South Asia: From Afghanistan to Iran, Pakistan to Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka, South Asia has teetered on the edge—grappling with war, economic crises, and the rise of authoritarian regimes. Yet, amid this turbulence, one constant has emerged the unwavering strength of women. Across borders, they have led movements, challenged oppressive systems, and given voice to the voiceless. This story highlights the relentless work of four women from South Asia—women who have faced intimidation, character assassination, and countless obstacles, yet refuse to be silenced.
Mahrang, a 30-year-old surgeon-in-training at Sandeman Teaching Hospital in Quetta, Pakistan is more than just a medical professional. She is one of the leading voices in the Baloch resistance movement, driven by a history of personal loss and an unwavering commitment to justice. Born in Mangochar, Kalat, she completed her early education in Quetta before earning her MBBS at Bolan Medical College. Her academic achievements, however, run parallel to a life entrenched in activism.
Her activism journey began when she was just 13. “When my father was arrested for the second time in 2006, I took to the streets demanding his release,” she recalls. Her father, a Baloch political leader and close associate of Khair Bakhsh Marri, was a prominent figure in the region’s struggle for autonomy. Three years later, in 2009, he was forcibly disappeared for the third time. “After two years of relentless campaigning, we received his body. He had been tortured to death,” Mahrang shares, the weight of her words underscoring the brutality her family endured.
Despite this tragedy, she chose to channel her grief into activism. “Sitting beside my father’s body, I vowed that my voice would never be silenced,” she says. This pledge has guided her through countless protests and advocacy campaigns. After this tragedy she chose to channel her grief into activism. “Sitting beside my father’s body, I vowed that my voice would never be silenced,” she says. This pledge has guided her through countless protests and advocacy campaigns.
In 2018, the cycle of tragedy continued when her only brother was forcibly disappeared. “I launched another campaign for his safe return. Thankfully, he was released after three months,” she says. Her experiences have not only shaped her personal resilience but also her leadership within the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), an organisation she helped found.
Enforced disappearances remain at the heart of Balochistan’s human rights crisis. “Pakistan uses enforced disappearances to suppress dissent. This has been their method of control since 1948,” Mahrang asserts. International organisations and human rights groups echo her claims, citing thousands of unresolved cases.
Despite state allegations labelling activists like her as “foreign-funded” or “agents,” Mahrang is unfazed. “These are old tactics. When the state has no answers to our legitimate questions, it resorts to baseless accusations,” she says. “But in today’s information age, people see through these lies. We know who we are, and so do our people.”
Much like Mahrang, who transformed personal tragedy into collective resistance, is another South Asian – Swasthika Arulingam from Sri Lanka. She found her political awakening amid the scars of a post-war nation. While Mahrang’s fight stems from personal loss and the state’s use of force in Balochistan, Swasthika’s journey began through her work with marginalised communities grappling with systemic injustices.
“I started my journey as a political activist when I joined the Legal Aid Commission of Sri Lanka in 2011,” Swasthika recalls. “It wasn’t a conscious decision at first, it just happened. I was managing the North East Branch at a time when those regions were in what some call a ‘post-war phase.’ Frankly, many would argue they still are.”
Her work exposed her to the grim realities of land grabs by security forces, enforced disappearances, and the misuse of laws like the Prevention of Terrorism Act against ordinary citizens. “I also learned about the violence within communities. Domestic violence was present in almost every other household and it forced me to think about the larger structural problems in society,” she explains.
Her activism soon expanded beyond legal aid. While working with labourers in Sri Lanka’s Free Trade Zones, Swasthika became deeply invested in labor rights. “I can’t do politics unless I’m connected to an issue. When I see problems like why Sri Lanka has such massive wealth inequality, I feel compelled to act. It’s not just harmful to communities; it’s detrimental to the planet,” she says.
Choosing to speak out was never a question. “We make political choices every day either to speak out or to stay silent. I have chosen to speak and act,” she adds. As a Tamil woman, Swasthika’s lived experiences of both racial and patriarchal oppression fuel her resolve. “Experiencing oppression firsthand becomes a starting point for change. Being a Tamil woman in Sri Lanka isn’t just a challenge, it’s an asset. It’s hard to discredit someone whose activism stems from personal experience.”
Facing attempts to silence her, she remains undeterred. “When people try to silence you, it often means you’ve disturbed power and that’s not always a bad thing,” she says with a knowing smile. Still, navigating activism requires a support system. “I’m fortunate to be surrounded by people I trust. Even when I react emotionally to certain situations, they’re there to guide me. Having trusted people around is crucial in politics.”
Like Swasthika, Faria Soroni from Bangladesh never set out to be an activist. “It found me through life’s circumstances,” she says. Growing up in Bangladesh, her dreams were rooted in science and technology.
But it was tragedy that reshaped her life. In 2013, Faria’s older brother, Rehan Ahsan, a student, was killed during the Shapla Chattar crackdown. “He wasn’t just my brother; he was my hero,” she recalls. “Losing him was like losing a part of myself. The world just stopped.” Rehan had been her inspiration, always encouraging her to dream big. His death plunged the family into grief, compounded by the loss of their father a year later. “We could have let the grief swallow us, but I realised silence wouldn’t bring Rehan back. Staying quiet felt like letting them win.”
That realisation ignited her activism. Initially, it was about seeking justice for Rehan. Over time, her fight expanded. She joined major movements, including the 2015 “No VAT on Education” protests, the 2018 road safety demonstrations, and the 2024 quota reform protests that erupted over the reinstatement of a controversial 30% quota for freedom fighters’ descendants. “These movements weren’t just about policies; they were about resisting systemic injustice,” Faria explains.
The 2024 protests, particularly, marked a turning point. Despite government crackdowns, curfews, and communication blackouts, students persisted. “Seeing young people risk everything was both heartbreaking and inspiring,” she says. The movement contributed to the resignation of an authoritarian government and the establishment of an interim regime promising reforms.
Her activism, however, has come at a personal cost. “I have received horrifying threats, including ones aimed at scaring me off the streets. But fear won’t silence me,” Faria adds. Her family refused government compensation for Rehan’s death. “How could we accept money for my brother’s blood? We asked for a scholarship in his name instead. It’s about legacy, not hush money.” Eleven years after Rehan’s death, the college finally held a memorial, acknowledging his life. “It was bittersweet. After years of being ignored, his memory was finally honored,” she reflects.
Faria also filed a case in the International Crimes Tribunal against Sheikh Hasina, seeking accountability for past regime atrocities. “Justice is about holding power accountable, no matter how long it takes,” she says. Her work with the Nationalist Democratic Movement, formed after the 2024 revolution, channels her grief into purposeful action. “Activism isn’t just protests; it’s about amplifying voices and creating lasting change,” she notes.
Beyond activism, Faria dreams of a Bangladesh rooted in justice, education, and innovation. “I envision a nation where human rights are non-negotiable, where research and technology thrive alongside equity,” she shares. Her platform, Eight Onwards, aims to bridge divides through dialogue and collective vision. “We can’t just fight injustice; we must also build a better future.”
“Pain can destroy you, or it can drive you,” she said. “I carry my brother’s memory in everything I do. This fight isn’t just for Rehan or my family—it’s for every voice silenced and every family who shouldn’t have to endure what mine did. Justice isn’t a privilege; it should be a right for all.”
Much like Faria, Robina Azizi from Afghanistan had to start her activism Journey at a young age. At just 17, Robina Azizi founded Girls on the Path of Change, an international organisation dedicated to ensuring Afghan girls receive the education they deserve. Now 19 and living in Germany, Robina is learning German at a local school while continuing her education through Acellus Academy. Her journey, however, began long before her move.
Growing up in Afghanistan, Robina was passionate about peace and progress, but her path took a sharp turn in August 2021 when the Taliban took over Kabul. Five days before the takeover, she was forced to abandon her school, her books, and the life she knew.
“Girls in Afghanistan have been deprived of their fundamental right to education,” Robina says. Since the Taliban’s return, girls above sixth grade have been banned from attending school. Universities are closed to them, and restrictions extend beyond education. Women can no longer visit parks or leave home without a male guardian. “Hearing a woman’s voice is considered a sin,” she adds.
Yet, instead of succumbing to despair, Robina turned her pain into purpose. With no formal support and limited resources, she started providing free online education to Afghan girls. Unstable internet, lack of proper devices, and personal threats, including chilling messages from individuals claiming to be Taliban members, never deterred her. Her mother, fearing for Robina’s safety, urged her to stop. But Robina remained steadfast. “Having been deprived of education myself, I had to fight for the right to learn—not just for me, but for all Afghan girls.”
Since its founding in 2023, Girls on the Path of Change has educated over 800 girls and young women. Volunteers from around the world have joined the cause, enabling programs that teach not just girls but boys too. “Including boys in our initiatives is crucial,” Robina explains. “They need to support their sisters and advocate for change.”
The challenges Afghan girls face are immense. Cultural norms, economic hardship, and Taliban-imposed restrictions have fuelled early marriages, forced labor, and rising hopelessness. Yet, Robina’s organisation serves as a small ray of hope. “Many girls continue to study in secret, risking severe punishment. Their resilience is inspiring,” she says.
When asked what message she has for Afghan girls denied education, Robina doesn’t hesitate: “Giving up is exactly what the Taliban wants. Education is our right. Never stop learning. Afghanistan needs educated women. Through Girls on the Path of Change, I will amplify your voices and stand by you. Together, we will fight like heroes until we achieve our dreams.”
Robina’s journey is far from over. Her story is strength of resilience, and the unwavering belief that education can overcome even the darkest oppression. “Let’s keep up the struggle and show the world that hope is stronger than darkness,” she says.
