Zoya Sameen’s Wujuud-i-Zan talk explored Musammat Tajo’s 14-year legal battle against colonial expulsion and injustice
On February 21st, 2025, Habib University hosted a thought-provoking one-day conference titled Wujuud-i-Zan, focusing on women in academia: scholars, artists, and activists. The event fostered a transdisciplinary dialogue on gender performance and perception, bringing together voices from diverse fields to explore the complexities of women’s roles in society.
As a Habib University alumna, attending this conference was a bittersweet experience. It was a return to an intellectual space I had cherished as a student, but this time, I was there not to discuss the event in class but to cover it as a professional. The shift in context was both nostalgic and empowering.
One of the panels that particularly captivated me was “Colonial Modernity and the Gendered Subject”, especially the subsection led by Zoya Sameen, a historian specializing in gender, law, and empire in 19th and 20th-century South Asia. Her talk, titled ‘This Woman is a Most Undesirable Person’: Tajo vs. Frontier Crimes Regulation in the Balochistan Agency’, delved into the intricate ways colonial and patriarchal systems policed women, particularly those involved in sex work, and how these systems intersected with legal and social frameworks.
Her presentation began by outlining the colonial state’s multifaceted approach to policing women, particularly those engaged in prostitution. She identified four distinct regimes of control that evolved over the 19th and 20th centuries:
1. Criminalization: In the late 19th century, women suspected of being sex workers were criminalized and policed under vague and often discriminatory laws.
2. Expulsion: Following the repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act, women were expelled from military spaces, creating a new set of challenges as they were forced into less surveilled areas.
3. Relocation: In the 20th century, municipal governance played a key role in relocating women to designated red-light districts, effectively segregating them from the rest of society.
4. Deportation: In some cases, women were not just relocated but deported, often under harsh legal frameworks like the Frontier Crimes Regulation (FCR).
While sex work itself was not explicitly criminalized, laws like the Suppression of Immoral Traffic Act targeted the surrounding economic and social structures—brothel-keeping, public solicitation, and property leasing for sex work. This approach created an intricate system of control, reflecting the collaboration between colonial governance and patriarchal nationalism to regulate women’s bodies and movements.
At the heart of Sameen’s talk was the case of Musammat Tajo, a woman whose life and struggles epitomized the gendered injustices of colonial rule. Tajo, a sex worker in Quetta, was expelled from the city in 1923 under Section 36 of the Frontier Crimes Regulation (FCR). This section granted the Balochistan Agency the power to expel individuals deemed “dangerous” or likely to cause “bloodshed”—terms so vague that they could be applied to anyone, particularly women like Tajo.
Tajo’s expulsion was justified on the grounds that her presence in Quetta would disrupt peace and lead to violence. This reasoning, however, was deeply gendered. Tajo was blamed for the conflicts between three men—her former husband, Ghulam Rasool; her lover, Ahmed Ali Shah; and another man, Nur Mohammad. Despite the men’s involvement in the disputes, it was Tajo who bore the brunt of the legal consequences. Her status as a sex worker made her a convenient scapegoat, and she was expelled from Balochistan without recourse to justice.
Over the next 14 years, Tajo tirelessly petitioned for her return to Quetta. Her brother also appealed on her behalf, arguing that the circumstances of her expulsion no longer applied—her former husband had remarried, and her lover had left the city. Despite these efforts, her petitions were repeatedly rejected.
In 1931, the Agent to the Governor General (AGG) dismissed her appeal with the chilling statement: “This woman is obviously a most undesirable person and is likely to cause more trouble if allowed to return to Quetta.” Tajo’s identity as a sex worker and her perceived “undesirability” overshadowed any consideration of her rights or humanity.
Tajo’s story, however, is not just one of victimization. Her relentless petitions and appeals demonstrate her agency and resilience in the face of systemic oppression. She refused to accept the colonial state’s verdict and continued to fight for her right to return home. Her case highlights how women like Tajo engaged with the law, not just as passive subjects but as active participants who read, manipulated, and reshaped legal categories to challenge their oppression.
Tajo’s case offers us a window into the realities of colonial legal power, empire, and its impact on women’s lives. It shifts the focus from governance as an abstract ideology to its everyday application, revealing how colonial and patriarchal systems intersected to control women’s bodies and movements. At the same time, it underscores the ways in which women like Tajo resisted and reshaped these systems, exposing the instability and contradictions of colonial authority.
As I left the conference, I reflected on the enduring relevance of Tajo’s story. Her struggles remind us of the importance of centering marginalized voices in our understanding of history and justice. They also challenge us to confront the legacies of colonialism and patriarchy that continue to shape our world today. Tajo’s resilience is a testament to the power of resistance and the enduring fight for dignity and equality—a fight that remains as urgent now as it was in her time.
In the end, Wujuud-i-Zan was not just a conference but a celebration of women’s voices, past and present, and a call to continue the work of dismantling the systems that seek to silence them. Tajo’s story, like so many others, is a reminder that history is not just about the powerful but also about those who, against all odds, refuse to be erased
