Structural barriers, donor networks keep women underrepresented in US politics

Women make up just over half the American population, yet they hold fewer than three in ten seats in Congress. The gap is stark and persistent, even as the 2024 midterm elections approach with the potential to reshape that landscape in ways not seen before.

The numbers tell part of the story. Of the 435 members of the House of Representatives, 125 are women. In the Senate, 27 sit among the 100 seats. Across all 50 states, 14 women serve as governor. These are record highs for the United States—152 women in Congress total, more than at any point in American history. Yet against a female population of roughly 51 percent, the representation remains a fraction of what demographic parity would suggest. The disparity grows sharper in the Senate, where seats turn over less frequently and campaigns demand vastly more money.

Kelly Dittmar, who directs research at the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University, identifies the obstacles as both structural and cultural. The political system itself creates barriers for newcomers of any kind, but women have historically borne the weight of these barriers most heavily. Senate seats come up for election only once every six years, meaning opportunities are rare and unpredictable. House members face elections every two years, but the advantage of incumbency—the ability to stay in office for decades if voters keep returning you—favors those already in power, who are disproportionately men. Campaign finance compounds the problem. Elections in America are expensive undertakings, and women have historically lacked access to the networks of wealthy donors who fund campaigns. Those donor networks, like the leadership ranks of both parties, remain predominantly male. Party leaders, too, tend to recruit candidates who look like them. Beyond mechanics and money sits culture: the stereotypes and expectations about what women can and should do in politics, expectations that male candidates rarely face.

The two parties have taken markedly different approaches to addressing the imbalance. Among House Democrats, 95 women currently serve compared to 30 Republican women—a three-to-one ratio. Dittmar attributes this gap to infrastructure. Organizations dedicated to recruiting, training, and funding female candidates cluster on the Democratic side or operate as nonpartisan entities. Republican Party leadership, she suggests, sees little electoral incentive to prioritize women's recruitment. Democratic voters, by contrast, value diversity in their elected representatives and reward parties that deliver it. The current Republican majority in the House means a Republican holds the Speaker position—Mike Johnson. Only one woman has ever held that role: Nancy Pelosi, who served as Democratic Speaker from 2007 to 2011 and again from 2019 to 2023.

The Senate presents an even steeper climb. With only 100 seats and each coming up for election just once per decade, the window for new candidates—particularly women without prior Senate experience—narrows dramatically. A statewide campaign for Senate also costs substantially more than a House race. Research shows female candidates typically bring less personal wealth to their campaigns than men do, making them more dependent on fundraising networks that have historically excluded them.

The 2024 midterms could produce historic firsts. In Minnesota, Democrat Peggy Flanagan, the state's lieutenant governor, is running for Senate. She is Ojibwe, an indigenous people of the Great Lakes region, and if elected would become the first Native American woman in the Senate. Polls show her ahead of her Republican opponent, Michele Tafoya, a former sports reporter. In Georgia, Democrat Keisha Lance Bottoms is running for governor. She could become the first Black woman to hold a state governorship. Dittmar describes that race as a genuine toss-up, with Bottoms having a real chance. Former President Barack Obama has endorsed her; President Trump has backed the Republican candidate, Rick Jackson. In Minnesota's gubernatorial race, Democrat Amy Klobuchar—a sitting senator since 2007 and a figure well known in her state—is the frontrunner, making it unlikely that Republican Lisa DeMuth, who is Black, will prevail in what Dittmar considers a solidly Democratic state.

These candidacies represent something new in American politics, yet they also underscore how recent such possibilities are. The structural barriers remain in place. The donor networks still favor the familiar. The cultural expectations still weigh differently on women than on men. What changes is the pool of candidates willing to run and the voters willing to support them.