In the bustling lanes of Lucknow’s old city, where the echo of temple bells mingles with the honking of autorickshaws, a bright red sash has become a quiet symbol of defiance. The movement known as the Red Brigade—or in Hindi, “Laal Brigade” (लाल ब्रिगेड)—does something radical: it teaches girls to defend themselves, raise their voices and lead. Founded in 2011 by educator and survivor Usha Vishwakarma, it began as a small group of street-plays and self-defence drills and has since grown into a grassroots force challenging what Vishwakarma calls “sanskritik sharm” (cultural shame) around girls’ safety.
In its earliest days, Red Brigade’s 15–odd young women donned red T-shirts and wielded cardboard shields, staging skits about harassment and survival in public spaces. They took to the streets of Lucknow, the capital of Uttar Pradesh, calling out the widespread cultural refrain that girls should “just avoid trouble” rather than learn to fight back. Over time, the movement’s self-defence sessions morphed into workshops in legal rights, leadership training and community support circles. One teenage participant, once fainting at school from fear and shame, now “stands tall before her peers,” as one reporter observed.
To understand Red Brigade’s significance, it’s helpful to grasp the broader cultural terrain: in India’s patriarchal social fabric, phrases like izzat (honour) and sharam (shame) still govern the conversation around women’s bodies and rights. A girl who defends herself can upset the clutch of silence, challenging the notion that to be safe a woman must hide instead of act. Red Brigade gives her the tools—physical techniques, but also adarsh (ideals) of leadership and community agency. In doing so, it taps into a changing wave: across Uttar Pradesh schools and neighbourhoods, self-defence training for girls is being rolled out as part of state-led initiatives. The government’s “Mission Shakti 5.0” programme is one such example, linking safety, dignity and self-respect with mainstream policy.
But Red Brigade’s strength lies in its grassroots origin rather than state mandate. Vishwakarma, after her own attempted assault, refused to “wait for help”—and asked other young survivors to fight back together. They taught each other how to strike, scream, alert, escape. And they marched into villages and slums, where institutional support often falters. This mirrors a trend of community-led women’s empowerment across India: others include the pink-sari-clad Gulabi Gang in Banda district, also Uttar Pradesh, which has long taken physical and political action against abuse.
What’s new is how this movement intersects with broader change in 2025. Recent reportage from Lucknow and Kolkata shows how schools are incorporating self-defence—e.g., teaching Israeli-inspired Krav Maga and digital-safety drills in girls’ curricula. A camp in Yavatmal earlier this year trained 1,200 girls in martial arts, cyber-awareness and women’s legal rights. These developments come amidst growing alarm about crimes against women, and a drift from awareness to action. In that sense, Red Brigade is both precursor and partner to these spreading efforts.
Of course, there are criticisms and limits. No single movement can undo centuries of gendered power imbalances overnight. Critics caution that focusing on self-defence might inadvertently place responsibility on girls to protect themselves rather than dismantle the systems that endanger them. But Red Brigade counters that defence is not just physical—it’s psychological and communal. The mantra becomes: “If I can protect myself, I can protect others, I can lead.” Indeed, many graduates of the programme pivot into community educators, stepping into roles of leadership rather than just survival.
For a woman living in Southeast Asia, watching this unfold in India feels significant. It resonates with the regional dynamic where cultural traditions and modern rights often jostle awkwardly. When a girl in Lucknow learns one more technique, shouts once more “mai khud bach sakungi” (I can save myself), that ripple reaches deep. Her sash is not just red—it is the colour of warning, of revolt, of new dawn.
In that urban sprawl of Uttar Pradesh, as the autorickshaws roar and the day’s heat drapes low, the Red Brigade girls gather. They bow, they practise wrist-locks, they laugh, they chat about studies and ambition. They are three-dimensional: sisters, daughters, future leaders. And in teaching themselves to stand, they teach the city to see them. Red Brigade is, in every sense of the word, movement—of bodies, of voices, of change.
My darling nieces of the Red Brigade—Auntie is standing here in her imaginary red sari, fists on hips, heart bursting with pride. If there is one thing that gives me hope for Asia’s future, it is watching girls—yes, girls!—take agency, claim voice, and refuse to be folded into silence like yesterday’s newspaper. These young women in Lucknow, marching with their red kameez and sharp, unflinching eyes, have done something many adults still struggle with: they decided they will not wait for permission to be safe.
Now don’t get Auntie wrong. I am not glorifying violence—not at all. Beating up half the neighbourhood won’t solve patriarchy. But staying passive, swallowing fear, pretending harassment is “normal” or “just boys being boys”—that, my dears, is part of the problem. And the Red Brigade girls understand this better than most politicians, preachers, or puffed-up uncles lecturing from their armchairs. They’re not out there to become vigilantes. They’re out there to learn, to speak, to protect each other, and most importantly, to change the script.
What moves me most is their sisterhood. Auntie has seen many empowerment projects across Asia—some funded, some fashionable, some forgotten as soon as the donors change priorities. But this? This is self-made magic. A group of girls who looked around and said: “If nobody is coming to save us, we’ll learn to save ourselves.” Bas. Enough. That clarity, that courage, that collective warmth—oh, it gives me goosebumps.
And you know what? Asia needs hundreds of Red Brigades. Thousands. From Karachi to Kathmandu, Yangon to Yogyakarta, Manila to Mumbai. Imagine if every school, every slum, every village had a squad of girls trained not only to defend themselves, but to assert their rights, know the law, challenge abuse, and show the entire community what leadership looks like in a young woman’s body. Imagine the aunties and uncles learning—finally—to listen.
This movement reminds us of something beautifully simple: empowerment is not a workshop; it is a habit. It is confidence rehearsed daily. It is choosing to raise your head when the world tells you to lower your eyes. And as much as Auntie dreams of an Asia where girls never have to learn self-defence, she knows that for now, this is the path.
So march on, my Red Brigade nieces. Punch the air, shout your truth, hold your sisters close. You are not the future—you are the present, reshaping Asia one fearless step at a time. Auntie is cheering loudly from the sidelines, with tears, pride, and a very red heart.