After we staged You Know Me in 2019, I had hoped it would be the last time. I packed it away as a proud memory, one that would dim as years passed. Then, when Texas approved SB8, I knew it was time to pull the script back off the shelf, and all before it really had any time to collect dust. It is heartbreaking to be here again, advocating for empathy and battling shame, but it’s necessary. Because administrations may change, but this war continues.

 

One question that came up again and again during this production was “Where are the men?” The new Texas legislation targets people receiving abortion services, but those lawsuits do not apply to the men involved. If someone has consented, the man bears 50% of the responsibility, and if she didn’t, that percentage goes up. So where is the legislation for men? Why do less than one percent of perpetrators of sexual assault ever spend a day in jail? How can a child go eighteen years without their mother ever receiving a child support payment? And why are men considered “real men” for having sex with women, but those same women are labeled whores? People are not running around impregnating themselves, yet the conversation always comes back to the morality and restriction of people with uteruses, never the ones who carry the seed.

 

There are countless reasons why a person might choose to get an abortion, and all of them are good enough. The most important thing to remember is that behind every procedure, there is a real human person with a life more complex than any outsider can know. You Know Me is a window into those lives that allows us to glimpse the turmoil, the determination, and the boundless courage of people trying to make the best decisions for their health and their future.

 

Language has power. Stories win wars. It’s the reason conservatives will say “pre-born child” instead of “fetal tissue,” “pro-life” instead of “anti-choice.” We have always been told that abortion is a dirty word. It was something only “those girls” did, a cautionary tale about virtue in a world that sells women’s bodies and sexuality for profit. We were told it was meant for back rooms with coat hangers, not theater stages under bright lights. But if they can use words, then so can we. We will shine a light on those things we’ve been taught to hide, the stories we’ve carried in shame for so long. Every time we gather, we make a statement that they do not control the narrative. They do not dictate our voices. Our words are our own, as our bodies should be. Being here tonight is revolutionary, and we are so grateful that you’ve joined us. We hope that the show changes you the same way it has all of us.

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~Tara Wolfe