owners have been men, which meant that the voices of women were often underrepresented. Furthermore, presenting firearms as a "man’s issue" introduces real risks. When half of the population is overlooked, it creates a culture where policy and perception around gun ownership is dictated by, and catered to, men. We decided to listen to women, and partnered with the Harvard Injury Control Research Center to study what they had to say. Using data from Harvard as well as from a survey of women we commissioned, we compiled a comprehensive snapshot of women’s beliefs, opinions, and experiences as it related to guns. We published those findings in early 2016. It’s been 10 years since then, and in that decade, the debate over guns has only grown more intense. Mass shootings at schools have continued at a frequent rate, from Parkland, Florida to Uvalde, Texas. But seemingly no place escaped unscathed, as grocery stores, places of worship, concerts, and night clubs all saw incidents of gun violence. We also experienced a global pandemic, during which gun purchasing surged. Americans purchased nearly 60 million guns between 2020 and 2022, according to a report by The Trace, a nonprofit news organization, which was nearly twice the average levels. While most of these guns were purchased by people who already owned them, there was also an increase in people purchasing a firearm for the first time. Many of those new owners—50 percent—were women. One report, while based on a small sample, from the National Shooting Sports Foundation in 2021 found that 87 percent of firearms retailers saw an increase in Black women purchasing firearms, seemingly making them one of the fastest-growing demographics among firearm owners. To understand the current landscape, and women’s place in it since the last time we conducted our survey, we partnered with the Harvard Injury Control Research Center again. This time, publishing a series of data from its 2024 survey (an updated version of the same one we used for our first story), in addition to an independently commissioned series of questions, where we surveyed 1,000 women across the country in December of 2025. Here, the results for the first time.
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t the time, we knew something was missing—or someone, rather. It was a decade ago, and nearly all of the coverage, conversation, and research around guns seemed to focus on men. In part, because, historically, the large majority of gun
For starters, they’re curious. “What I’ve seen most clearly [over the past 10 years] is a shift from guns as something ‘other people’ do, to guns as something women feel they need to understand,” says Margaret Kelley, Ph.D., a professor at the University of Kansas whose research focuses on women and guns and who recently published the book “A Gun of Her Own: The Everyday Lives of Women Who Shoot.” “Women’s relationships to firearms are still complex and painful. That is, many have personal loss, professional exposure through schools or healthcare, or direct experience with violence. But a growing share are moving from distance to engagement.” A sentiment that showed up in the numbers. As we reported in 2016, 12 percent of the women in our survey owned a gun. Our most recent research shows the number has jumped to 19 percent. And of the women who own guns, they’re not just tucking them away in a drawer: 18 percent said they had carried a loaded handgun in the last 30 days (compared to 15 percent previously). While women are increasingly becoming gun owners, it’s not central to who they are, according to Kelley. "Many women reject the idea that 'gun owner' is a core identity; they treat guns as practical tools of a hobby, rather than self definition," she says. "Where men are more likely to tie guns to identity, status, or masculinity scripts; in my interviews with women, that is much less common, even among politically conservative women."
her contractions started, she left home, but chose not to go to Al-Awda Hospital because of the danger. Instead, she went to a tent clinic newly set up in central Gaza by the International Medical Corps. Pain relief was not available for her eight-hour delivery, so she had to work through excruciating contractions. Against all odds, her baby boy was born healthy. She named him Yamen, which meant “generosity and ease,” something she longed for.
Abed stayed at the hospital for just a few hours after the birth and then went home because there wasn’t space to keep women for long. There, she groaned in pain and bled for days. But she was able to breastfeed, and Yamen thrived. Food was scarce but enough. She imagined a better future, of taking him to schools and parks and restaurants. Of having ease again.
At Al-Awda Hospital, Al-Nashef was nearing the end of her six-week medical mission. When a bomb went off, she instinctively knew to jump away from the glass because the IDF usually struck a second time. One of her fellow midwives had nearly lost her arm to shrapnel. She'd spoken to young boys who acted like men, including one who held his brother in pieces. She'd watched as more women gave birth to preterm babies, like Alreqeb’s wife had, likely from the stress of war.
One day in July, Al-Nashef heard a drone outside the hospital that she thought was a “zenana,” which means “buzzing” in Arabic—an IDF drone that is loud on purpose to let people know they’re under surveillance. But it was a quadcopter, a far more terrifying drone with four rotors that can kill people at close range. Al-Nashef was helping a woman push out her baby when the quadcopter started shooting. The woman panicked. “I said, ‘Forget about it, no one is coming close, just have the baby,’” Al-Nashef said. “I’m suturing her and hearing the firing, trying to calm her down, and you just have no idea what’s going on.”
Where before her colleagues were overworked, now “they are holding on by a thread,” she said. “They went to work, helped people have their babies…but they’re so exhausted, they kind of dissociate.” When Al-Nashef finally left Gaza for home, she immediately began thinking about returning later this year. She struggled with guilt at having left her colleagues behind. “Something about Gaza takes a piece of your heart and leaves it there,” she said.
In Cairo, Alreqeb’s daughter, Salma, received a much-needed surgery. Between shifts at the hospital, Alreqeb speaks to his wife and daughters over WhatsApp as often as he can. All he wants, all any ordinary person in Gaza wants—the mothers, the humanitarian agencies, the doctors and midwives—is a ceasefire so the war can end. Some days he sounds deeply sad, other days he speaks with fight in his voice. “Maybe you hear that people of Gaza, they love death, or they know nothing except death,” he said by voice note in June. “But actually,” he told me, “we people of Gaza, we love life.”
Abed had loved her life before the war; being a mom, working with her husband on building their own graphic design company as they saved for a house. Alreqeb loved his life, too: watching romantic movies with Issra at home, taking his daughter to restaurants, bringing life into the world without bombs. His tent clinic, he said, is the seed of a larger idea; he wants to build his own maternity hospital after the war, when all of Gaza is rebuilding—and being reborn.
her contractions started, she left home, but chose not to go to Al-Awda Hospital because of the danger. Instead, she went to a tent clinic newly set up in central Gaza by the International Medical Corps. Pain relief was not available for her eight-hour delivery, so she had to work through excruciating contractions. Against all odds, her baby boy was born healthy. She named him Yamen, which meant “generosity and ease,” something she longed for.
What Women Think
The state of the world has women on edge. In the 2016 survey, 77 percent of women cited their protection against strangers as a reason to own a gun, but more recently, that number jumped to 90 percent. For a rising number of women, it’s having a gun at home that makes them feel safer: 25 percent in our most recent findings, an increase of five percent. Still, having a home security system, carrying a protective item (like mace, pepper spray, or a knife), having a large dog, and taking a self-defense class all ranked higher than owning a gun in terms of what would help women feel more safe. The number of women who witnessed gun violence or the threat of it in person remained the same across both time periods, at four percent. To put it into context, Kelley says, "It is more than fear of crime; it’s fear of being targeted—because of race, sexuality, or visibility—and the fear that institutions may not respond quickly or fairly." For women, it’s also not just about themselves, but others. "There’s been a growth in what I call a 'care mindset;' a way many women connect guns to responsibility for protecting children, aging parents, partners, and neighbors, while also trying to avoid harm," she says. "Women often talk about safety as relational (Who depends on me?), not just individual (What do I want?). That care mindset can draw women toward training and preparedness even when they feel conflicted about guns." And women do feel conflicted, especially in how they’re exposed to firearms. Forty-nine percent of women reported that seeing a civilian wearing a holstered gun would make them feel less safe (previously, that number was 47 percent). There’s likely a reason for that. "We have the highest femicide rate of any high-income country and the majority of these are firearm homicides carried out by men with guns owned by men," says Ezra Mason, a research assistant at the Harvard Injury Control Research Center. "If you look at guns and gun violence overall, that fact will be completely obscured."
What Women Fear
At the same time that women are becoming more interested and owning more guns, they’re also more interested in making sure that they’re doing so responsibly. In fact, 66 percent of women want stricter gun laws compared to 62 percent previously, but the number of women who have taken action to advocate for stricter gun laws has remained stagnant (two percent across both time periods). Interestingly, 84 percent of women responded that knowing a political candidate’s position on gun rights and gun control was important to them. But it may not be for the reasons you think, with women not always viewing guns as a political issue. "Many women don’t experience gun ownership as a neat political package," Kelley says. "Some are progressive on immigration, race, or gender politics, yet still seek out firearms for protection or because they value competence and preparedness." All suggesting that when it comes to women and firearms, opinions are complex, varied, and impossible to put in a box.
Where Women Stand on the Politics
Reports suggest attitudes around firearms are changing. To understand, we partnered with the Harvard Injury Control Research Center on a survey that looks at everything from interest to fears to political feelings.
BY ANDREA STANLEY
How Do Women Really Feel About Guns?
In the past five years...
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The Legislative Push
What Women Think
What Women Fear
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Content warning: The following story contains references to gun violence.