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We’re not used to thinking of Russia as a country whose citizens leave in large numbers as we do Italy or Ireland. Even in the 19th century, Russians who lived abroad were regarded warily. Suspicion was reinforced in the Soviet Union, with its pervasive spy mania focusing on Russian-speaking foreigners in general. The fear of former White Army officers crossing the border in the dead of night coexisted with the notion that Russian noblemen drove cabs in Berlin and waited tables in Paris.

Strangely, many Russians also believe that their countrymen abroad mainly hold manual or service jobs and are treated the way Tajik guest workers are back home. Nothing can be further from the truth. It was not really true in the 1920s, and today such cliches are totally ludicrous.

Russia has emerged as one of the largest providers of expats in the world. Its global diaspora is now on par with India’s and China’s — and almost as far-flung. After a brief interruption in the 1990s, Russia now even has political emigres who are, following the rich Soviet tradition, reviled at home and murdered abroad.

Among millions of Russian emigres, guest workers and refugees there are many who are constrained to take low-paying or even demeaning jobs. It is especially true of those who don’t have legal working papers. But an astonishing number have successfully assimilated, hold professional positions and have joined the middle class.

For the past four years, I have done consulting work for the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, the refugee assistance agency that has helped some 500,000 Soviet Jews settle in the United States since the early 1970s. Russian is often heard on the streets of Manhattan, but even living in New York since 1975 I had not realized how many Russian speakers, both Jewish and not, have thriving legal and medical practices, work on Wall Street or in engineering and high-tech firms, own private businesses and do scientific research. There is a thriving arts and literary scene that crosses over into mainstream American culture as a growing number of young Russian artists and writers work in English. The classical music scene in New York is heavily Russian-speaking, and Russian is pervasive among the audiences at Carnegie Hall and Lincoln Center on any given night.

Currently, the Russian diaspora has little impact on the Motherland and exists in a parallel universe. In the much-maligned 1990s, when it briefly seemed possible that Russia would open up and try to integrate into the global community of nations, there was a surge of interest in Russians living abroad. Many writers who had left the Soviet Union in the 1970s returned, their voices were heard once more and some, like poet Joseph Brodsky and novelist Sergei Dovlatov, attained a cult status. Recent Jewish emigres and the great-grandchildren of the Whites came back to work in business and finance.

The situation has now changed, and interest toward the rest of the world — both Russian-speaking and not — has waned. But the diaspora may still play a role in Russian history. The influence of Russian-speaking emigrants endures. In search for a post-Communist identity, Russia recently turned to nationalists, such as General Anton Denikin and philosopher Ivan Ilyin, whose bodies were reburied in Moscow with great pomp. In addition, Prime Minister Vladimir Putin likes to quote Ilyin.

And it should be recalled that today’s Russia is a linear descendant of the Soviet Union, which was a country set up by a handful of emigrants returning from Western Europe.

Alexei Bayer, a native Muscovite, is a New York-based economist.