On Feminism, Misandry, and Humanity

Image: Ebony Magazine

As more women are discovering—and using—their voices, the dark cloud of patriarchy appears to be slowly retreating, although at the sluggish pace of a limping snail. Of course, there is still a long road ahead before we can confidently say women stand on equal footing with men. But we are certainly not where we were a century ago. In many parts of the world, women can now work in formal settings, vote, run for office, chart their own paths, and inherit property. Progress may be slow, but women are becoming more visible, not just as objects for male pleasure, but as full human beings. And what do we have to thank for this shift? A significant part of it is rooted in feminism.

Of all the definitions that exist, the one that resonates most deeply with me comes from bestselling author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie:

"Feminist: a person who believes in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes."

From that definition, it is clear: feminism advocates for equal treatment of all genders in every sphere. It fights for equal access to education, healthcare, job opportunities, and pay. It demands protection from sexual violence and gender-based discrimination. At its core, feminism insists that women should be free to make choices about their bodies, careers, relationships, and futures. These are the foundational principles of feminism.

Autonomy.

Agency.

Choice.

Dignity.

But often, unfairly and sometimes understandably, feminism is confused—or conflated—with its darker twin: misandry.

Misandry (noun): "dislike of, contempt for, or ingrained prejudice against men."

At the root of misandry is a deep-seated resentment and hostility toward men. For some, it is a reaction to a lifetime of systemic inequality. For others, it is personal—the result of direct harm at the hands of men. The disrespect, entitlement, and emotional disregard many women have experienced can easily harden into hate. It is no surprise that some of us cross over into that bitterness.

I know this all too well—because I was once one of those women.

The men in my life were not shining examples. In fact, almost every one of them seemed to reinforce my belief that men were inherently harmful. I witnessed spousal abuse, child sexual abuse, rape, and constant reminders that women’s voices did not matter. I saw women around me broken and burdened by the men in their lives, and I made a promise to myself: I would never give any man that kind of power over me.

Many feminists arrive at this place. Some take it further. They adopt the slogans—“Men are scum,” “Men are trash,” “Women are better.” As we began to reject the roles imposed on us, some of us also began to carry bitterness. And they are well within their rights to do so. 

However, while standing up for ourselves is powerful, carrying hate is not.

Misandrists and misogynists have one thing in common: both are driven by hate and prejudice. Both devalue the other gender. Both are stubbornly invested in a narrow worldview. That is where the similarity ends, though. While misandrists carry a deep and often justifiable hatred—born from real experiences of pain, betrayal, and systemic injustice—it is only male misogynists who hold the tangible power to enforce and perpetuate inequality on a structural level. Misandry, as hurtful as it can be, remains largely a reaction or response; it does not have the institutional backing or societal influence to shape laws, policies, or cultural norms that systematically disadvantage women. In contrast, misogyny is embedded within social, political, and economic systems that have historically privileged men, granting them the ability to create real barriers and hardships for women in every sphere of life. This imbalance of power means that while hatred in any form is damaging, the consequences of misogyny extend far beyond individual animosity—they shape the very fabric of society, reinforcing oppression in ways misandry simply cannot. Recognizing this distinction is crucial to understanding the dynamics at play and crafting a movement that seeks justice and equality without perpetuating cycles of harm.

That said, hating half the population helps no one. That is why I believe feminists need to rise above it. As Michelle Obama wisely said, “When they go low, we go high.” We cannot mirror hate and expect to create change. We should be angry at inequality, at injustice, at the violence and discrimination women face. We must challenge laws, cultures, and systems that harm women. We must speak out against domestic abuse, forced marriages, female genital mutilation, and all forms of exploitation. We should assert our right to autonomy, dignity, and choice.

But we can do all this without hating men.

Hate blinds us. It strips people of their humanity. And when that happens, we hurt them—and they, in turn, hurt us. It becomes a never-ending cycle of pain, misunderstanding, and dysfunction.

Are some men scum? Yes. Are some trash? Absolutely. Are some women better than some men? Without a doubt. But are all men trash? No. Just as not all women are saints.

Men and women are equal. Neither gender is inherently better. Both are vital to the progress of our world. We need each other. Men cannot fix society alone. Neither can women. So why not work together?

To the feminist struggling with anger toward men: I see you. I understand your pain. But can we set down the hate? Can we meet each man as an individual—with a clean slate and open eyes—judging him by his actions, not by his gender? Can we show those who cling to patriarchy and misogyny that we are not better because we are women, but because we understand the deeper truths of our shared humanity?

Can we change the story?

It may sound idealistic, but I truly believe it is possible.

Do you?