South Waziristan’s only female journalist, Razia Mahsood, stands at the crossroads of tradition and transformation — a Pakistani woman whose name now signals courage, social activism, and an unyielding commitment to telling the truths her community would prefer to keep buried. In a region often associated with conflict, honour codes, and centuries-old customs, Razia’s work as a journalist and founder of a women-focused development foundation has become a powerful challenge to the status quo. Her story — blending journalism, advocacy, and empowerment (بااختیار بنانے, ba-ikhtiyār banānā) — is reshaping the social landscape of Pakistan’s tribal belt.
Razia recently found herself the target of public criticism after posting a simple, yet pointed question on Facebook: why are there no women in South Waziristan’s jirgahs (tribal councils)? In districts where the Pashtunwali code remains a dominant social force, such a question strikes deep nerves. A cleric from Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (F) condemned her remarks, arguing that women should work in hospitals or vocational centres — not in newsrooms or public debates. Appearing in a jirgah, he insisted, “insults our traditions” (روایات کی بے حرمتی, riwāyāt kī be-hurmatī).
But Razia is no stranger to pushback. On her LinkedIn profile, she introduces herself as a journalist, social entrepreneur, researcher, youth mentor, and gender-rights advocate from Waziristan — roles she has embraced despite threats, intimidation, and social isolation. Her professional biography reflects a mission far larger than reporting: she is dedicated to “empowering women and youth of tribal districts” through skills, education, and visibility. That mission extends beyond journalism into institution-building through her NGO, the Razia Mahsood Development Foundation (RMDF), which she founded and chairs.
RMDF’s work offers a counter-narrative to those who accuse her of dishonouring tradition. The foundation focuses on girls’ education, digital-skills training, peacebuilding, community awareness, and livelihood opportunities for women who historically lacked access to both public space and economic independence. RMDF regularly hosts empowerment campaigns, celebrates the achievements of tribal-area girls, and promotes volunteer participation to strengthen local development. Its message — visible across Facebook and Instagram — is anchored in themes of peace, humanity, education, and women’s rights, framed as essential to breaking the cycle of poverty and exclusion in rural Pashtun communities.
Razia’s journalism and advocacy work often intersect. In December she raised alarm about the murder of a pregnant woman killed while praying — a suspected “honour killing” (غیرت کا قتل, ghairat ka qatl) that authorities initially overlooked. Using her media presence and RMDF’s networks, she demanded an FIR and urged local leaders to confront the violence that persists under the veneer of cultural “norms.” These interventions, amplified through her foundation’s outreach, turn individual tragedies into collective accountability.
Her efforts have not gone unnoticed. In 2025, she was honoured with a Journalist Award by Metrix Pakistan, which RMDF proudly showcased as recognition of her trailblazing role in one of the country’s most conservative regions. For many women in Waziristan, Razia is not simply a reporter but a symbol of possibility — someone proving that public life is not reserved for men, and that courage can be a form of leadership.
Still, Razia’s path remains fraught. Journalists across former FATA districts face threats from militants, political factions, and powerful tribal leaders — and female journalists face all that plus gendered stigma steeped in honour culture. Working in such an environment means navigating expectations around modesty and seclusion (پردہ, parda), while refusing to retreat from truths that demand exposure.
Yet Razia continues — writing, reporting, mentoring young women, and expanding RMDF’s programs. Her work embodies the Pashto saying, “خپلہ لار جوړه کړه” (khpala lār jora kra — “make your own path”). In a rugged land where many believe that paths for women must not extend beyond the home, Razia is carving one toward dignity, justice, and visibility.
Her pen, her platform, and her foundation have become instruments of empowerment in a place long defined by silence. And in South Waziristan — where tradition often overshadows change — Razia Mahsood now stands as proof that one woman’s voice, steady and uncompromising, can start shifting the ground beneath old certainties.
Who said that one woman alone cannot make a difference? Please. Come sit with Auntie, sip some chai, and let me introduce you to Razia Mahsood — a force of nature wrapped in a dupatta, a woman who has turned South Waziristan upside down simply by refusing to stay silent. Sister Razia is unstoppable, and let me tell you something even more important: she is not alone. We see you, sister. We hear you. And we’ve got your back from Karachi to Kathmandu, from Manila to Makassar.
The clerics who wag their fingers, the political uncles who lecture her on “tradition,” the men who panic at the idea of women sitting in a jirgah — all of them fear exactly what Razia represents: a future where women speak, act, lead, question, demand. A future where the old order cracks like dry earth in summer.
Razia’s fight is not just against a few noisy men with outdated ideas; it is against the entire mountain of Patriarchy — that vast, stubborn, centuries-old structure built from fear, honour, silence, and the belief that women should remain invisible. And yet, our sister climbs that mountain with a notebook in one hand and a fire in her heart. Every article she writes, every question she posts on social media, every time she calls out an injustice, she chips away at that mountain.
And she does it while building ladders for others. Through her foundation, Razia is opening doors for tribal girls, teaching skills, offering dignity, whispering to them: “Yes, you can.” That is revolution, my dears — quiet, steady, determined.
Let the critics bark. They bark because they feel the ground shifting beneath them. They bark because Razia stands tall, and they cannot shrink her back down to the size that makes them comfortable.
To my Waziristani sister: Auntie is with you. Millions of us are with you. All across Asia, women are rising — journalists, activists, mothers, students, transgender sisters, domestic workers, garment workers — all pushing together against that same mountain. And each one of us makes the other stronger.
Razia is proof of what Auntie has been shouting for years: one woman CAN make a difference, and one woman CAN start a revolution.
Climb, sister. Push. Fight. We are right behind you.