Gun Control as Feminism? Ms. Magazine Cheers Virginia’s Anti-Gun Laws—and Ignites a Fight Over Women’s Safety

The headline that set social media ablaze last winter framed gun control not as a public‑safety compromise but as a moral imperative: feminism with teeth. When Ms. Magazine praised Virginia’s recent slate of gun restrictions as “a win for women,” it ignited a fight that has been simmering for decades—over who gets to define women’s safety, whose data counts, and whether disarming the public protects women or leaves them exposed.

The argument isn’t abstract. It plays out in courtrooms, emergency rooms, and bedrooms across the Commonwealth. And the numbers—often invoked, rarely interrogated—tell a more complicated story than either side admits.

The Laws at the Center of the Storm

Virginia’s modern gun debate began in earnest in 2020, when Democrats seized full control of the General Assembly for the first time in a generation. Within months, lawmakers passed a package of measures long opposed by gun‑rights groups:

• Universal background checks on nearly all firearm sales, including private transactions (effective July 1, 2020).
• Extreme Risk Protective Orders (ERPOs)—often called red‑flag laws—allowing police to temporarily remove firearms from people deemed an imminent risk.
• A one‑handgun‑per‑month limit, resurrected after being repealed in 2012.

• Expanded local authority to ban guns from certain public spaces, including government buildings and parks.

Advocacy groups framed the package as overdue modernization. Ms. Magazine went further, celebrating the laws as a feminist victory that would “save women’s lives.” The subtext was unmistakable: fewer guns equal fewer dead women.

That claim rests on a set of statistics that deserve closer scrutiny.

What the Data Actually Says About Women and Guns

Start with a grim baseline. According to the CDC, firearms are used in roughly 55–60% of intimate partner homicides nationwide, a figure that has remained stubbornly high for decades. In Virginia, the Violence Policy Center reported that nearly two‑thirds of women killed by men in 2021 were shot, often by a current or former partner.

Research dating back to the 1990s reinforces the danger. A landmark American Journal of Public Health study led by Dr. Arthur Kellermann found that a gun in the home increases the risk of homicide for women by roughly five times, primarily in domestic settings. Later studies have debated the magnitude but not the direction of the risk.

Those numbers fuel the feminist gun‑control case: remove firearms from volatile situations, and fewer women die.

Yet the same datasets reveal an uncomfortable counterpoint. Women are far more likely to be victimized by someone they know—and far less likely to benefit from broad restrictions aimed at strangers or mass shooters. ERPOs, for example, hinge on timely reporting and police action. In rural Virginia counties, response times stretch long, and judges rotate weekly. A protective order filed on Friday might not be heard until Tuesday.

For a woman facing an immediate threat, policy lag can be lethal.

The Defensive Gun Use Blind Spot

Gun‑control advocacy often treats firearms solely as instruments of harm. Defensive use rarely enters the feminist framing, except as an outlier. That omission matters.

The National Crime Victimization Survey (NCVS), run by the Bureau of Justice Statistics, estimates roughly 60,000–100,000 defensive gun uses per year—far lower than the millions sometimes cited by gun‑rights activists, but not trivial. Importantly, NCVS data suggests women who use a firearm in self‑defense are less likely to be injured during a violent encounter than women who resist without a weapon.

Virginia‑specific data is harder to parse, but anecdotal evidence fills the gaps. In 2022, a Richmond woman used a lawfully owned handgun to fend off an ex‑partner who had violated a restraining order; prosecutors declined charges, citing clear self‑defense. Stories like hers rarely appear in glossy magazine spreads, yet they shape how many women experience safety in real time.

The feminist framing collapses when it assumes a single female experience. Women aren’t a monolith. Risk profiles differ sharply by geography, income, race, and relationship status.

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Advocacy Framing vs. Lived Reality

Ms. Magazine has a long history of merging cultural critique with policy advocacy. Its Virginia coverage followed a familiar script: cite national homicide statistics, spotlight domestic‑violence survivors, and argue that fewer guns equal more freedom for women.

What the framing downplays is enforcement reality. Virginia’s ERPO law requires law‑enforcement initiation; private citizens can’t file directly. For women who distrust police—particularly women of color or undocumented immigrants—that barrier looms large. Data from the National Network to End Domestic Violence shows that over 40% of survivors report reluctance to involve law enforcement, often due to fear of escalation or deportation consequences.

In those cases, gun control on paper doesn’t translate to protection on the ground.

A Closer Look at Outcomes Since 2020

Have Virginia’s laws reduced violence against women? The early evidence is mixed.

• Overall homicide rates in Virginia rose sharply in 2020–2021, mirroring national trends during the pandemic. Female homicide victimization increased during that period, according to CDC WISQARS data.
• Intimate partner homicide rates did not show a clear post‑law decline through 2022. Analysts caution that multi‑year trends matter more than short‑term spikes.
• ERPO usage climbed steadily—from fewer than 200 orders statewide in 2020 to over 1,200 by 2023, per Virginia State Police reports. Researchers have not yet established a direct causal link between ERPOs and reductions in domestic homicide.

In other words, the laws may help at the margins, but the feminist victory lap looks premature.

Where Both Sides Miss the Mark

Gun‑control advocates often overpromise outcomes, while gun‑rights groups underplay risk. Both camps sidestep the same hard truth: policy alone doesn’t keep women safe.

The most effective interventions against intimate partner violence historically involve:

• Early risk identification

• Rapid protective‑order enforcement
• Economic independence for survivors
• Secure storage practices that limit unauthorized access

None of those require choosing between feminism and firearms.

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Practical Tools That Actually Improve Safety

For women navigating this landscape, ideology offers little comfort at 2 a.m. Tools do. Several evidence‑backed options deserve more attention than they receive in political debates:

• Biometric Quick‑Access Safes
  Products like the Vaultek MX Series Biometric Safe allow lawful gun owners to secure firearms from partners or children while retaining rapid access in emergencies. Studies consistently show safe storage reduces accidental injury and misuse.

• Wearable Personal Safety Alarms
  Devices such as the Birdie Original Personal Safety Alarm emit a 130‑decibel siren when activated, drawing attention and often deterring attackers. No permit. No legal gray zone.

• GPS‑Enabled Emergency Trackers
  Tools like Apple Watch Emergency SOS or Garmin inReach Mini enable rapid location sharing and emergency calls, even in areas with limited cell service—a critical feature in rural Virginia.

• Evidence‑Based Self‑Defense Training
  Programs grounded in reality, not bravado, matter. Organizations like IMPACT Personal Safety focus on boundary setting, situational awareness, and physical techniques validated by assault‑prevention research.

• Legal Literacy Resources
  Knowing how ERPOs, restraining orders, and local gun ordinances actually work can save time when seconds matter. Groups such as the Virginia Sexual and Domestic Violence Action Alliance provide state‑specific guidance.

These tools don’t replace policy. They complement it—and, in many cases, outperform it.

The Feminist Question That Won’t Go Away

Is gun control feminism? Sometimes. Is it sufficient? Rarely.

When advocacy outlets celebrate legislation without grappling with enforcement gaps, defensive realities, or the diversity of women’s lives, they trade nuance for narrative. The result isn’t empowerment. It’s polarization.

Virginia’s experiment offers a cautionary tale. Laws can reduce risk under the right conditions. They can also create false confidence. Women deserve better than slogans—better data, better tools, and a movement willing to confront uncomfortable evidence.

The fight over women’s safety won’t be settled by magazine covers or legislative scorecards. It will be settled by whether the next woman in danger has real options when she needs them most.