Standing Up to the Jnco Jeans Bro: How to Reclaim Our Power and Agency From These Oppressive Systems That Want Us to Stay Small and Quiet

“One of our people in the Native community said the difference between white people and Indians is that Indian people know they are oppressed but don’t feel powerless. White people don’t feel oppressed, but feel powerless. Deconstruct that disempowerment. Part of the mythology that they’ve been teaching you is that you have no power. Power is not brute force and money; power is in your spirit. Power is in your soul. It is what your ancestors, your old people gave you. Power is in the earth; it is in your relationship to the earth.”

― Winona LaDuke

I moved to so-called Missouri the summer before 8th grade. I had moved a few times before that so I was familiar with the feeling of being the "new girl." It wasn't any less comfortable, awkward, or demoralizing to have to keep starting over and make new friends. But I attribute much of my ability to speak out in opposition of injustice to those times when I had to develop a relationship with being crawling-out-of-my-skin uncomfortable.

One morning I got on the bus and my neighbor, this dude in my grade with giant, stiff spikes for hair wearing all black and JNCO jeans was sitting in my spot. We had assigned seats on the school bus. This wasn't the first time he took my spot by the window, and I was done with his bullshit. When you think of mustering courage this moment was the definition of that. It was one of those times when you really wish you were born a squirrel who doesn't have to deal with bullies on the school bus and instead can just happily scrounge around for nuts and freely play in the trees.

But I wasn't a squirrel and I couldn't escape out the tiny glass windows. In a few split seconds I gave myself a mini pep talk and then took the plunge. I told him that he was sitting in my spot and that he needed to move. I held my breath as his friends stared. And then he moved. Did I feel like a huge nerd because who really cares about assigned seats? YEAH, yeah I did. But it wasn't about the assigned seat. It was about my dignity, damnit! It felt like a turning point for me where I was exercising my voice, power, and presence.

This was one of the earliest memories I have of telling a bro who felt entitled to any and all space that I won't allow it. It may seem inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, but there were several moments throughout my young life where I was faced with the choice of saying something, doing something, or keeping quiet. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was practicing leadership.

I loathed witnessing any ounce of injustice amongst my peers and in small ways I advocated for those who had less social power. As I grew through my 20s I learned from Black feminists and anti-racist educators that it's largely because of my positionality (being a cis, white, thin, able-bodied person from an upper-middle class background) that I've been able to speak up for myself and others. This gave me even more reason, drive, and awareness of how my voice and presence can impact spaces, events, and outcomes.

Like Winona LaDuke said, as white people we “don't feel oppressed, but feel powerless.” What a wild contradiction. But if we understand that white supremacy conditions us to believe that shaping reality is out of our hands then it makes sense that we move through life shirking responsibility and dismissing our personal wellspring of power and agency.

Well, I invite you to reclaim your power and agency alongside me.

It took me years to understand how toxic masculinity (a byproduct of imperialist-white supremacist-capitalist-patriarchy as bell hooks called it, may she rest in power) shaped the world we live in and so many of my relationships: time in college contemplating, processing, and learning feminist theory, countless interactions with angry cis, white men who took my boundaries as a personal attack, working at climbing gyms and restaurants that touted “equality” and “women empowerment” only to see the way the higher paid jobs went to cis, white men, and a lack of care for contributing to gentrification in a city built on stolen land with deep roots in white supremacy (looking at you Movement Climbing Gym in so-called Portland, Oregon).

We have more power than we think when it comes to disrupting dominion — the “power-over” structures, the colonial legacies and narratives in the outdoor industry, the entitlement of white men to take up any and all space without considering the potential of harm in doing so, the belief that we're separate from, and superior to, nature instead of a part of it.

Most people aren't born leaders, but we all have micro-choices throughout our lives where we can practice leadership, where we are faced with a fork in the road that is forcing us to choose between speaking up and taking action, or remaining silent and complicit.

As many Black activists have said time and time again, no one is coming to save us. When you grow up conditioned to believe that our society is functioning under “the law” and some “moral code,” and then come to find that those in the highest positions of power like presidents, politicians, police, and government officials, are actually put in place to protect and maintain the violent, oppressive status quo, it can be a terrifying truth.

However, you can also look back at the long history of Black and Indigenous leaders, teachers, and activists who have been speaking up, protesting, boycotting, and fighting these systems to create a more just world and see a mirror of your own powerful potential. Whether you're out for a hike, climbing in the gym, shopping in the grocery store, hanging out at a playground with your kid, at a protest in solidarity with Palestinian liberation, or talking with your co-workers at happy hour, there are ample opportunities to recognize and reclaim your power.

As Winona LaDuke said, “Power is not brute force and money; power is in your spirit. Power is in your soul.” We are not powerless, despite what society might tell us. Reclaiming our power isn’t a single act; it’s a lifetime of recognizing, resisting, and reshaping the systems that surround us. It’s about stepping into discomfort, speaking up when it’s easier to stay silent, and continuously learning from those who have long been at the forefront of these fights—Black and Indigenous activists who have been leading this charge for generations.

Author’s note: this is not an admonishment of people who wear JNCO jeans. Love them. So cool. Wish I had the guts in school to wear them. Also, FWIW me and this bro later became friends in college. A true redemption arc.