Women have very little idea of how much men hate them.

Hear now the fierce and unsettling words of Germaine Greer, who declared: “Women have very little idea of how much men hate them.” This is not the whisper of comfort but the trumpet of alarm, meant to awaken the slumbering, to tear away the veil of illusion, and to expose the hidden wound of human relations. For Greer, warrior of the feminist cause, did not speak to flatter, but to challenge, to force the world to confront the silent currents of resentment, fear, and domination that too often flow beneath the surface of society.

The origin of this saying lies in the age of Greer herself, a time when women were rising in rebellion against centuries of silence. In the late twentieth century, they sought not only the right to work and to vote, but the right to be seen as equal beings, not shadows or servants. Yet Greer, with sharp vision, perceived that beneath the polite masks of civility, many men carried a buried hostility toward this uprising—a hatred born of insecurity, of threatened power, of traditions crumbling beneath their feet. It was this hatred, often cloaked in jokes, laws, and customs, that Greer dragged into the light.

History offers countless examples of this hidden war. Consider the tale of Hypatia of Alexandria, philosopher and mathematician of the ancient world. She taught wisdom to crowds, advised leaders, and shone like a star of knowledge. Yet for daring to stand as a woman of intellect and influence, she was torn from her chariot by a mob and murdered brutally. Was it only politics that slew her? No—it was also the deep and ancient hatred of women who refuse to remain silent, the fear of men who see in such defiance the collapse of their dominance.

And yet, O listener, let us not mistake Greer’s words as a final judgment upon all men, but as a warning of what lies buried in the structures of society. The hatred she names is not always open violence; often it is quieter—dismissal, belittling, exclusion, ridicule. It is the constant erosion of dignity that women endure, sometimes without even naming it. Greer’s cry is that women often do not see its full measure, for it hides behind smiles, traditions, and even false affection. Only when unmasked does its scale stagger the heart.

But from such revelation arises the possibility of transformation. For when hatred is named, it loses its power to hide. When women awaken to the truth of their condition, they rise with courage to resist. The suffragists, mocked and scorned, pressed forward until their voices were counted. The workers who struck for fair pay endured jeers and threats, yet their defiance bore fruit. Even in the face of hostility, women have always turned the hatred of men into the fuel of resilience.

The lesson, therefore, is clear: one must not shrink from the truth, even when it burns. To deny the depth of hostility is to remain unarmed before it; to acknowledge it is to prepare for the struggle. Let women take Greer’s words not as despair, but as a call to vigilance and strength. Let men hear them not as accusation alone, but as a mirror in which they may see the chains of bitterness they inherit, and choose whether to break them.

Practical action lies before you. Confront the subtle forms of hatred wherever they appear—in words, in customs, in laws, in jokes that poison the air. Teach the young not only equality of rights, but equality of dignity. Encourage women to claim their voices, and challenge men to examine their hearts. For though the shadow of hatred is old, it need not endure forever. The battle is long, but the soul of humanity depends upon it.

So remember the searing cry of Germaine Greer: “Women have very little idea of how much men hate them.” Hear it not as despair, but as revelation. For only by naming the wound can we begin to heal it; only by facing the truth can we forge a world where hatred is replaced by respect, and where men and women walk side by side—not in suspicion, but in shared dignity and love.