Women should be obscene and not heard.

In the words of Groucho Marx, “Women should be obscene and not heard,” we hear the sharp edge of satire wielded like a dagger of comedy. Marx, the great master of wit, did not utter this as a commandment of truth, but as a mockery of the prejudice embedded in his time. For long had society declared that women should be “seen and not heard,” confined to beauty, silence, and submission. Groucho, twisting the phrase with his mischievous tongue, replaced “seen” with “obscene,” exposing the absurdity of the original expectation. His joke carries within it a critique: that rules which silence women are already ridiculous, and by exaggeration, their cruelty is made plain.

The origin of this saying lies in the world of early 20th-century comedy, where Marx and his brothers carved out a space to ridicule power, tradition, and hypocrisy. Comedy has always been a weapon against authority, and Groucho’s humor often turned on the foolishness of social conventions. By saying “Women should be obscene and not heard,” he mocked not women, but the men who feared their voices. For satire, when sharp, does not simply entertain—it unmasks the stupidity of injustice.

History confirms the deeper truth behind his jest. For centuries, women were indeed silenced under the maxim that they should be “seen and not heard.” Their voices were excluded from courts, parliaments, pulpits, and academies. When they spoke out, they were ridiculed as shrill or dangerous. The suffragists of the 19th and early 20th centuries were told again and again that politics was no place for women, that their duty was beauty and obedience. In mocking this silencing, Groucho Marx revealed the cruelty of the old order, hidden under a veil of politeness.

Consider the story of Sojourner Truth, who in 1851 stood before a gathering and delivered her immortal speech: “Ain’t I a Woman?” Her words cut through centuries of silence, defying those who said women’s voices were unfit for public life. She declared her strength, her labor, her worth as equal to any man’s. Against the maxim of “seen and not heard,” she made herself both seen and heard, embodying the very reversal that Marx would later lampoon. In her defiance, the truth was laid bare: it is not women’s voices that are unworthy, but the rules that sought to suppress them.

The deeper meaning of Marx’s quote is that humor can reveal what solemn speech often cannot. By twisting language, he forces us to confront the absurdity of silencing women. If one laughs, it is not at women, but at the stupidity of men who would deny half of humanity its voice. His joke, though delivered with levity, carries a heavy weight: that oppression often hides behind polite phrases, and that only by exaggerating their cruelty can one see them clearly for what they are.

But let us not forget the danger of misunderstanding satire. Some may repeat such phrases without hearing the irony, reinforcing the very prejudice it sought to mock. Thus, the responsibility falls upon us to interpret with wisdom: to hear the bite of the joke as a defense of freedom, not as an attack. Satire is a torch—it can burn or illuminate depending on how it is used. Groucho’s line invites us to laugh at injustice, but also to dismantle it.

The lesson for us, O listener, is timeless: never accept the silencing of voices under the guise of tradition or propriety. Do not allow women—or any group— to be confined to roles of beauty without voice, of presence without power. Use humor, use art, use courage to reveal the absurdity of such chains. And in your own life, make space for the voices of those long unheard, for their words are the seeds of justice.

Thus, Groucho Marx’s jest lives on not merely as comedy, but as wisdom in disguise. “Women should be obscene and not heard” is not a creed, but a mirror held up to prejudice, showing its foolish face. And from that mirror comes the call: let women be heard, let all voices rise, for silence is the ally of tyranny, but laughter and truth are the heralds of freedom.