At least that’s the argument in a recent article by Vox’s Dylan Matthews. Matthews cites new research finding that the rich and middle class agree on about 90 percent of bills that come before the United States Congress. He adds:

That leaves only 185 bills on which the rich and the middle class disagree…

…on these 185 bills [in which the rich and middle class disagree], the rich got their preferred outcome 53 percent of the time and the middle class got what they wanted 47 percent of the time. The difference between the two is not statistically significant.

Of course, that leaves out another group of Americans entirely: the poor. Admittedly, individuals cycle in and out of poverty so the notion of who is poor isn’t static. But that doesn’t change the fact that the poor are not only the least-represented group in American society, they’re also the contingent arguably most affected by federal policy decisions. So how do bills supported by low-income Americans fare? Not so well. The passage rate for bills favored only by low-income groups is 18.6 percent—slightly lower than those that lack support from all of the income groups. In fact, as the study’s authors conclude, “These results suggest that the rich and middle are effective at blocking policies that the poor want.”

What’s more, policies favored by the middle class and poor, who together comprise a majority of Americans, passed just 20.4 percent of the time, while those favored by only the rich passed 38.5 percent of the time. In other words, the rich had more success getting their policies enacted than the middle class and poor combined—which is the very definition of an oligarchy.

Underscoring how little representation low-income Americans receive at the federal level, another recent report found that Members of Congress from states with higher poverty rates were also less likely to support measures that help their low-income constituents.

Each year, the Shriver Center ranks Members of Congress from every state based on how they vote on a series of anti-poverty measures, ranging from the Child Tax Credit to Medicaid. Given that these programs earn overwhelming support from low-income voters (and most income groups), the Shriver rankings also illustrate the responsiveness of elected leaders to the concerns of low-income people.

In most cases, the divisions fall along party lines. In California, for example, every Democrat received either an A or A+, while every Republican received either a D or F. But party identification wasn’t the only predictor of a Member’s voting record. States like Louisiana, Alabama, Kentucky, and Arkansas all have poverty rates above 19 percent—some of the highest in the nation. Yet each of these states has a state delegation grade of D or F. In Mississippi, the state with the highest poverty rate in the country (21.5 percent), Senators Thad Cochran and Roger Wicker both received F grades.

In contrast, Connecticut and Maryland—ranked 48^th and 49^th in poverty levels—received A grades for their state delegation. Massachusetts, the state with the best average voting record in the country, also has one of the lowest poverty rates.

Of course, correlation isn’t causation. The fact that states with higher poverty levels also have records that fail to reflect the preferences of many low-income voters doesn’t mean a higher poverty rate leads to undemocratic voting records. More likely, the two share some root causes. Many of the states with the highest poverty rates are located in the Deep South, a region that has historically been hostile to worker organizing and political participation by low-income people in addition to its legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.

But the report sheds some critical light on the paradoxical relationship between families who live in poverty and the politicians charged with representing them. And it suggests that for the most vulnerable Americans, the U.S. is far from democratic.

It’s a question I’ve been mulling over ever since the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences—the revered gatekeepers of America’s film industry—announced the nominees for their 88^th Academy Awards ceremony, also known as the Oscars. In a bold feat of tone-deafness (read: overt racism), the Academy chose not to nominate a single Black actor in any of their four acting categories—again.

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I wasn’t surprised by the Academy’s casual racism in refusing to recognize Black performers at this year’s ceremony. Hollywood’s diversity problems aren’t new. The fact that there are still people who blithely question whether Black performances are even worthy of recognition speaks to the existence of pervasive bigotry within the institution. It’s why Black people (along with other historically marginalized communities) have banded together to create our own institutions to recognize our work: without celebrations like the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) Image Awards—and yes, even the BET Awards—daring to uplift Black performers in Hollywood, where else could we go to applaud and honor our stars?

What did surprise me was how some high-profile individuals like Helen Mirren, instead of grappling with the issue of the Academy’s accountability to Black actors, blamed this year’s lack of Black nominees on broader race and power dynamics within the industry. The Academy’s lack of racial sensitivity, she argued, is a symptom of a deeply engrained culture of racial bias that disadvantages Black professionals; as a result, one should not read racist intent into the Academy’s nomination decisions.

It isn’t entirely wrong to deflect blame onto the wider industry. As many have rightfully pointed out, diversity in the industry starts in the boardrooms where casting and business decisions get made. But in our hurry to write off the Oscars’ diversity problems as the logical byproduct of Hollywood’s ubiquitous racism, we shouldn’t dismiss the Academy’s distinct responsibility to recognize Black artists. More than mere pageantry, the Oscars award ceremony represents an issue of economic justice because of its role as a public evaluation of people in the film industry. Neither the Academy nor the Oscars operates in a vacuum; the Oscars is where Hollywood ascribes value to the artistic and cultural experiences that move and define us, and by proxy the performers whom embody these stories.

Moreover, the awards aren’t just a competition for cultural value: they double as an assessment tool that helps pick the industry’s economic winners and losers—in full view of the adoring public. While mainstream recognition from an institution like the Academy is not necessary to validate the contributions and experiences of Black performers, it still carries significant implications for the economic realities of the movie industry. Because the vast majority of Black artists don’t receive the same opportunities for exposure as their white counterparts, they aren’t given access to the same springboard that launches other workers in the industry. For the working actor, the value of an Academy Award is concrete: increased exposure to the best directors, casting agents, and managers, combined with greater leverage for higher pay and more favorable working conditions. Even receiving a nomination can make it easier to book the next job and sustain a career.

And as resilient as Black people are—Black entertainers especially—it is not enough for us to simply create spaces where we validate our own work if those spaces do not wield the same access to economic opportunities. Dismantling systemic racism goes hand-in-hand with ending economic inequality, and it’s imperative to the liberation of Black people that we tackle them in tandem. And so, we must fight for inclusion in mainstream spaces where our economic futures are at stake, and also create spaces for Black achievement to be validated in a way that honors and respects us.

The whitewashing of the Academy Awards presents a unique economic challenge to Black performers and other Black workers in the industry. In addition to shaking our fists at the intersecting systems of oppression that permeate Hollywood, we must call equal attention to the Academy’s actions—specifically, because they speak to a larger ethos for how Black work and Blackness go unrecognized and devalued within the film and greater entertainment industry.

Political agendas are often foisted onto moments of pop culture in clumsy and disingenuous ways. But for many Black people, myself included, The Wiz has always been more than a cultural interpretation of the beloved children’s book—it stands as a shining example of Black excellence and social progress.

In 1974, when the original stage musical premiered at a regional theater in Baltimore, Maryland, The Wiz epitomized the progress of the era. Social and economic reforms catalyzed by the Civil Rights Movement had created new entry points to the middle class and increased opportunities for African-American representation. These changes paved the way for a bold retelling of author L. Frank Baum’s 1900 children’s classic with an all-black cast and brazen cultural bend. That it went on to win seven Tony Awards, including the award for Best Musical, demonstrated a growing celebration of Black culture and identity.

Even more than the incarnations before it, The Wiz Live! carries on this affirmation of Black life through a progressive political lens, particularly in its decision to highlight feminist and queer themes within the show’s broader context of racial liberation. For example, Dorothy is presented as a savvy young woman who is endowed with a principled agency to act on behalf of herself and others; she is wide-eyed and innocent, sure, but she is also a cunning and charismatic leader who isn’t afraid to shut down casual micro-aggressions of sexism and patriarchy.

Queer culture and identity, too, are openly embraced in the world of The Wiz Live!—from Queen Latifah’s gender-bending portrayal of the Wiz, to choreographer Fatima Robinson’s Emerald City homage to the art of vogue, a style of dance that originated in the Black queer ballroom scene of the 1980s.

Moreover, the reimagined world of The Wiz Live! establishes economic justice as a central pillar of a broader racial justice movement. In this Oz, evil frequently operates at the intersection of moral and economic considerations: the insidious danger of the Poppies lies in their penchant for pressing their unsuspecting victims into harsh tours of indentured servitude; likewise, the Wicked Witch of the West, Evillene, runs a massive sweatshop empire fueled by corporate greed and worker exploitation.

These dangers are juxtaposed against the interests of a cadre of central characters who are vividly portrayed as working class: Dorothy who comes from humble rural roots; the Scarecrow, who is literally begging for change so he can purchase the ability to forge a better life for himself; and even the Tin Man, a day laborer by trade who is rusted solid while on the job. Together with the Cowardly Lion, their journey to see the Wiz becomes a salient example of collective action for economic justice—they are unable to achieve their ultimate goals separately, so they join together to overcome their shared challenges.

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The show’s examination of the value of Black work takes on added meaning when one considers the effort that made the live production possible. In the same manner that past incarnations of The Wiz epitomized Black excellence for previous generations, The Wiz Live! demonstrated modern Black excellence at it’s finest, filled with dazzling artistic and technical performances. While seemingly superficial and indulgent, the fact is that the production was a record-breaking, expectation-defying success for one of the country’s largest media outlets matters. In a world where Black achievement is constantly under attack, public demonstrations of Black merit become revolutionary political acts.

The Wiz Live! was a dynamic, unabashed declaration of Black life—the joy and brilliance of Black people that undergirds our ability to thrive, even in the face of pervasive anti-black sentiment and violence against our bodies. It was a progressive political affirmation of Black beauty, talent and resilience. More importantly, it was a potent reminder that the real power to create change lies in our ability to come together around shared goals and values.