A dangerous status symbol

ufail Khan, a Peshawar resident in his late thirties, does not carry his licensed pistol for security; he carries it for prestige. When he walks into a social gathering, the slight bulge beneath his shirt is a silent reminder—a symbol of protection, power and standing. For decades, the presence of firearms has woven itself into the societal fabric of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. The recent explosion in the number of arms licences suggests that this cultural thread is tightening into a chokehold. The statistics tell the story of a society increasingly seeking solace and social standing in metal and gun powder. Between January 2024 and March 2026, the Home Department received over 400,000 applications for arms licenses. The response was a massive, documented proliferation. 314,855 of the applications were approved and 277,029 individual licences issued. This surge has been a revenue driver for the provincial government, generating more than Rs 3 billion. It also paints a worrying picture of the province where self-defence is often inextricably linked with social status. Peshawar, the provincial capital, is at the epicentre of this trend. With 45,375 new licences issued, it has far outpaced other districts. It is followed by Swat (21,219), Mardan (18,467), Swabi (14,952) and Charsadda (14,279). The numbers testify to the preference for portable firearms: pistols dominate the list with 250,039 licences, followed by rifles (33,704) and shotguns (30,905). The driving forces behind this unprecedented wave of firearm acquisition are complex. They include deep-seated cultural norms as well as security anxieties. An analysis of the data suggests that while rising militancy and general instability certainly motivate some applicants, the perception of arms as a symbol of status, prestige and power, too, is a profound driver. Possessing a licence and a firearm, particularly a high-end pistol, is increasingly a pre-requisite for entry into certain social settings in many KP communities. It is viewed as an extension of male authority and familial honour. 'I didn't apply because I'm scared,' a university student in Swabi, who requested anonymity, told TNS. 'I applied because my cousins have them and when we go out together, I look unprepared. It's expected of me.' This desire for status, however, clashes with the practical reality of law enforcement in a region battling both terrorism and entrenched familial feuds. A retired high-ranking police official, speaking anonymously, described the overwhelming challenge this wave of legalisation presents. 'The government relies on computerised systems and biometric checks, which look excellent on paper. But they are a veneer over a major intelligence gap. We are missing critical, up-to-the-minute vetting,' the official said. 'The most important question is traceability. While these licences are for legal arms, they often act as gateways. Weapons produced in local, unregulated cottage clusters—the 'copy' weapons—remain untraceable. They look legal and might be carried with a genuine license for a different gun. When they are used, they vanish from the forensic radar.' The easy availability, coupled with poor traceability of locally manufactured weapons, creates a potential nightmare for investigations and ensures that the cycle of violence—both small-scale and organised—continues with minimal accountability. 'Security is not to be found in a holster; it goes with the rule of law and community trust.' The consequences of this extensive armament on the societal fabric are already visible. Access to firearms is closing the gap between a simple dispute and a fatal outcome. Arguments over land or water distribution; even minor altercations in traffic can rapidly escalate when weapons are close at hand. Minor arguments that could once be resolved through mediation are turning into generational feuds, leaving communities traumatised and divided. Ali Daud Khan, a peace activist from Peshawar, echoed these concerns, speaking to TNS. 'We are seeing small disputes over common property or simple disagreements turning into blood feuds that last decades,' he said. 'The presence of a firearm changes the psychology of an argument; it often removes the option of de-escalation. This trend is not protecting our communities; it is eroding the trust that holds them together.' The arms trade itself, predictably, is experiencing a surge. Dealers across the province report a massive increase in business, which extends beyond the sale of firearms to include the expansion of repair workshops, ammunition stores, shooting ranges and accessories. 'It's a very busy time for us,' a major arms dealer in Peshawar, speaking to TNS on the condition of anonymity, said. 'The demand is at an all-time high, not just for the pistols, but for everything related to them. This licence rush has revitalised the industry.' Addressing the rising wave of firearm licensing in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa requires a fundamental shift from administrative revenue collection to comprehensive public security management. While computerised processing has streamlined licensing, authorities must integrate deeper intelligence-driven vetting mechanisms to evaluate applicants thoroughly. Furthermore, curbing the circulation of untraceable weapons—particularly those produced in unregulated local clusters—remains paramount for effective forensic tracking and criminal accountability. A sustained, community-wide initiative to reshape cultural perceptions around firearms is equally important. Public awareness drives must challenge the narrative that equates firearm ownership with honour, status and prestige. The retired police official emphasised that even with improved systems, the ultimately decisive factor is public cooperation. 'My message to the general public is simple: the government, the police and law enforcement agencies cannot solve this alone,' he said to TNS. 'We need people to cooperate with the authorities. They must report the illegal manufacturing clusters and the dealers who are bypassing the rules. They must think twice before turning to firearms in personal disputes. Security is not found in a holster; it goes with the rule of law and community trust.' Khyber Pakhtunkhwa stands at a crossroads. The current path, rife with legalised firearms, is unsustainable and threatens to make everyday life even more precarious. A concerted effort—combining policy reform, stricter enforcement, robust traceability and a long-overdue cultural re-evaluation—is essential to prevent this surge in licences from becoming a permanent stain on the region's future. The true measure of status in KP must shift from who carries a weapon to who can foster peace without one. The writer is a Peshawar-based journalist. He mostly writes on art, culture, education, youth and minorities. His X handle: @Shinwar-9