If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting “988.”

Paul Nestadt is about as steeped in suicide prevention as a person can be.

He treats suicidal patients as a psychiatrist, has co-authored scores of research papers on how and why people kill themselves, and teaches graduate courses on the subject.

But he’ll be the first to admit: “I can’t tell you which of my patients is likely to die by suicide in the next six months.”

Almost nobody can.

predictions of who will be suicidal are only slightly better than a coin toss. And they haven’t improved over 50 years.

But that doesn’t make Nestadt hopeless. Instead, it pushes him to pursue interventions that don’t require pinpointing people at risk.

Chief among them: making it harder for people to carry out the act of killing themselves.

“Instead of asking every doctor to figure out which patient will die by suicide and locking that patient up, it might be that we need to make sure there aren’t loaded guns available,” Nestadt said.

In an ongoing series, Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News is examining approaches to suicide prevention that expand beyond providing people at risk with medication and therapy. Although those are lifesaving measures, many clinicians, researchers, and people who have lost loved ones to suicide agree that more is needed. The challenge is that when it comes to firearms, broad policy approaches quickly become constitutionally complicated and politically polarizing.

Research shows that limiting access to lethal means is one of to save lives. It can involve on buildings to prevent people from jumping, as well as someone can buy or be prescribed at once.

And .

“That’s the one that will save the most lives,” said Nestadt, medical director at the Johns Hopkins Center for Suicide Prevention.

It may also be the most difficult to achieve.

killed themselves with a gun last year, representing more than half of all suicide deaths in the U.S., according to preliminary federal data. Even as overall suicide rates have dipped recently, gun suicides have hit record highs for five years in a row.

Most Gun Deaths in the U.S. Are Suicides

From 2021 to 2025, suicide deaths by gun hit record highs each year, even as homicides by gun decreased.

Source: <a href="; target="_blank" style="color:#0071ce">CDC WONDER</a> <br> Note: 2025 data is provisional. The following ICD-10 codes identify firearm death types: X93-95 (homicide), X72-X74 (suicide), W32-34, Y22-24, and Y35.0 (other, which includes accident, legal intervention, and undetermined). <br> Credit: Aneri Pattani/Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News

Many of the deaths are among , two groups that have had high suicide rates for years. But more recently, gun suicides have risen among and among some and men. Researchers say a during the covid pandemic underscores the need for prevention efforts that can be applied widely.

Some people assume it’s futile to restrict access to bridges, pills, or guns. The thinking goes: Those who want to kill themselves will simply find another way.

But . Creating barriers for one method doesn’t typically push people to another.

Suicide risk can surge quickly, with people spending or even five minutes between deciding to die and acting on it. Anything that delays such action — for example, having to unlock a safe to access a gun — gives them time to reconsider or for someone to intervene.

A Sharp Rise in Gun Suicides Among Black Women

White women had the highest rates of gun suicides by women in 2015 and 2024, but among women of other races and ethnicities, the increase was faster and steeper over that time.

Source: <a href="; style="color:#0071ce">The Firearm Mortality Epidemic: Examining the U.S. Data From 2024, Johns Hopkins Center for Gun Violence Solutions</a> <br> Note: Rates represent gun suicide deaths per 100,000 people. <br> Credit: Aneri Pattani/Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News

However, in the U.S., discussion around guns — even in the context of a traditionally bipartisan topic such as suicide prevention — is a political lightning rod. Mentions of background checks, waiting periods, or red flag laws often send people running to their respective corners. Gun owners and the firearm industry say many of the policies suicide prevention advocates seek threaten their Second Amendment rights, and many policymakers see the topic as a nonstarter.

President Donald Trump has been a of gun owners. His administration has dozens of firearms regulations and rescinded a previous that called gun violence a public health crisis. It has also revoked grants focused on and working on the issue.

The White House did not respond to specific questions about how these actions may affect the nation’s high rate of gun suicides or what it’s doing to prevent such deaths. But spokesperson Lauren Bis said in a statement that “President Trump is committed to Making America Healthy Again and that includes mental health.” She pointed to the administration’s for mental illness and an announcement of for veteran suicide prevention.

The Limits of Red Flag Laws

One gun policy that has gained some traction, , is the , more commonly known as a red flag law.

Adopted in some form in , these laws allow judges to temporarily remove a person’s guns when evidence suggests they pose a danger to themself or others.

Although such laws are often passed in the wake of , they’re more effective at preventing suicide.

Still, they require identifying someone at risk.

Someone like Dorothy Paugh’s dad.

In 1965, when Paugh was a young girl, her dad lost his job. He was distressed, not knowing how he’d support his wife and five children, Paugh said. He reviewed his life insurance policy, told his wife where he kept important documents, and bought a handgun.

“If my mom had been able to get an extreme risk protection order or if Dad’s best friend had asked to hold his gun for a while, maybe my dad would not have shot himself. He might have lived,” Paugh said.

Decades later, Paugh in Maryland and sat in the legislative gallery when the measure was passed.

She believes the law is saving lives.

across show that for every 10 to 20 guns removed under red flag laws, one suicide is averted, .

But Paugh also recognizes the law’s limitations.

“It wouldn’t have saved my son,” she said.

Her 25-year-old son, Peter, . He’d recently bought a house with his girlfriend and hosted a birthday celebration for his brother. He’d purchased a gift ahead of Mother’s Day — five novels by Charles Dickens, Paugh’s favorite author — that Paugh received after .

Unlike in her father’s case, Paugh said, no one saw warning signs for Peter. “I did not know that my son was suicidal. I didn’t have a clue,” she said. Even if a red flag law existed then, she wouldn’t have thought to use it.

The people most vulnerable to firearm suicide usually aren’t identified as such by family members or clinicians, said , a clinical psychologist and the executive director of the New Jersey Gun Violence Research Center.

Studies have shown that among people who die by suicide, those who used guns were less likely to have in the past. And most veterans and service members who die by gun suicide about their suicidal thoughts in the months leading to their death.

That’s why red flag laws are just a first step in suicide prevention, Anestis said. They target specific individuals at high risk — the aspect that makes such laws more politically palatable — but they do not apply to the many other people who are quietly suicidal.

Lessons From Road Safety

Nestadt, the Johns Hopkins psychiatrist, said the nation needs to approach suicide prevention the way it approaches car accidents.

“You’re not trying to figure out who’s at risk of an accident” by testing people’s reaction time or cataloging who gets into fender benders, Nestadt said.

Instead, speed limits, passed seat belt laws, and required auto manufacturers to install air bags and shatter-resistant windshields. The significantly.

Applying a similar strategy to suicide might involve requiring permits and background checks to buy a gun, as well as instituting before completing the purchase.

found that enacting a permit-to-purchase law in Connecticut was associated with a roughly 15% decrease in gun suicide rates, while repealing such a law in Missouri was linked to a 16% increase in firearm suicide rates.

Most Suicides in America Involve a Gun

Suicide deaths by gun have been increasing for several years, even as suicides by suffocation — the second most common method — have been decreasing.

Source: <a href="; target="_blank" style="color:#0071ce">CDC WONDER</a> <br> Note: 2025 data is provisional. "All other methods combined" includes cut/pierce, drowning, fall, fire/flame, other land transport, other, and unspecified. <br> Credit: Aneri Pattani/Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News

About have enacted laws requiring owners to lock up their guns in homes where children live, a practice shown to . That’s an issue of particular importance, with 245% among Black youths and 98% among Latino youths since 2014.

Anestis said laws requiring permits and safe storage can also reduce homicides and other gun injuries.

Those types of violence not only hurt people directly but also increase their risk of suicide. people who are exposed to gun violence in their community experience trauma and become habituated to the idea of injury or death. That “double whammy” makes them more likely to kill themselves, Anestis said.

Responsibility, Rights, and Saving Lives

Gun owners and firearm trade associations generally oppose universal measures, such as requiring permits and waiting periods. They prefer education campaigns that teach people how to recognize warning signs, talk about mental health, and safely store guns — initiatives that place .

The National Shooting Sports Foundation, which represents the firearms industry, has partnered with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention to create to be posted in gun shops.

“Our purpose is to provide educational materials to the firearm-owning community on how to help prevent suicide and save lives,” Bill Brassard, the NSSF’s senior director of suicide prevention initiatives, said in a statement.

The National Rifle Association said policies focused on guns miss deeper concerns that make someone suicidal, such as mental illness.

“Suicide is a serious issue that deserves serious solutions focused on the underlying causes, not on political efforts to restrict the rights of law-abiding Americans,” NRA spokesperson Justin Davis said in a statement. “A truly dangerous individual needs to be incapacitated, not just deprived of one particular means of harm.”

Some initiatives have managed to bring together unlikely bedfellows — gun store owners, public health experts, and even libraries — to to secure firearms at home, identify locations that will while they’re in crisis, and educate people on how to .

Those efforts give Paugh hope and fuel her passion to continue advocating for better mental health care, open conversations about suicide, and policies that decrease access to guns.

“It’s not a cure-all,” Paugh said of those policies. But “it does save lives.”

Having lost a parent and a child, she knows how valuable that can be.

“If you’re that one person or that person’s family, it’s all the difference in the world,” she said.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

Céline Gounder, Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News’ editor-at-large for public health, discussed the findings of a recent cancer report on CBS News 24/7’s Mornings on Sept. 16. Gounder also discussed the potential of artificial intelligence to be used in developing biological weapons on CBS News’ CBS Mornings on Sept. 11.

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• .

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News Georgia correspondent Briah Lumpkins discussed a conservative Georgia congressional district that has remained supportive of President Donald Trump despite rising healthcare costs on WUGA’s The Georgia Health Report on Sept. 11.

• .
• Read Lumpkins’ “Rising Healthcare Costs Have Hit Georgia’s Most Conservative District. But Its Politics Are Unlikely To Change.”  

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News Florida correspondent Daniel Chang discussed in Spanish how gun violence affects children in Florida on Radio Bilingüe’s Línea Abierta on Sept. 10.

• , starting at 47:50.
• Read Chang’s reporting in “Where Florida’s Gun Violence Exacts Its Biggest Toll on Black and Latino Children.”

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News senior correspondent Aneri Pattani discussed Louisiana sheriffs’ spending of opioid settlement payouts on Attitude With Arnie Arnesen on Sept. 1. Pattani also discussed addressing loneliness and isolation as part of suicide prevention on Good Faith Media’s Our Stigma on Aug. 31.

• , starting at 5:45.
• , starting at 3:50.
• Read Pattani’s “A State Gave Sheriffs 20% of Its Opioid Settlement Cash. We Followed the Money.”
• Read Pattani’s “Trivia Nights, Valentine’s Cards: Overlooked Social Connections Can Prevent Suicide.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News senior correspondent Renuka Rayasam discussed primary care shortages on PBS News’ Horizons on Aug. 28.

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Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News Florida correspondent Daniel Chang discussed how gun violence affects Florida’s children on Fox 13 Tampa Bay on Aug. 26.

• .
• Read Chang’s reporting in “Where Florida’s Gun Violence Exacts Its Biggest Toll on Black and Latino Children.”

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

Ladonna Johnson was rocking A’mahri to sleep in March when he was shot in the head with a gun she kept for protection.

A’mahri loved going outdoors and taking rides in his pull-along wagon. His mother called the toddler “sweet” and “affectionate.” When he was around, she said, “you just felt love.”

The child was close with Steven Dodson Jr., his mother’s boyfriend, who had reached for the gun during an argument. Dodson, 21, in June to murder and aggravated child abuse and was sentenced to life in prison.

A’mahri died in one of Florida’s most violent places for children: Jacksonville. This city has three ZIP codes that rank among the 10 worst in the state for firearm injuries involving children.

Every year, hundreds of children are hospitalized in Florida with gunshot wounds, and overwhelmingly, they come from a tiny number of ZIP codes, an exclusive analysis of hospital data by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and The Trace found.

Hospital billing data obtained from the Florida Agency for Health Care Administration shows that from 2018 to 2024 more than 4,000 children 17 or younger were hospitalized for firearm injuries — a rate of about 1.5 a day.

The newsrooms gathered data that the state’s hospitals use to collect payments from insurance companies or the government. The information does not identify patients but includes details about where they lived and their age, race, and other demographics.

The number of children killed in Jacksonville has grown so large that , Families of Slain Children, built a “Wall of Compassion” memorial listing hundreds of people killed by gunfire in the city. Memorial organizers have stood up a second wall nearby that is filling with names.

The numbers reflect how Florida’s long history of racial discrimination and permissive gun laws undermine public health, said researchers, public officials, community activists, and grieving parents.

Jacksonville kids were shot most often in racially segregated neighborhoods — a legacy from the early 20th century of state-sanctioned discrimination in housing, banking, and investment. These areas today are plagued by pollution from defunct city-run trash incinerators, garbage-strewn lots, dilapidated housing, poverty, and other problems that local leaders have been promising to fix for more than 50 years.

Nearly all the Florida ZIP codes with the highest rates of firearm injuries for children have large Black or Latino populations.

Perhaps nowhere is the toll of gun violence more evident than at UF Health Jacksonville, a safety net hospital and the only Level I trauma center in northeastern Florida.

As chief of acute care surgery, sees firsthand the toll exacted by guns.

“You see it day in and day out,” Madbak said. “I’m working tonight, and I suspect I’ll see a couple victims.”

Florida ZIP Codes With Highest Youth Gunshot Wound Hospitalizations

A table of Florida zip codes with city and county columns, ranked by the number of under-18 gunshot wound patients from 2018 through 2024. A column of the rate of U18 GSW patients per 100k children per year is shaded blue, darker for higher rates, lighter for lower ones.

ZIP codes with 1-10 youth GSW hospitalizations over the 2018-2024 period are omitted due to privacy laws.<br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

, a UF Health pediatrician and former health director for Duval County, which includes Jacksonville, said state and local leaders have failed to address what he called the “root causes” of preventable firearm injuries and deaths, such as poverty, lack of opportunity, and neglect.

“The bottom line is nobody gives a flying f— about these young men,” Goldhagen said.

Gun violence victims and their families of depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, and other mental health problems.

Throughout U.S. history, local governments have pushed industrial plants, , and highways through Black neighborhoods even as to increased risks of cardiovascular and respiratory diseases, cancer, preterm births, and gun violence.

But the Florida Department of Health does not focus on gun violence as a public health threat, Goldhagen said, despite its being the nation’s for children and teens.

The , a set of goals developed by the health department and an advisory committee, does not mention guns, the toll they take on children, or efforts to reduce firearm deaths and injuries to young people.

Instead, its goals include preventing or reducing sudden unexpected infant deaths and youth drownings, emergency room visits for motor vehicle crashes, and hospitalizations for traumatic brain injuries.

And yet, no one with the authority to address this public health crisis would agree to talk to Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News about gun violence and its toll on Jacksonville’s children — not the Florida health department, Gov. Ron DeSantis, Mayor Donna Deegan, or 18 of 19 members of the Jacksonville City Council.

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Only Council member Jimmy Peluso responded. Peluso said the city has long ignored the needs of neighborhoods with high rates of firearm injuries among children.

“A lot of these neighborhoods have just felt like the wealth has left them,” he said, “and the city didn’t come in to put in the amount of work they needed to.”

DeSantis, a Republican, in public comments has called for few limits on how people purchase or carry firearms. He to allow Floridians to carry concealed weapons without a permit.

When then-U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy declared firearm violence a public health crisis in 2024, DeSantis called the advisory an “.”

DeSantis said Florida would not follow the advisory, which recommended policies including universal background checks for gun purchases and requirements for secure storage.

DeSantis spokesperson Molly Best declined an interview request and to answer questions about the governor’s gun policies.

“There isn’t an agenda to end gun violence in the state of Florida,” said Jean Francis, a former pediatric nurse who leads the Jacksonville chapter of Moms Demand Action, part of a nonprofit that advocates for stronger firearm laws.

Research has linked increases in pediatric gun deaths from 2011 to 2023 to state-level gun policies.

States with permissive gun policies, such as “stand your ground” and open carry laws, reported higher rates of firearm deaths among children than states with strict regulations, such as weapon and age restrictions, according to a .

The study ranked Florida among a group of 30 states with the most permissive gun policies. Four states with comparatively strict gun laws — California, Maryland, New York, and Rhode Island — saw a decrease in pediatric gun deaths over the same time period.

prevents cities and counties from enacting stricter gun safety measures.

kids in disadvantaged neighborhoods are up to 20 times more likely to suffer firearm injuries than their peers in the most advantaged areas.

“It’s disheartening,” Madbak said. UF Health Jacksonville treated 255 patients for gunshot wounds in 2024, including 32 who were 17 or younger, he said.

In Some Florida Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of Florida shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21,21-44,44-79,79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Broward County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Fort Lauderdale area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21, 21-44, 44-79, 79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Duval County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Jacksonville area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21,21-44,44-79,79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Miami-Dade County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A ZIP code choropleth map of the Miami area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21,21-44,44-79,79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Orange County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Orlando area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21,21-44,44-79,79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Palm Beach County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Palm Beach area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21, 21-44, 44-79, 79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with fewer than 10 hospitalizations are suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Escambia County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Pensacola area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21, 21-44, 44-79, 79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Manatee and Sarasota County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Sarasota area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21, 21-44, 44-79, 79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Pinellas County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Saint Petersburg area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21, 21-44, 44-79, 79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Leon County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Tallahassee area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21, 21-44, 44-79, 79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In Some Hillsborough County Neighborhoods,<br>Child Gunshot Hospitalizations Are Common

A zip code choropleth map of the Tampa area shaded in blue by gunshot hospitalizations per 100k children. Shade buckets are: No cases, 0-7, 7-21, 21-44, 44-79, 79-140, Population too small. Click the city names to visit those regions and see zip codes with smaller geographic areas.

ZIP codes with 1-10 hospitalizations have data suppressed or represented as ranges to comply with privacy laws. <br><br>GSW = gunshot wound<br><br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration

In 2025, the hospital treated 269 patients for firearm injuries, including 22 who were under 18, according to Dan Leveton, a hospital spokesperson. As of Aug. 19, the hospital has treated 137 patients for gunshot wounds this year, including 18 who were 17 or younger.

Preventing gun violence “shouldn’t be a political issue, even though it is,” Madbak said, adding that there is a lot of room for more effective advocacy for violence prevention.

“It’s really an American issue,” Madbak said, “and our state has been impacted tremendously by this kind of violence.”

The Pain of Mothers, Grandmothers, and Aunts

In Orlando, one ZIP code — 32805 — had the state’s highest rate of children under 18 hospitalized for a gunshot wound from 2018 through 2024, with a total of 25 children, or 125.8 per 100,000.

On New Year’s Day 2018, Bryce Williams, 17, was in Casselberry, an Orlando suburb. He was found dead after crashing his blue Kia into a home near the park.

Williams’ death devastated his family, his grandmother Kim Crow told WFTV in Orlando.

“First off, you can’t believe that someone is taken from you so violently,” Crow said. “It’s heartbreaking.”

In April, Daesean Moctezuma Orland, 18, was while attending a house party outside Orlando. Two others wounded in the shooting were taken to the hospital. Police arrested a 16-year-old boy about a month after the shooting and charged him with Moctezuma Orland’s death.

Moctezuma Orland’s grandmother Iveliz Moctezuma told WFTV that a friend of her grandson’s called her and daughter Noemi Moctezuma to tell them that he had been shot. The women drove to four hospitals, including one in Tampa, searching for him.

“My every day is crumbled,” Iveliz Moctezuma said. “It’s hard to work. You sit there and you watch the news. You’re like, oh my God, there goes another kid getting killed by gun violence.”

“It’s a hole in my chest, a hole in my mind,” Noemi Moctezuma said. “It’s like the biggest void that you could ever possibly imagine, that not even the happiest moments can fill a void like that.”

Jacksonville, a city of about 1 million, is particularly treacherous for children living in areas north and west of downtown.

The victims include a gunned down while playing in front of a house, a fatally wounded coming home from a football tryout, and a killed by a stray bullet as she sat in a parked car.

Advocates for victims said that gun violence has ripped any sense of normalcy from families and entire neighborhoods. Grieving mothers fear fireworks and other loud noises that sound like gunshots. Grappling with their own emotions, they said, they sometimes struggle to help their surviving children cope with the loss.

“When you hear their stories, you think, ‘This is the worst thing I have ever heard,’” Francis said, “until you hear the next one.”

Hours after graduating from Jacksonville’s Raines High School in May 2022, , 18, was shot and killed while arriving at a friend’s celebration. Fields was walking into the party when a car pulled up and opened fire, his mother, Yvonne Fields, told Action News Jax in an interview.

A defensive lineman on his high school football team, Fields had been offered a full scholarship to play for Keiser University in West Palm Beach. His parents were planning a party for the following day to celebrate his graduation.

“Everybody loved him,” Yvonne Fields said of her youngest son, calling him “the life of the party.”

“Rashaud loved to dance. He was a joke teller. He was funny,” Fields said.

At the time, Rashaud Fields was at least the ninth 17- to 19-year-old homicide victim in the city that year, according to the , the local newspaper. Yvonne Fields said she has kept her son’s room exactly as he left it the day he was killed. She smells his shirt every day.

“I know he’s not coming back,” she said, “but I can feel the spirit.”

Two days after celebrating his 18th birthday, Maurice Hobbs was fatally shot in January 2017 as he waited for his mother to pick him up.

“I was not even a block away,” Latasha Hobbs said to Action News Jax.

A singer, rapper, and poet, Maurice Hobbs wanted to perform and launch a clothing line. He dreamt of making enough money to give homes to everyone in his family so they could all live on the same street.

His mom recalled celebrating his birthday with cake and dancing in the kitchen and his reaction to turning 18.

“He was like, ‘Oh my God, Mom, I made it to 18,’” Latasha Hobbs said. “So it’s hard to swallow knowing that my baby didn’t make it to 19. It’s not fair. My baby deserves to be here.”

Pamela Howard has struggled for nearly two decades with the pain of the killing of her son Derrell Baker at age 17.

Howard, a mother of five, called her son energetic and an anchor for his younger siblings. Baker excelled at football, she said, and was on track to graduate high school despite having severe attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder.

Someone shot Baker in September 2008 as he walked to school. A passerby found him by the road.

Howard said she thought Baker was at school and later football practice. The family learned something might be wrong only when a sibling heard that Baker had been shot.

Howard called area hospitals in search of her son. By the time she found him at UF Health Jacksonville, it was too late, she said: He had died hours earlier.

“I don’t remember anything after they told me” he was dead, Howard said. “My friends say they just heard me scream.”

For the mothers Fields, Hobbs, and Howard, the sudden, unexpected death of their children cut deep. The lack of closure is painful. Police have not made an arrest in any of the cases.

“When I get justice,” Yvonne Fields said, “maybe I’ll be a little at peace.”

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Leading Cause of Death

, chief of pediatric surgery and trauma at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, said there has to be an appetite in state capitals to regulate firearms and protect children from gun violence.

Nance co-authored a in JAMA Pediatrics finding that the number of states where guns were the leading cause of death for children and teens increased from zero over the period 2004 to 2008 to 24 from 2019 to 2023.

Motor vehicle deaths among children, once the leading cause of death in that group, have declined primarily because of safety interventions undertaken by governments and car manufacturers, he said, from seat belt laws and speed limits to air bags and antilock brakes.

“That progress has been pretty universal across the U.S.,” he said, “but firearm stuff is just all over the map.”

Guns don’t have federal safety standards, Nance noted. They aren’t regulated by the Consumer Product Safety Commission, a federal agency that protects the public from dangerous products, and they can’t be recalled the way unsafe toys or cars can be.

“We’ve really done almost nothing to change the trajectory of firearm injuries in kids,” Nance said.

Goldhagen, the UF Health pediatrician, said Jacksonville leaders tried to address gun violence through the Jacksonville Journey, an initiative launched in 2008 — when Duval County was the murder capital of Florida — under former Mayor John Peyton.

The program for children at risk of violence provided mentorship, summer camps, job training, and nonpolice strategies such as neighborhood beautification projects and community center programs. The Journey also partnered with the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office on gang intervention focused on young people.

Officials credited the effort with a nearly 40% reduction in homicides in Duval County in its first four years.

After Peyton left office in 2011, program spending of about $15 million was slashed to $8.6 million in 2012 and about $2.3 million in 2014. The scaled-back program was eventually combined with another children’s initiative to form the , which uses city, state, and federal grants to fund youth services and intervention programs.

Duval County is the only large county in Florida that does not have a child services tax dedicated to programs for children, including efforts to reduce youth crime.

City leaders believe “public safety is about fire and police, but not social services,” said Vicki Waytowich, executive director of the , a nonprofit funded through grants and contracts that provides health and juvenile justice services for children and families in Jacksonville.

“There is absolutely zero political will to do anything that remotely resembles a child services tax,” she said.

In 2024, on a gun violence prevention program called Cure Violence, which tried to squash beefs between youths before they escalated to shootings. A city Office of Inspector General report and sound financial practices.

“We have a public health system that doesn’t focus on this as a public health or population health issue,” Goldhagen said.

Waytowich said crime is a symptom of much deeper problems on the north side of Jacksonville, from neighborhood decay to generational trauma and lack of job opportunities.

“We don’t really have the funds to address the root causes,” she said. “What we’re doing is slapping a band-aid on things.”

Unlike in Mandarin, a predominantly white neighborhood on the south side of Jacksonville with easy access to about seven grocery stores, children of the city’s north side have poor nutrition, Waytowich said, and many walk more than a mile to get to school.

“We can see that kids don’t have hope,” Waytowich said. “When kids believe they’re going to die at 21, then what’s the use of goal-setting and résumé-building workshops?”

In 2025, Jacksonville Mayor Deegan launched a program to address gun violence called .

But like its predecessor, Journey Forward does not have a dedicated, ongoing source of funding.

Hard Memory

On March 22, Ladonna Johnson said, she broke up with Dodson because she saw that he was sharing location information with other women on his cellphone.

She said she went into a bedroom where A’mahri and his sister were watching television and put her son on her lap. Dodson followed Johnson into the room, she said, then went into a closet and retrieved the gun.

“He just kept asking me, ‘What are we doing?’” Johnson said.

Moments later, Johnson said, she heard a loud bang. Her daughter started to cry.

They will both need therapy, she said. She is dedicated to preserving A’mahri’s memory: “I want people to know how adorable and sweet my son was.”

Still, she said, “I feel like I will never be OK.”

Methodology

To find that more than 4,000 children under 18 had been treated in Florida hospitals for gunshot wounds from 2018 to 2024, The Trace and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News analyzed two datasets obtained from the Florida Agency for Health Care Administration via a data request:

• In the emergency department file, which contained records of 67,565,314 ER visits that did not result in an inpatient admission, we identified 37,415 gunshot wound cases using the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s .
• In the inpatient file, which contained records of 21,857,664 hospital visits in which patients were admitted, we identified 28,149 gunshot wound cases using the CDC definition.

We defined children as 17 and under and filtered the patient age column to find that 2,340 children had been treated in ERs and 1,684 admitted to hospitals with gunshot wounds. To avoid double-counting, we excluded patients from the emergency department file whose records indicated that they were transferred to a different inpatient facility.

Demographic breakdowns were generated using the race and ethnicity columns in the datasets.

To examine the geographic distribution of the burden of gun violence, we grouped child gunshot wound victims by the ZIP code provided. Importantly, this ZIP code is the location not of the shooting but of the child’s residence. A small number of children in the data had out-of-state ZIP codes, or placeholder ZIP codes indicating they were homeless or from a foreign country. These children are included in statewide totals as children treated in Florida hospitals but not in ZIP-level results.

This data does not include children who were shot but died at the scene or before reaching the hospital or who never received medical treatment.

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News data editor Holly K. Hacker contributed to this report.

This report was produced by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, The Trace, Action News Jax in Jacksonville, and WFTV in Orlando.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

But after surgery, Bates said, she couldn’t get out of bed or walk to the bathroom without help. She complained of intense pain radiating down her left leg, weakness in her knee, and a numbing sensation below it, according to hospital records. Bates, who worked as an Uber Eats driver, didn’t have the strength to drive a car.

Still, Bates said, the hospital told her it was time to go.

“They didn’t do any further X-rays or CTs or MRIs to figure out why my knee was numb,” she said. “And they were just like, you know, ‘It’ll go away.’”

Doctors said she was medically stable, Bates said, and because she had no health insurance, they could not send her to a rehabilitation hospital or a skilled nursing facility, which can charge thousands of dollars a day for such care.

“They were just like, We need the bed for somebody who has insurance,” she said. “That’s of course, you know, what they say without saying it.”

At least one firearm injury is treated in an American emergency room every . Tens of thousands die from their injuries every year. Many more, like Bates, are left to face long recoveries, steep medical debt, and enduring trauma.

How insurance affects the care of gunshot wound victims has remained shrouded in mystery — until now, due to a new analysis by The Trace and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News of data that Florida hospitals compile to collect payments from insurance companies and file with the state.

When uninsured patients arrive at hospitals in Florida with gunshot wounds, on average they spend significantly fewer days in the hospital — in some cases half the time — than those with health insurance, according to the data analysis.

Among the most severely injured patients, the uninsured stayed three fewer days in the hospital on average than their counterparts with insurance.

Uninsured Gunshot Wound Patients Stay Fewer Days Than Those With Insurance at Many Hospitals

A dot plot showing the average hospital stay of gunshot wound patients admitted to Florida hospitals, grouped by hospital, and uninsured vs. private insurance vs. medicaid. Sorted by shortest average uninsured stay.

◆◆Top three by gunshot wound patients admitted, 2018-2024

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration,<br>The Trace and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News analysis

The data was obtained exclusively for this reporting on gun violence hospitalizations in the state, aided by Florida state law.

The newsrooms spent more than a year analyzing the records, which did not identify patients. The data contained patients’ insurance status, their residential ZIP code, their race, and other demographic info. Reporters reviewed academic studies and government documents and interviewed health policy experts, doctors, activists, and victims of gun violence or their relatives.

The results are a first-of-its-kind look at what happens to the insured and the uninsured who are shot and admitted to the hospital for treatment.

Across Florida, the analysis of hospital billing data from 2018 to 2024 obtained from the Florida Agency for Health Care Administration shows:

• Uninsured patients make up a quarter of the more than 20,000 gunshot wound hospitalizations identified, making them the largest single group treated for firearm injuries.
• Uninsured gunshot victims had hospital stays of about six days on average, only three-quarters of the time spent by patients with private insurance and less than half the average stay for patients on traditional Medicaid, the public health insurance program for poor and disabled people.
• The gap in hospital care persisted regardless of hospital size, location, or ownership type, including at facilities that receive taxpayer money with a mandate to treat all patients regardless of their ability to pay.
• Of the gunshot wound patients, nearly half were Black, making the group highly overrepresented. About a quarter of nonwhite patients were uninsured, versus fewer than a fifth of white patients.

The inequality echoes a in U.S. healthcare against Black and Latino patients, groups that and a .

The U.S. has deaths than other wealthy nations, and no group suffers more than Black Americans like Bates. Black people are far to become victims of a firearm homicide than white people, according to the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health.

Patient outreach workers say hospital personnel might perceive gunshot victims as gang members or troublemakers who deserve blame for getting shot. rehab centers refuse to admit gunshot victims more often than other patients, and some medical records from hospitals were littered with racist or insensitive descriptions of patients and their behavior.

The damage can be lasting: Patients who after a traumatic injury have a higher risk of serious complications, including infection, hemorrhage, nerve damage, and death, especially if wounds — and mental health concerns — are left untreated.

, a University of Florida professor and vice chair for research in community health and family medicine, said there’s evidence that financial incentives drive care — for patients and for hospitals.

Regardless of how often the care team is told to follow quality protocols, Mainous said, “ultimately there’s a business aspect to it, whether the physician is thinking about it or not, whether the nurses think about it or not. But somebody is.”

The Florida data findings come at a time when Republican Gov. Ron DeSantis and state lawmakers have pushed to make guns cheaper and more widely available, despite a in the state from 2014 to 2023, and when President Donald Trump’s administration has rolled back legislation from the Joe Biden presidency to curb gun violence and .

allows eligible residents to carry a concealed firearm and to openly carry a firearm without a state-issued license. State law also prevents cities and counties from enacting stricter gun control measures.

In early June, Florida Attorney General James Uthmeier to strike down the state’s three-day waiting period for receiving a purchased gun, arguing it is unconstitutional. Uthmeier’s request is part of a proposed settlement of a lawsuit brought by the National Rifle Association.

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and The Trace requested to speak with administrators at nine of Florida’s large hospital systems to ask why the disparities exist. None agreed to an interview.

Sarah Cannon, communications director at Tallahassee Memorial HealthCare, would not agree to an interview or address Bates’ account of her care for gunshot injuries.

“Clinical decisions, including acute medical intervention, readiness for discharge, and post-acute care needs, are guided by the patient’s condition and response to treatment,” she said in an email.

Cannon said the hospital offers support to patients after discharge, including from social workers who coordinate care and access to services including post-acute care placement, home healthcare, and primary care or specialty follow-up.

Bates said she had to coordinate her own care after being released from the hospital. She said nobody called to schedule a follow-up test of her leg’s muscle function, and her medical records show she did not receive one.

“If I had had insurance,” she said, “they would have definitely kept me there for at least another week to work with me on my standing and walking.”

‘It’s a Business’

Some of Florida’s largest hospitals showed huge differences in length of stay for gun injuries, the Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News-Trace analysis showed. In Miami at Jackson Memorial, the average number of days in the hospital for uninsured patients was 6.6; for those with private insurance, it was 10.7; and for those on traditional Medicaid, it was 15.4. Jackson Memorial did not respond to requests for comment.

Tampa General Hospital reported 4.9 days for uninsured patients, 8 days for those with private insurance, and 13.6 days for Medicaid patients. “To suggest that care decisions for trauma-related patients, and in this case, gun shot victims, are influenced by insurance status is not only absurd, it’s inaccurate,” Amanda Bevis, a hospital spokesperson, said in a written statement. “At Tampa General, every patient is treated equally, based on clinical need and urgency, not insurance coverage.”

And at UF Health Jacksonville, it was 7.2 days for the uninsured, 8.5 days for the privately insured, and 13.8 days for patients on traditional Medicaid. UF Health declined to comment.

Broward Health in Fort Lauderdale reported 7.5 days for uninsured patients, 10.5 days for privately insured patients, and 12.2 days for those on traditional Medicaid. “Insurance status does not impact treatment plans for patients,” Jennifer Smith, a Broward Health spokesperson, said in an email. “Our physicians always proceed in the best interest of the patient regardless of reimbursement or what length of stay may be required.”

Memorial Regional Hospital in Hollywood reported 6.7 days for uninsured patients, 8.8 days for privately insured patients, and 9.5 days for those on traditional Medicaid. Tania Ordaz, a hospital spokesperson, said in an email that she disagreed with the findings: “Treatment decisions are based on the patient’s clinical condition and what is necessary to ensure a safe and appropriate transition of care, not on the patient’s insurance status.”

Shorter Stays for Uninsured Gunshot Wound Patients at Dozens of Florida Hospitals

A bubble map of Florida hospitals sized by number of gun shot wound patients. The top three hospitals are orange, the rest are blue. Selecting a bubble displays the average stay for these patients by payer type: uninsured, commercial insurance and Medicaid.

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration, <br>The Trace and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News analysis

Trauma surgeons and academics said the Florida data aligns with research nationwide on where gun violence occurs and who’s most affected. Some said they fear the differences contribute to long-standing disparities in America’s healthcare system along the lines of race and class.

The Florida hospital data showed gunshot injuries are concentrated in a handful of ZIP codes marked by poverty, disinvestment, redlining, and other injustices stemming from racial discrimination.

“Why would people without insurance be discharged earlier?” Mainous said. “Because they’re in better health? I think we’ve got a lot of data that would suggest that’s not true.”

Once they leave the hospital, people with commercial insurance or traditional Medicaid are more than twice as likely to receive follow-up care from another provider — such as a rehab center or home health service — as uninsured patients.

Those patients are staying longer, in part, because hospital case managers coordinate their transfers to other facilities, which can be time-consuming and take days.

“You have to go through insurance authorization and approval,” said , a trauma surgeon formerly at Jackson Memorial in Miami who now practices in Oregon. He said patients with private insurance might have access to rehab, preventive care, and training for both the patient and their caregiver to “help them transition to a completely new phase of life.”

For patients without insurance, he said, “sometimes our hands are a little bit tied.”

“The hospital is telling us that this patient has to leave the hospital because they’re medically ready,” he said, “and so I guess we’re discharging them to their car or to their tent, and it doesn’t feel right, but I think that would probably explain some of the differences” in length of stay.

, a trauma surgeon at Jackson Memorial, said hospital staff work to ensure that uninsured patients with long recoveries learn to care for wounds and to enlist family help at home.

Valenzuela said the county-owned hospital does not send uninsured patients home to fend for themselves. She goes into neighborhoods and follows up with patients as part of a Miami-Dade County violence intervention program, whose social workers help them access food, employment, and more to heal and feel safe.

“We know that full recovery is beyond just the hospital and even the rehab centers, even the best ones,” Valenzuela said, pointing to housing and navigating the healthcare system as factors.

runs the Miami-Dade program, which connects victims of gun violence with social workers who visit bedside at the hospital and an intensive care unit-trained nurse who visits at home to provide wound care and other services.

Rawlins said young, Black gunshot patients without health insurance are often at a loss when they leave the hospital about how to schedule a follow-up appointment or manage their mental health.

“After they have been shot and they’re getting out of the hospital and they’re still in crisis,” he said, “their concern is more: How am I going to now pay the rent? How am I going to live? Who’s going to take care of me?”

Often, he said, his uninsured clients leave the hospital before they are ready.

“That’s the reality of it: It’s a business,” he said. “It’s like a hotel. You know, checkout time: You got to go. We got to make room for someone, for a next customer.”

How Long Is Long Enough?

Alea Bates said the hospital discharged her with crutches and one prescription: a seven-day supply of the painkiller Percocet.

A family member drove Bates home. She wore a leg brace, with bandages on her back, stomach, hand, forearm, and feet. When she tried to get out of the car, Bates said, her knee gave and she fell.

Surgeons, health policy experts, and researchers say physicians follow evidence-based best practices for treating gunshot wounds and that a shorter hospital stay does not necessarily reflect a lower-level of care.

, an assistant professor of surgery at the University of Pennsylvania who conducts research on violence reduction, offered one explanation.

In published in The Journal of Trauma and Acute Care Surgery, Kaufman and colleagues found that patients who were admitted while uninsured but then enrolled in Medicaid during their hospitalization — and who needed ongoing rehabilitative care after discharge — spent more time in the hospital and had higher costs.

“I have personally been in situations where I felt like I did the best I could for a patient, but they would say, ‘You’re kicking me out,’” she said. “Sometimes, what the doctor is telling you doesn’t match what you are feeling in your body.”

But Kaufman said: “I’m not going to tell you hospitals never discriminate. That would not be realistic. I would say it is more indirect.”

Uninsured Florida Gunshot Patients Discharged Fastest

A box and whisker plot of admitted gunshot wound patient stays in Florida by insurance payer type. Uninsured patients have the shortest average stays.

<br>

Florida Agency for Health Care Administration,<br>The Trace and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News analysis

Kaufman said she couldn’t judge whether Bates stayed in the hospital long enough because she was not her doctor. Still, she said, Bates “didn’t get what she needed from our healthcare system.”

Unlike many states, Florida excludes most single adults without children, like Bates, from Medicaid eligibility, making it exceedingly uncommon for a Medicaid patient to have been admitted as an uninsured adult.

Gunshot survivors endure bleeding and oozing flesh wounds and pain, and they experience . “These experiences are common, but they are not talked about,” Kaufman said. “Mental health is part of the recovery process.”

Recovering the ability to walk or use an arm or a leg after a gunshot wound requires rehab and physical therapy that can be out of financial reach for uninsured patients, said , a pediatric surgeon and an associate professor at the University of Maryland who that uninsured patients hospitalized for traumatic injuries have shorter stays than insured patients.

A shorter stay, he said, “suggests that these patients are not getting the same level of care, and that’s going to put them at risk for functional deficits down the road.”

He said it is impossible to arrive at a set number of days that any patient should remain in a hospital. Factors include the severity of their injury, their age, and any other illnesses they have.

“We’re looking for that Goldilocks length of stay,” Englum said, “and unfortunately, it is not perfectly defined for any specific admission, and it’s not perfectly defined for any specific patient.”

‘Oh, Shit. He Shot Me.’

Bates had delivered her last order for the night when she was shot. It was December 2019: As she was walking back to her car, she heard two loud bangs. Just kids playing pranks, she thought to herself. Then she turned toward the sound and saw a gun pointed at her.

“In that split second it registered in my mind, like, ‘Oh, shit. He shot me,’” Bates said. “I had some brief, like, burning, but it wasn’t registering in my brain right away what it was.”

Within seconds, Bates said, the stranger emptied the clip of his handgun into her body, even after she fell to the ground. He shot her seven times — twice in the back and once each in the pelvis, stomach, left forearm, right thumb, and right foot.

Bates screamed. She reached for her cellphone to call 911. She said residents came out of their apartments. Someone took her phone to tell the emergency dispatcher the address. Another person pressed towels on her wounds to slow the bleeding. An ambulance rushed her to Tallahassee Memorial.

Bates said she did not believe race was a factor in the care she received. But she believed that the circumstances surrounding her shooting — that it happened while she was working, and that she did not know the shooter — affected the way doctors and nurses viewed her.

Language in medical records can sometimes signal a bias in clinicians and perpetuate differences in care that patients receive, said , an associate professor at the Boston University School of Public Health who conducts research on exposure to gun violence.

Jay said bias based on patients’ race, income, or insurance status can deny some people necessary treatment once they leave the hospital.

He said his research suggests the healthcare system treats gunshot survivors and motor vehicle accident victims differently based on perceptions of “whether the victim was in no way at fault. They made assumptions when a person was violently shot.”

“The results are consistent with what we hear so much from hospital outreach workers for gunshot victims,” he said. “They say there is substantial bias. There is an assumption that they contributed to their condition with risky behavior.”

The preoperative notes in Bates’ medical records describe her as “a pleasant 39-year-old female who sustained multiple gunshot wounds to her abdomen, pelvis and extremities last night after performing Uber Eats delivery.”

Bates said it mattered to her caregivers what she was doing when she was shot.

“The nurses and doctors, they all talk about that stuff,” she said. “They were like, ‘Oh, my God, you were ambushed. That’s so scary.’

“I was working. Like, I don’t know these people. And the fact that they were teenagers, I think that that is what maybe changed the narrative,” she said. “Because I feel a lot of times people blame you for what happened.

“But when I was asked and I told them what happened and my story and how I got there,” she said, “I think just the shock in people’s eyes of like, ‘Oh, my God. So you really were, like, you know, minding your business.’”

She added: “And it also wasn’t in a sketchy part of town, if I can just say that. I was in a predominantly white complex. So I think that’s what saved me.”

‘Less Than a Human Being’

Bates had received care at the hospital before as an insured patient.

She had lost her job in the legal department of a state agency — along with her insurance — two months before she was shot.

As an uninsured patient, Bates said, “they kind of just dismiss you. It makes you feel like less than a human being.”

She said she felt ignored when she told doctors she didn’t feel safe going home after four days. She said the physical therapist working with her at the hospital had persuaded the facility to let her stay an extra day.

“We would like, as a medical community, I think as a society, to see everybody get the same care,” said Englum, the University of Maryland trauma surgeon. “Regardless of what color their skin is, what insurance status they have — we want them to get appropriate care.”

The reason for racial or ethnic differences in care is hard to tease out, Englum said. Is it that there’s mistrust of the medical system in some Black and Latino communities, leading people to avoid going to rehab because they don’t want to be there? Is it an income issue? Is it that medical providers see some patients and, due to implicit or explicit bias, think, “That’s as good as they’re going to get?”

“Getting that care is what you need to get your full functional outcome back. And if you’re not getting it,” he said, “patients are suffering that didn’t have to.”

At home, Bates said, she depended on family members to help her out of bed, drive her places, even help her feel safe out in public.

“I really didn’t know how to stand or move or walk around,” she said. “I had to figure it out.”

She still fears loud noises, which remind her of being shot. Bates said she and her dog stay indoors on July Fourth and New Year’s Eve.

“The fireworks were going off, and I was paralyzed,” Bates said of her first New Year’s Eve after being shot. “I was literally sitting there crying. My cousin actually came outside and put my noise-canceling headphones on and turned the music on so that I couldn’t hear anymore. That’s the only way that I could move from outside to inside.”

Bates said her follow-up care included getting her stitches removed at an orthopedic clinic that has physicians who work at the hospital and had performed the initial surgery.

During the visit, Bates said, the orthopedic clinic’s staff reminded her of the unpaid balance from her surgery, which was about $1,200 for physician services. She still owed the hospital $52,000 for treatment, according to her medical bills, and an additional $5,300 for the anesthesiologist. Bates was not working at the time.

Bates said a community outpatient clinic provided physical therapy at a reduced cost and that the victim advocate unit at the Tallahassee Police Department helped find her mental health counseling and get her financial aid from Florida’s .

By 2021, Bates developed a cyst on the gunshot wound to her right thumb, which required surgery. But, she said, the clinic would not perform the surgery until she paid her $1,200 balance. She said friends paid the bill so she could have the surgery.

Bates’ knee bothered her. “Even with going through physical therapy,” she said, “it was still like I couldn’t feel it.”

Bates said she now has private health insurance that pays for her mental health therapy. She pays for physical therapy out-of-pocket.

“It’s crazy that in this country somebody else can hurt you,” Bates said, and “you have to pay for what they did to you.”

“So it’s like you’re triple-paying: You’re paying every day mentally, you’re paying with the bills, and you’re paying by them saying, We know that this is not your fault, but we still have to make our money.”

Methodology

The Trace and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News examined more than 20 million inpatient hospitalizations in Florida from 2018 to 2024, using data obtained from the Florida Agency for Health Care Administration. We identified 20,255 gunshot wound-related visits using the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s injury surveillance case definition, which relies on diagnosis codes. We limited the analysis to initial encounters and excluded patients who died in the hospital or left against medical advice. We excluded cases in the top 1% for hospital length of stay (68 days or more) to prevent these outliers from disproportionately influencing results.

Our primary finding compares the average length of stay of uninsured patients with that of privately insured patients. We chose privately insured patients as the reference group because many researchers believe their care on average is long enough to be effective but not longer than medically necessary. Overall, uninsured patients had hospital stays that were about 25% shorter on average than privately insured patients’ and 50% shorter than those of patients on traditional Medicaid. In most cases we also found that, within the same hospital, uninsured patients had shorter stays than privately insured ones.

To assess whether age or injury severity explained the shorter lengths of stay for uninsured patients, we calculated and fit regression models for Florida’s highest-volume gunshot wound hospitals. We found that, in nearly all cases, the gap narrowed slightly but did not disappear.

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News data editor Holly K. Hacker contributed to this report.

This article was produced in partnership with The Trace, a nonprofit newsroom covering gun violence in America. .

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

When she graduated from high school, she enrolled at Brown University, the scene of another shooting in December 2025, while she was studying for finals in her dorm room.

As messages flooded in about an active shooter on campus, she felt pain where she had been shot in the stomach. The college junior experienced a phenomenon she called “phantom bullet syndrome,” similar to phantom limb syndrome, in which someone senses something is there that is not. It occurs whenever she feels extremely stressed, she said.

“It’s crazy to say that the first time, I was the lucky one because though I got shot, I didn’t get killed,” said Tretta, now an anti-gun violence advocate who is studying public affairs and education. “And the second time, I was the lucky one because I was a few blocks away.”

Tretta represents a cohort of young people who have lived through more than one shooting. She also embodies the findings of a recent study that links gun violence exposure to chronic pain.

The study, in January, found that both direct and indirect exposure to gun violence are linked to higher rates of among American adults.

Rutgers University researchers studied six types of gun violence exposure: being shot, being threatened with a gun, hearing gunshots, witnessing a shooting, knowing a friend or family member who was shot, and knowing someone who died by firearm suicide. Using a nationally representative survey of 8,009 people, they found that 23.9% had pain most days or every day, while 18.8% said they had a lot of pain.

Daniel Semenza, the study’s lead author, told The Trace that whether someone has lost a person to gun violence or they’ve been shot themselves, their mental and physical health are inextricably linked.

“Your body, through the experience of post-traumatic stress, is going to feel as if it’s happening over and over and over again,” said Semenza, the director of research at the New Jersey Gun Violence Research Center and an associate professor at Rutgers University.

Tretta to remove the bullet, she said, and later received a nerve block to address ongoing pain from her injuries. But the bullet fragments remain in her body years later, she said.

She was also diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis — a chronic disease causing swelling, pain, and stiffness in the joints.

“I have dealt with chronic pain, immunodeficiencies, and bodily differences ever since the shooting happened,” Tretta said. “Every time I get a fever, it’s a completely different thing than anyone else I know, or even pre-shooting for me. I shake uncontrollably, and it hurts to even touch my arm.”

The is one of the first to focus on outcomes like chronic pain as part of an emerging body of work on the physical health toll of gun violence exposure.

“It highlights the fact that, for the thousands of people who are killed every year, there are lots of people who knew those folks,” Semenza said. “The toll of gun violence is much broader than we originally anticipated.”

Efrat Eichenbaum, an inpatient psychologist who has treated gun violence survivors and their families at a Level 1 trauma center in north Minneapolis, said the study accurately reflects what she has seen in her clinical work.

“You can plainly see the trauma that follows an event like that,” she said. “Not just for the survivors, but for their families. It does not even limit itself to family members. This is an issue that touches entire communities.”

David Patterson, an emeritus professor at the University of Washington whose work focuses on pain, says the study shows, in particular, just how far the impact of gun violence fans out and how costly a problem it is for society.

“Chronic pain is a major health problem in itself, and it because it’s very hard to manage,” he said. “You can’t cure it; it has to be managed.”

Back in her dorm room at Brown, Tretta explained that medical care does not end when someone leaves the hospital after a trauma like hers. It goes on for years.

“Your body will never be the same as it was before,” she said. “There’s no time that you can’t feel the 7 or 8 inches of scar tissue running through the middle of your stomach. It’s just a constant physical reminder, because you can’t leave your body.”

This article was reported by The Trace, a nonprofit newsroom covering gun violence in America. .

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

The effort, part of Baltimore’s more than $100 million gun violence prevention plan, relies on staffers like Fitzgerald to build trust with people at risk of such violence and offer them resources like housing or food. Researchers believe these programs reduce gun deaths.

Yet one morning in 2019, Fitzgerald said, his oldest son, Deshawn McCoy, then 26, was shot just outside of the neighborhood he patrolled at the time. Fitzgerald said McCoy was a “really beautiful soul,” who fixed dirt bikes at a local garage. McCoy became the city’s , one of 348 that year, among the city’s deadliest. He left behind three daughters.

“This is our zone,” said Fitzgerald, pointing toward McElderry Park. “My son got cooked over here.”

For years, violence intervention was the work of loosely organized, underfunded groups. Then gun violence spiked during the covid pandemic and the Biden administration and Congress poured in money to better integrate such programs within cities. It appeared to help: In Baltimore and beyond, gun violence has plummeted.

The number of homicides in the city dropped 41%, from more than 300 a year in 2021 to 201 in 2024, according to the U.S. attorney’s office in Maryland.

“Gun violence is a sticky, hard problem to solve,” said Daniel Webster, a researcher at the Johns Hopkins Center for Gun Violence Solutions in Baltimore. “We’re getting it right finally.”

Now President Donald Trump’s administration has gutted funding for that work.

Webster said it could take years to untangle what led to the city’s gun violence drop. Among the factors, he said: the pandemic’s end, investments in violence intervention, improvements that have given police more legitimacy in neighborhoods, targeted prosecutions, and an aggressive effort to remove untraceable ghost guns.

“You need all of these systems working well to have systemic reductions in gun violence,” he said.

The Trump administration has slashed funding for gun violence prevention and research, cutting about $500 million in grants to organizations that support public safety.

At the same time, Trump has loosened gun laws the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, which oversees gun dealers. He has also sent federal troops into the Democratic-led cities of Chicago; Los Angeles; Memphis, Tennessee; Portland, Oregon; and Washington, D.C.

Webster said cities are still benefiting from pandemic-era efforts to address gun deaths. But given the Trump policy changes, if violence escalates, city leaders could have a hard time keeping it from spiraling out of control.

Trying Something Different

Safe Streets is among the promising violence prevention programs that could lose funding. Staffers in the city’s most violent neighborhoods operate like community health workers.

During the pandemic, the Biden administration provided billions of dollars to local governments through the American Rescue Plan Act. Biden urged them to deploy money to community violence intervention programs, which have been shown to by as much as 60%. His administration allowed states to spend Medicaid dollars on such programs. The goal: Stop gun deaths.

Few cities seized the opportunity.

Analyzing federal data, professors Philip Rocco of Marquette University and Amanda Kass of DePaul University found local governments used the ARPA money for 132,451 projects. Yet only 231, less than 0.2%, involved community violence intervention, they said.

In Baltimore, then-newly elected mayor Brandon Scott was ready for the federal influx.

Baltimore’s homicide rate had been high since 2015, when a 25-year-old Black man named Freddie Gray died in police custody. Protests erupted and fractures between residents and police deepened. Baltimore ended the year with 342 homicides, the first time since 1999 that more than 300 were recorded in the city.

“We got really good at our jobs” in the years after Gray’s death, said James Gannon, trauma program manager at Sinai Hospital of Baltimore.

Gun deaths tracked what public health researcher Lawrence T. Brown called the : racially segregated areas that fanned out across Baltimore’s eastern and western neighborhoods around a wealthy central strip. People who faced years of forced displacement and disinvestment became prone to violence, which fueled the cycle.

Every year from 2015 to 2022, the city recorded at least 300 homicides.

“We had to try something different,” said Stefanie Mavronis, director of the Mayor’s Office of Neighborhood Safety and Engagement. Scott created the agency weeks after he was sworn into office in 2020, later with $50 million in ARPA money and $20 million annually from the city’s budget.

Containing an Outbreak

The office’s budget — $22 million in fiscal year 2026 — is a fraction of the city’s .

Still, the money allowed Baltimore’s leaders to scale up a new approach: addressing gun violence the way public health officials might handle an infectious disease outbreak, Mavronis said.

City staffers identified the small subset of people most at risk of being shot or becoming the next shooter through crime data and referrals from social service workers, hospitals, and violence intervention staff, she said. Mavronis said that gangs, friends willing to engage in violence for each other, and retaliation had been driving gun deaths in the city.

“This never-ending cycle of violence and loss and trauma,” Mavronis said, “comes from that.”

The city convened hospital presidents to connect gunshot victims and their friends and family to counseling, crisis support, and city services.

It offered people help finding therapy, a job, or emergency relocation — and threatened arrest and prosecution if they retaliated.

“We decided that we were no longer going to subscribe to the belief that one thing, one agency, one part of government, one program was going to help cure Baltimore of this disease of gun violence that has had a stranglehold on this city for the entirety of my life,” Scott said.

The Coming Cliff

Baltimore is on pace this year to post its fewest gun deaths since Richard Nixon was president.

“Some of it is the national zeitgeist of the moment,” said Adam Rosenberg, executive director of Center for Hope at LifeBridge Health, which operates Safe Streets sites and the Violence Response Team at Sinai Hospital. He credits mainly the infusion of funding that allowed more resources and hands-on engagement with high-risk communities.

“We typically talk about how poverty affects homicides, but it works in reverse too,” Webster said. “People don’t invest in homes and businesses or, frankly, in people, where people get shot regularly.”

Fitzgerald, who grew up in East Baltimore, said he started working for Safe Streets in 2010 for the paycheck.

He’s been on both sides of gun violence, he said, as someone hit more than a dozen times in shootings — first when he was 12. At 13, Fitzgerald said, he shot a cousin in the leg. Over years, he was in and out of the criminal justice system, including for charges of attempted murder, which helped him understand the people he now works with every day, he said.

No college “can certify you in my experiences in violence,” he said. “That’s what allows me to identify and detect potentially violent situations.”

Today, Fitzgerald, 49, believes that teaching kids trauma coping mechanisms can drive culture change and stop shootings.

“Our kids see more death than soldiers,” he said.

But federal funding is drying up. Anthony Smith, executive director of , which supports local leaders on gun violence reduction, estimates that about 65 groups have lost funding this year. And Trump’s signature legislation slashes nearly $1 trillion in anticipated federal Medicaid spending over the next decade.

Center for Hope lost $1.2 million from federal cuts.

“It’s like a car racing along, and you see the cliff coming,” Rosenberg said. “I don’t know if the resources are there anymore, but the need certainly is.”

Rosenberg said that, because of their experiences, staffers such as Fitzgerald are “incredible messengers” for people involved in gun violence, and he noted that they are thoroughly vetted.

Fitzgerald put it this way: “I’m trying to save my kids, the community. The people we’re trying to save is our friends and our family, and ourselves.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News senior correspondent Fred Clasen-Kelly contributed to this report.

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“When you get shot,” he said, “you stop thinking about the future.”

He is anchored by his wife and child and faith. He once wanted to work as a forklift driver but has built a stable career in information technology. He finds camaraderie with other gunshot survivors and in advocacy.

Still, trauma remains lodged in his daily life. As gun violence surged in the shadows of the covid pandemic, it shook Harris’ fragile sense of security. He moved his family out of Philadelphia to a leafy suburb in Delaware. But a nagging fear of crime persists.

Now he is thinking about buying a gun.

Harris is one of tens of thousands of Americans killed or injured each year by gun violence, a public health crisis that escalated in the pandemic and churns a into a hospital emergency room every half hour.

Over the past two decades, the firearm industry has and stepped up sales campaigns through social media influencers, conference presentations, . An industry trade group acknowledged that its traditional customer was “” and in recent years began targeting and who are disproportionately victimized by gun violence.

The Trump administration has moved to reduce federal oversight of gun businesses, announced by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives as “marked by transparency, accountability, and partnership with the firearms industry.”

The pain of gun violence crosses political, cultural, and geographic divides — but no group has suffered as much as Black people, such as Harris. They were nearly 14 times as likely to die by gun homicide than white people in 2021, , citing federal data. Black men and boys are 6% of the population but of homicide victims.

Washington has offered little relief: Guns remain one of few consumer products the federal government for health and safety.

“The politics of guns in the U.S. are so out of whack with proper priorities that should focus on health and safety and most fundamental rights to live,” said attorney Jon Lowy, founder of , who helped represent Mexico in an unsuccessful lawsuit against Smith & Wesson and other gunmakers that reached the Supreme Court. “The U.S. allows and enables gun industry practices that would be totally unacceptable anywhere else in the world.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News undertook an examination of gun violence during the pandemic, a period when firearm deaths reached an all-time high. Reporters reviewed academic research, congressional reports, and hospital data and interviewed dozens of gun violence and public health experts, gun owners, and victims or their relatives.

The examination found that while public officials imposed restrictions intended to prevent covid’s spread, politicians and regulators helped fuel gun sales — and another public health crisis.

As state and local governments schools, advised residents to stay home, and closed gyms, theaters, malls, and other businesses to stop covid’s spread, President Donald Trump kept gun stores open, critical to the functioning of society.

White House spokesperson Kush Desai did not respond to interview requests or answer questions about the Trump administration’s efforts to reduce regulation of the firearm industry.

During the pandemic, the federal government gave firearm businesses and groups more than $150 million in financial assistance through the Paycheck Protection Program, even as some businesses reported brisk sales, according to from Everytown for Gun Safety, an advocacy group.

Federal officials said the program would keep people employed, but millions of dollars went to firearm companies that did not say whether it would save any jobs, the report said.

About bought a gun during the first two years of the pandemic, including millions of first-time buyers, according to survey data from NORC at the University of Chicago.

Harris is keenly aware of what drives the demand.

“Guns aren’t going away unless we get to the root of people’s fears,” he said.

most Americans who own a gun feel it makes them safer. But public health data suggests that owning a gun of homicide and triples chances of suicide in a home.

“There’s no evidence that guns provide an increase in protection,” said Kelly Drane, research director for the . “We have been told a fundamental lie.”

Record Deaths

Less than a year into the pandemic, 20-year-old Jacquez Anlage was shot dead in a Jacksonville, Florida, apartment. Five years later, the killing remains unsolved.

His mother, Crystal Anlage, said she fell to her knees and wailed in grief on her lawn when police delivered the news.

She said Jacquez overcame years in the foster care system — living in 36 homes — before she and her husband, Matt, adopted him at age 16.

Jacquez Anlage had just moved into his own apartment when he was shot. He loved animals and wanted to become a veterinary technician. He was kind and loving, Crystal Anlage said, with the 6-foot-4, 215-pound physique of the football and basketball player he’d been.

“He was just getting to a point in life where he felt safe,” Crystal Anlage said.

Gun violence researchers say parents like Crystal Anlage carry trauma that destroys their sense of security.

Anlage said she endures post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety. She is terrified of guns and fireworks.

But she has made something meaningful of her son’s killing: She co-founded the Jacksonville Survivors Foundation, which works to raise awareness about the impact of homicide and to support grieving parents.

“Jacquez’s death can’t be in vain,” she said. “I want his legacy to be love.”

His legacy and that of other young men killed by guns is muted by firearm manufacturers’ powerful message of fear.

During the pandemic, gun marketers told Americans they needed firearms to defend themselves against criminals, protesters, unreliable cops, and , filed by gun control advocacy groups with the Federal Trade Commission.

In a since-deleted June 18, 2020, from Lone Wolf Arms, an Idaho-based manufacturer, a protester is depicted being confronted by police officers in riot gear between the words “Defund Police? Defend Yourself,” the petition shows. The caption says, “10% to 25% off demo guns and complete pistols.”

Impact Arms, an online gun seller, on Instagram on Aug. 3, 2020, showing a person putting a rifle in a backpack, the document says. “The world is pretty crazy right now,” the caption reads. “Not a bad idea to pack something more efficient than a handgun.”

The National Rifle Association in 2020 posted on YouTube a of a Black woman holding a rifle and telling viewers they need a gun in the pandemic. “You might be stockpiling up on food right now to get through this current crisis,” she said, “but if you aren’t preparing to defend your property when everything goes wrong, you’re really just stockpiling for somebody else.”

The messaging worked. Background checks for firearm sales soared 60% from , the year the federal government declared a public health emergency.

The same year, more than , the highest number up till then. In 2021, was broken again.

Weapons sold at the beginning of the pandemic were more likely to wind up at crime scenes within a year than in any previous period, according to by Democrats on Congress’ Joint Economic Committee, citing ATF data.

Gun manufacturers “used disturbing sales tactics” following mass shootings in Buffalo, New York, and Uvalde, Texas, “while failing to take even basic steps to monitor the violence and destruction their products have unleashed,” according to a released by congressional Democrats in July 2022 following a House Oversight and Reform Committee investigation of industry practices and profits.

The firearm industry has marketed “to white supremacist and extremist organizations for years, playing on fears of government repression against gun owners and fomenting racial tensions,” the House investigation said. “The increase in racially motivated violence has also led to rising rates of gun ownership among Black Americans, allowing the industry to profit from both white supremacists and their targets.”

In 2024, then-President Joe Biden’s Department of the Interior provided a to the National Shooting Sports Foundation, a leading , to help companies market guns to Black Americans.

The Federal Trade Commission is responsible for protecting consumers from deceptive and unfair business practices and has the power to take enforcement action. It issued warnings to companies that made unsubstantiated claims their products could prevent or treat covid, for instance.

But when families of gun violence victims, lawmakers, and advocacy groups in 2022, during Biden’s term, how firearms were marketed to children, people of color, and groups that espouse white supremacy, officials did not announce any public action.

This summer, the National Shooting Sports Foundation pressed its and derided “a coordinated ‘lawfare’ campaign” that it said gun control groups have waged against “constitutionally-protected firearm advertising.”

FTC spokesperson Mitchell Katz declined to comment, saying in an email that the agency does not acknowledge or deny the existence of investigations.

Serena Viswanathan, who retired as an FTC associate director in June, told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News that the agency lost at least a quarter of the staff in its advertising practices division after Trump came into office in January.

Gun companies Smith & Wesson, Lone Wolf Arms, and Impact Arms did not respond to requests for comment. Neither did the National Shooting Sports Foundation or the NRA.

In an August 2022 , Smith & Wesson President and CEO Mark Smith said gun manufacturers were being wrongly blamed by some politicians for the pandemic surge in violence, saying cities experiencing violent crime had “promoted irresponsible, soft-on-crime policies that often treat criminals as victims and victims as criminals.”

He added, “Some now seek to prohibit firearm manufacturers and supporters of the 2nd Amendment from advertising products in a manner designed to remind law-abiding citizens that they have a Constitutional right to bear arms in defense of themselves and their families.”

Guns and Race

In 2015, the National Shooting Sports Foundation gathered supporters at a conference in Savannah, Georgia, and urged the firearm industry to diversify its customer base, according to a and reports from and the .

Competitive shooter Chris Cheng gave a presentation called “Diversity: The Next Big Opportunity.” Screenshots from the conference include slides purporting to show “demographics,” “psychographics,” and “technographics” of Black and Hispanic shooters.

The slides described Black shooters as “expressive and confident socially, in a crowd” and “less likely to be married and to be a college grad.” They said Hispanic shooters were “much more trusting of advertising and celebrities.”

Nick Suplina, senior vice president for law and policy at Everytown for Gun Safety, said industry marketing shifted in the latter half of the 20th century as the popularity of hunting declined. The new sales pitch: guns for personal safety.

“They said, ‘We need to break into new markets,’” Suplina said. “They identified women and people of color. They didn’t have a lot of success until the pandemic, the Black Lives Matter movement, and the death of George Floyd. The marketing says, ‘You deserve the Second Amendment too.’ They are selling the product as an antidote to fear and anxiety.”

Gun manufacturers were harshly criticized in the Oversight Committee’s 2022 investigation for marketing products to people of color, as gun violence remains a leading cause of death for young Black and Latino men.

At the same time, some companies also promoted assault rifles to white supremacist groups who believe a race war is imminent, the investigation found. One company sold an AK-47-style rifle called the “Big Igloo Aloha,” a reference to an anti-government movement, it said.

Still, Philip Smith wants more Black people to get guns for protection.

Smith said he was working as a human resources consultant a decade ago when he got the idea to form the , which helped the National Shooting Sports Foundation compile its report on communicating with Black consumers.

Smith encourages Black people to buy firearms for self-defense and get proper training on how to use them.

After 10 years, Smith said, his group has about 45,000 members nationwide. Single members pay $39 a year and couples $59, which gives them access to discounts from the organization’s corporate partners, including gunmakers, and raffles for gun giveaways, according to its website.

The police killing of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri, and the shooting death of Florida teenager Trayvon Martin helped spark early interest from doctors, lawyers, and others in joining the group, he said. But interest took off during the pandemic, he said, even among Democrats who had resisted the idea of owning a gun.

“Hundreds of people called me and said, ‘I don’t agree with anything you’re saying, but what kind of gun should I buy,’” Smith recalled.

Smith, describing himself as “quiet, nerdy, and Afrocentric,” said criticism of guns misses the point.

“My ancestors bled for us to have this right,” he said. “Are there some racist white people? Yes. But we should buy guns because there is a need. No one is forcing us to buy guns.”

‘American Amnesia’

During the pandemic, gun violence took its greatest toll on racially segregated neighborhoods in places such as Philadelphia, where roughly residents live in poverty.

A says a one-year period in the pandemic saw more than 2,300 shootings, or about six a day. Many of the cases haven’t been solved by police.

City officials cited the boom in gun sales in the report: Fewer than 400,000 sales took place in Pennsylvania in 2000, but in 2020 it was more than 1 million.

Gun sales since the pandemic ended, but the harm they’ve caused persists.

At a conference last year inside the Eagles’ football stadium, victims of firearm violence or their relatives joined activists to share accounts of near-death experiences and the grief of losing loved ones.

Paintings flanked the stage and the meeting space to commemorate people who had been fatally shot, nearly all young people of color, under messages such as “You are loved and missed forever” and “Those we love never leave.”

Marion Wilson, a community activist, said he believes the nation has forgotten the suffering Philadelphia and other cities endured during the pandemic.

“We suffer from the disease of American amnesia,” he said.

Harris was on his way home from a job at Burlington Coat Factory nearly two decades ago when robbers followed him from a bus stop and demanded money. He said he had none and was shot.

Harris had spent his early life fixing cars with his grandfather, when he wasn’t at school or attending church. He remembers lying in a hospital bed, overcome with a sense of helplessness.

“I had to learn to feed myself again,” he said. “I was like a baby. I had to learn to sit up so I could use a wheelchair. The only way I got through it was my faith in God.”

Harris endured years of rehabilitation and counseling for PTSD. As someone in a wheelchair, he said, he sometimes fears for his safety — and a gun may be one of the few ways to protect himself and his family.

“I’m mulling it over,” Harris said. “I’m afraid of my trauma hurting someone else. That’s the only reason I haven’t gotten one yet.”

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“Get him off the table,” the doctor recalled telling the surgical team at SSM Health Saint Louis University Hospital as the team cleaned Black’s chest and abdomen. “This is my patient. Get him off the table.”

At first, no one recognized Zohny Zohny in his surgical mask. Then he told the surgical team he was the neurosurgeon assigned to Black’s case. Stunned by his orders, the team members pushed back, Zohny said, explaining that they had consent from the family to remove Black’s organs.  

“I don’t care if we have consent,” Zohny recalled telling them. “I haven’t spoken to the family, and I don’t agree with this. Get him off the table.”

Black, his 22-year-old patient, had arrived at the hospital after getting shot in the head on March 24, 2019. A week later, he was taken to surgery to have his organs removed for donation — even though his heart was beating and he hadn’t been declared brain-dead, Zohny said.

Black’s sister Molly Watts said the family had doubts after agreeing to donate Black’s organs but felt unheard until the 34-year-old doctor, in his first year as a neurosurgeon, intervened.

Today, Black, now 28, is a musician and the father of three children. He still needs regular physical therapy for lingering health issues from the gun injury. And Black said he is haunted by what he remembers from those days while he was lying in a medically induced coma.

“I heard my mama yelling,” he recalled. “Everybody was there yelling my name, crying, playing my favorite songs, sending prayers up.”

He said he had tried to show everyone in his hospital room that he heard them. He recalled knocking on the side of the bed, blinking his eyes, trying to show that he was fighting for his life.

Organ transplants save a growing number of lives in the U.S. every year, with performed in 2024, according to the Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network, which oversees the nation’s transplant system. And awaiting donations that never come.

But organ donation has also faced ongoing , including reports of patients showing alertness before planned organ harvesting. The results of a into a Kentucky organ donation nonprofit, first disclosed by in June, found that during a four-year period, medical providers had planned to harvest the organs of 73 patients despite signs of neurological activity. Those procedures ultimately didn’t take place, but federal officials to overhaul the nation’s organ donation system.

“Our findings show that hospitals allowed the organ procurement process to begin when patients showed signs of life, and this is horrifying,” Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. said in a statement. “The entire system must be fixed to ensure that every potential donor’s life is treated with the sanctity it deserves.”

Even before this latest investigation, Black’s case showed Zohny that the organ donation system needed to improve. He was initially hesitant to talk to Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News when contacted in July about Black. But Zohny said his patient’s story had stuck with him for years, highlighting that while organ donation must continue, little is understood about human consciousness. And determining when someone is dead is the critical but confusing question at play.

“There was no bad guy in this. It was a bad setup. There’s a problem in the system,” he said. “We need to look at the policies and make some adjustments to them to make sure that we’re doing organ donation for the right person at the right time in the right place, with the right specialists involved.”

LJ Punch, a former trauma surgeon who was not involved with the case but reviewed Black’s medical records for Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, questioned whether Black’s injury — from gunfire — possibly contributed to how he was treated. Young Black men like Larry Black are in the United States, and research on such violence is scant. His experience exemplifies “the general neglect” of Black men’s bodies, Punch said.

“That’s what comes up for me,” Punch said. “Structurally, not individually. Not any one doctor, not any one nurse, not any one team. It’s a structural reality.”

The hospital declined to comment on the details of Black’s case. SSM Health’s Kim Henrichsen, president of Saint Louis University Hospital and St. Mary’s Hospital-St. Louis, said the hospital system approaches “all situations involving critical illness or end-of-life care with deep compassion and respect.”

Mid-America Transplant, the federally designated organ procurement organization serving the St. Louis region, does not comment on individual donor cases, according to , executive vice president for organ procurement. She did tell Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News that her organization has walked away from cases when patients’ conditions change — though not as late as when they are in the operating room for harvesting.

“Let me be clear about that. It happens way before then,” she said. “It definitely happens multiple times a year where we get consent. The family has made the decision, we approach, we get consent, it’s all appropriate, and then a day or so later they improve and we’re like, ‘Whoa.’”

But Speir said the recent media stories about the nation’s donation system are prompting a lot of questions about a process that also does a lot of good.

“We’re losing public trust right now,” Speir said of the industry. “And we’re going to have to regain that.”

Blink Twice for a Chance at Life

It was a Sunday afternoon when gunshots rang out in downtown St. Louis. Black had been on his way to his sister’s apartment.

“I didn’t know I was shot at first,” Black said, sitting in his living room six years later. “I literally ran like a block or two away.”

He collapsed moments later, he said, crawling to the back door of a woman’s home, where he asked for help. He said he asked the woman to give him two large towels, one covered in rubbing alcohol and another soaked with hydrogen peroxide. He wrapped those towels around the back of his head.

When his sister Macquel Payne found him, he was lying on the ground near the leasing office of her apartment complex, a crowd gathered around him.

Before an ambulance took him to the hospital, Black told his sister not to worry about him.

“I’m hearing Larry say, ‘I’m good, sis,’” Payne recalled. “‘I’m OK.’”

Black said he went in and out of consciousness on the way to the hospital and once he was there.

“I got to hitting my hand on the side of the ICU bed,” Black said. “They was like: ‘That’s just the reaction, the side effects of the medicine. Ask him some questions.’”

Payne said she asked her brother to blink twice if he could remember his first pet, a dog named “Little Black” that looked like the Chihuahua from the Taco Bell commercials.

Black said he remembers blinking twice. His sisters remember the same.

Payne asked him another question. This time she wanted to know whether her brother recognized their family. Black said he blinked twice when he saw his mom and sister standing nearby.  

Black said his sister then asked him “the main question” that everyone needed him to answer.

“She’s like, ‘If you want them to pull a plug, if you tired and you giving up, blink once,’” Black recalled. “‘If you still got some fight in you, blink more than once.’”

Black said he started blinking and hit the bed to let his family know that he was still with them.

The sisters said hospital staffers told them the movements were involuntary.

‘Not Right Now’

In a waiting room steps away from the hospital’s intensive care unit, a woman carrying brochures explained to Payne and the rest of the family that Black had identified himself as a possible organ donor on his ID.

The woman wanted to know whether the family wished to move forward with the process if Black died, Payne said.

“I remember my mom saying, ‘Not right now,’” Black’s sister recalled. “‘It’s kind of too soon.’”

Payne said the woman persisted.

“She was like, ‘Well, can I at least leave you some brochures or something?’” Payne recalled. “Then my mom got a little agitated because it felt like she was being, like, pushy.”

The family was already acquainted with the organ donation process. In 2007, Black’s teenage brother Miguel Payne drowned at a local lake. His organs were donated, Macquel Payne said, noting the family was told that his body parts and tissues helped multiple people.

“I believe in saving lives,” Payne said. “But don’t be pushy about it.”

Mid-America Transplant handles the organ transplant process for 84 counties in parts of Illinois, Arkansas, and Missouri, including St. Louis. Like the Kentucky organization, it is one of 55 federally designated nonprofits that facilitate organ donations throughout the country.

The nonprofit has never pressured a family into organ donation, Speir said. Registering to be an organ donor is legally binding, she said, but Mid-America has walked away from cases when families didn’t want to move forward.

She said her staff tries to dispel myths about organ donation and alleviate concerns. “We want to have the families leave with a positive experience,” Speir said.

Despite the family’s initial ambivalence, they ultimately consented to moving forward with donating Black’s organs. Watts said members of her brother’s care team had told the family that her brother was at “the end of the road.”

The family was told to prepare for Black’s “last walk of life,” Payne said. Also known as an honor or hero’s walk, the tradition honors the life of an organ donor before the harvesting process begins.

At the time, Payne said, she thought her brother still had a fighting chance. She asked the hospital staffers to take another look at him before he was wheeled down the hall.

“I’m like, ‘My brother’s in there tapping on the bed,’” Payne said. “They said, ‘That’s just his nerves.’ But I’m like, ‘No, something’s not right.’ It’s like he was too alert. He was letting us know: ‘Please don’t let them do this to me. I’m here. I can fight this.’ They were saying that’s what the medicine will do, it affects his nerves.”

After the family had agreed to move forward with the organ donation process, the two sisters said, an especially helpful member of Black’s medical team no longer treated them the same way. She became standoffish, they said.

“You could tell the dynamics had changed,” Watts said.

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The family put on blue jumpers for the walk of life. “We just walked around the floor, and everybody was, like, acknowledging him,” Payne said. “We just thought this was the end.”

A friend Black went to high school with filmed part of the ritual. In a , Black is seen being wheeled on a stretcher down a hallway in the hospital. His eyes are half-open. People are crying.

False rumors then started to swirl outside the hospital.

Brianna Floyd said she went into shock when she heard that her friend was dead. She knew that Black had been shot in the head. But a few days earlier, that he was in stable condition.

Floyd checked Facebook to see whether the news of his death was true. Her timeline was flooded with farewell posts for Black, so she decided to write one, too.

“I Love You So Much Brother,” . “#RIPMyBrother. Never Thought I Would Say That.”

Black’s father rushed to the hospital when he heard a rumor that his son was being wheeled to the morgue.

“‘He’s gone,’” Lawrence Black Sr. recalled being told. “‘He’s going to the freezer now.’”

Black Sr. said he refused to believe that his son was dead. The thought was devastating. He had already experienced that kind of loss to gun violence.

“You wake up and nothing’s the same,” Black Sr. said. “The spirit is lingering for about a week, and you can feel it, you know?”

Overwhelmed with emotion, he prayed for his son to live.

‘I Can’t Kill Your Son’

Zohny, the neurosurgeon, said he heard an announcement about a “hero’s walk” over a loudspeaker in the hospital. He wasn’t familiar with the term, so he asked about it. Medical residents in the hospital explained and told Zohny that the walk was possibly for his patient Larry Black.

“No, that can’t be my patient,” Zohny said he told them. “I didn’t agree.”

That’s when Zohny called the ICU to check on Black’s status. A person who answered the phone told him that Black was being wheeled to an operating room, he said.

“This is my first year,” Zohny said. “Your first year out as a neurosurgeon is the riskiest time for you. Any mistakes, anything small, basically derails your career. So the moment this happened, my legs went weak and I was very nervous because, at the end of the day, your job as a doctor is to be perfect.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, Zohny, and Punch all reviewed the medical files given to Black from his hospitalization. It’s not clear from the records what led to that moment.

“In every case, the patient must be declared legally dead by the hospital’s medical team before organ procurement begins. This is not negotiable,” Mid-America Transplant’s CEO and president, Kevin Lee, wrote in on the nonprofit’s website, responding to the news and federal comments about the investigation centered in Kentucky. “Mid-America Transplant strictly follows all laws, regulations, and hospital protocols throughout the process.”

He said in a statement to Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News that a person can be pronounced dead in two ways. A person is legally dead if their heart stops beating and they stop breathing, which is when donation after cardiac death can occur. A person can also become an organ donor if their brain, including the brain stem, has irreversibly ceased functioning, which is when brain death donation can occur.

“Every hospital has their own process in declaring both types of death,” Speir said in a statement. “Mid-America Transplant ensures hospitals follow their policies.”

But Black didn’t fall into either category, Zohny said. And, he said, Black hadn’t had what is known as a brain death exam.

Zohny said he immediately informed his chairman about the situation, then started running to the operating room. Black’s family was waiting in the hallway, unaware of the drama happening behind a set of closed silver doors.

Then Zohny emerged, pulling Black’s family into an empty operating room that was nearby.

“I remember he told my mama, ‘I can’t kill your son,’” Payne recalled. “She said, ‘Excuse me?’”

Zohny put an image of Black’s brain on a screen. Then he circled the part of his brain that was damaged. He explained that Black’s gunshot wound was something that he could possibly recover from, though he might need therapy. He asked the family whether they were willing to give Black more time to heal from the injury, instead of withdrawing care.

“In my opinion, no family would ever consent to organ donation unless they were given an impression that their family member had a very poor prognosis,” Zohny said. “I never had a conversation with the family about the prognosis, because it was too early to have that discussion.”

Zohny knew that he was taking a professional risk when he ran into the operating room.

“The worst-case scenario for me is that I lose my job,” he recalled thinking. “Worst-case scenario for him, he wrongfully loses his life.”

Later, Zohny said, a hospital worker who transported Black from the ICU to the operating room told Zohny that something had seemed off.

 “I remember him looking at me and saying, ‘I’m so glad you stopped that,’” Zohny recalled. “And I said, ‘Why?’ And he said: ‘I don’t know. His eyes were open the whole time, and I just felt like he was looking at me. His eyes didn’t move, but it felt like he was looking at me.’”

‘Back From the Dead’

After Zohny’s intervention, Black was wheeled back to the ICU. Zohny said the medical team held back all medications that caused his sedation.

Black woke up two days later, Zohny said, and started speaking. Within a week, the neurosurgeon said, he was standing.

“I had to learn how to walk, how to spell, read,” Black said. “I had to learn my name again, my Social, birthday, everything.”

Zohny continued to care for Black during what remained of his 21 days in the hospital. During a follow-up appointment, he posed for a photo with Black and his older sister, Watts. Next to Zohny, Black is standing up, a brace on his leg.

“It’s a miracle that despite flawed policy we were able to save his life,” Zohny said. “It was an absolute miracle.”

Zohny, who was working as a fellow and assistant professor at the time, left Saint Louis University Hospital for another job later that year when his fellowship ended. He said Black’s story made him question what we know about consciousness.

He’s now working on a new method that quantifies consciousness. Zohny said it could possibly be used to help measure consciousness from brain signals, such as with an electroencephalogram, or EEG, a test that measures electrical activity in the brain. Zohny said his method still needs rigorous validation, so he recently started a medical research company called Zeta Analytica, separate from his work at the West Virginia University , which he’ll begin in October.

“We don’t understand the brain to the level that we should, especially with all of the technology we have now,” Zohny said.

Today, Black is trying to move forward. He said he has seizures if the bullet fragments in his head move around too much. He said he easily overheats because of the injury.

He doesn’t blame his family for their decision. But he questions the organ transplantation process. “It’s like they choose people’s destiny for them just because they have an organ donor ribbon on their ID,” Black said. “And that’s not cool.”

To help him process everything that happened to him in 2019, he makes music under the name BeamNavyLooney. “I am back from the dead,” he recently wrote in a song about his experience.

Earlier this year, Black celebrated the birth of another son, who was sleeping peacefully at home as Black recounted his story.

“He doesn’t really cry,” Black said. “He just makes noises.”

Black sat with a firearm within reach. He said he keeps the gun close to protect his family. It’s still hard for him to sleep at night. Nightmares about what happened — both on the street and in the hospital — keep him awake.

He said he no longer wants to be on the organ donor registry.

This project was supported by a fellowship from the Association of Health Care Journalists, with funding from The Joyce Foundation.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .