The liberal commentariat is miffed. Oliver Anthony, a white down-and-out former mill worker, broke the Internet with a populist country tune called “Rich Men North of Richmond” recorded on his land in Farmville, Va. Folks of all races, from the right, left, and center, are singing its praises.

I’ve watched dozens of reaction videos, many of them by Black music critics visibly moved, sometimes to tears, by Anthony’s extremely relatable lament—“selling my soul, working all day, overtime hours for bullshit pay,” while the powers that be kick us all down, “people like me, people like you.”

After decrying workplace exploitation, Anthony goes after a political establishment whose only use for the working class is to tax and control them while letting inflation, hunger, and greed run rampant. It is the song of a man who feels sad, angry, beaten-down, and all but hopeless. That is to say, it is the ballad of 2023 America.

But many left-leaning commentators weren’t moved. In the pages of The Nation, The Washington Post, Slate, and elsewhere, they argue that the song carries a reactionary, right-wing message. They cite lyrics that demonize overweight people who spend their food stamps on junk food. They take aim at one line that obliquely references Jeffrey Epstein and jump to the conclusion that Anthony is a Q-Anon/MAGA nutjob. And they note that right-wing bomb throwers like Matt Walsh, Kari Lake, and Marjorie Taylor Greene are promoting the song.

They have a point. The trope of the lazy welfare cheat has been a staple of blame-the-victim, anti-government rhetoric for decades. And right-wing politicians and influencers do have a nasty habit of donning the mantle of working-class crusader while serving the rich and powerful.

But here’s what I believe liberal critics are missing when they focus on the song’s discordant notes: People are working “overtime hours for bullshit pay.” There are “folks in the street with nothing to eat.” And working- and middle-class taxpayers are getting squeezed, because neither party is willing to raise taxes on the rich. Meanwhile, an out-of-touch Democratic establishment is telling us that, thanks to Bidenomics, the economy is thriving, the implication being that there’s little cause for complaint. If we want to reach the people who have made this song their anthem, we have to spend more time hearing what they, and their music, have to say, and less time yucking on their yum.

It’s true that Anthony hits a sour note when he dishes on welfare recipients; it’s easier to notice and judge the choices of someone at the grocery store than it is to observe the Amazons and KFCs and opioid peddlers picking our pockets and wrecking our bodies. Right-wing propaganda takes advantage of the human brain’s tendency to focus on what’s right in front of us and extrapolate sweeping generalizations. We need to relentlessly put forward a counternarrative that holds the real culprits accountable.

The song’s fans are fed up and ready for change, but if the only change on offer is slashing the welfare rolls or sealing the border or banning critical race theory, then that’s what many of them will go with. Others will surrender to apathy and cynicism, convinced that no one in the political class truly cares about them. Populist ferment requires yeast, and right now the left isn’t supplying it.