sakha still feel distinct from Moscow and it is not uncommon to hear them talk about independence.
The Republic of Sakha ranks among Russia’s wealthiest federal subjects, boasting the fifth-highest gross regional domestic product (GRDP) per capita, just below Moscow. Rich in oil, gas, coal, diamonds, gold, and other vital minerals, it holds strong potential for self-governance.
“With independence, we could trade gold, diamonds, and mineral resources,” Vinokurov says, acknowledging that the road to independence will be challenging.
“People are tired of talking about politics, unsure what to believe or what the future holds. If we break away from Russia, many fear a civil war. On the other hand, the older generation worries that China will suddenly attack”.
For now, Putin’s war has driven outward migration, draining the region of its brightest youth and its hard-earned status as an IT hub. Vinokurov notes that, compared to Kazakhstan, Yakutia’s young people face limited opportunities and their frustration grows.
“Until recently, Yakutia had two major IT companies: MyTona and inDrive. We had a generation of programmers and IT specialists in peaceful, modern careers. Now, this sector is disappearing from Yakutsk,” Vinokurov says.
“Once Yakutia gains independence, we will need to rebuild the IT sector. This will change people’s mindsets and reshape society”.
For now, this vision will have to wait. Yakutia’s IT sector, like its brightest youth, is flourishing beyond the motherland.
The face of Sakha IT
An image of Arsen Tomsky, Yakutsk’s beloved self-made billionaire, beams from the cover of his memoir at Meloman, Kazakhstan’s leading bookshop. Titled Inner Drive: From Underdog to Global Company it is available in both Kazakh and Russian. While the book was published over two years ago, it still holds a prominent spot in the commercial bookstore.
The memoir recounts how a Yakutsk entrepreneur with a heavy stutter founded inDrive, a unicorn company, which refers to a startup valued over US$1 billion, and unlisted on stock markets. Today, inDrive operates in 888 cities across 48 countries.
During a harsh Siberian winter in 2012, when taxi drivers hiked fares, local students launched an online platform connecting passengers with drivers. The main feature: both parties could negotiate the price.
A year later, Tomsky, an established businessman, acquired the platform and launched inDrive, a ride-hailing app that retained the original negotiation model and charged less than 10 per cent commission – far below Uber’s 15-30 per cent cut.
Tomsky aims to transform capitalism, ensuring his businesses and investments benefit society. Over the years, he has funded numerous non-profit and charity projects, including programming classes for rural and orphaned children, football coaching in developing nations, the Alternative Film Awards to support emerging Asian filmmakers, and an app to assist people with stutters during online calls.
In 2023, Tomsky became a Kazakh citizen, relinquishing his Russian passport. By May 2024, Forbes ranked him tenth among Kazakhstan’s wealthiest individuals.
Going back to the roots
“We Sakha are nomads, just like the Kazakhs,” Tuyara Alaas says sipping coffee in Almaty.
In 2021, she sold all her possessions and left Yakutia with her husband and four sons as wildfires ravaged indigenous lands. (In 2020, Arsen Tomsky launched Sinet Spark, a project to fight Yakutia’s fires and investigate their causes). The family first relocated to Krasnodar Krai by the sea, seeking fresh air unavailable in smoke-chocked Yakutsk. They later moved to Moscow, but soon after, Russia invaded Ukraine.
“When the war started, I cried all day. I have four sons, and my eldest had just turned 18,” Alaas recalls. “At first, I only wanted to send him away, but we eventually decided to leave together.”
Alaas’ other sons, aged ten, seven and five, have adjusted well to their new environment and language. They have never faced discrimination based on their nationality, Alaas points out, unlike in parts of Russia, where they encountered what she calls “sidelong glances.”
“Kazakhstan is perfect for Sakha. It is close geographically, bilingual, and peaceful. The people here feel like brothers and sisters, and I’m always accepted,” Alaas says, her silver ethnic earrings reflecting in the warm sunlight.
For Tuyara, the shared history and cultural ties between Kazakhstan and the Republic of Sakha holds deep significance. Her father, a surgeon, was the first in their region to adopt a Yakut name. Born Petr Nikolaevich Sharapov, he changed his name to Ot Alaas in the 1990s.
The surname Alaas refers to a shallow depression covered by grass or lakes that emerged where Arctic permafrost has melted.
“Alas holds a deep meaning in Yakut language and culture. In Yakutia, we all come from alas,” Tuyara explains. “When I was nine, my father asked me to choose a Yakut name, and I became Tuyara Alaas.”
Her birth name was Natalia.
Initially, classmates mocked Tuyara’s new name, despite the 1990s marking the early revival of Sakha national culture and language, which had been suppressed during the Soviet times. Tuyara’s father, perceived as a fervent nationalist, faced job discrimination. He spoke Yakut, studied the local culture, and ignited a passion for their language and heritage in his children.
Tuyara is a proud daughter. A media personality, entrepreneur, and Japanese language expert, she stays loyal to Sakha roots. At home, her family speaks Yakut, keeping their culture alive. In Almaty, she is writing a book chronicling her father’s adventures – a man who left Yakutia to explore the world and passed away in Chile in 2020.
Though deeply tied to her Yakut heritage, Alaas has no plans to return home.
“For centuries, Sakha people have lived in isolation, rarely travelling beyond our borders,” she says. “I am grateful that we now are going through this experience. When you only stay in Yakutsk, you limit who you really are. Through this experience, my children will probably truly embody what it means to be Sakha.”
Share this post