This article was supported by the Economic Hardship Reporting Project, a journalism nonprofit.

In late 2010 and early 2011, huge uprisings kicked off around the world, including the Arab Spring and the European Indignados movement. Occupy Wall Street was premised on the hope that something similar could happen in New York City, the epicenter of the greedy financial sector that had recently crashed the global economy. Surely New Yorkers had lots to be angry about.

On the morning of September 17, when I left Brooklyn for lower Manhattan, I didn’t bother bringing a tent. I assumed the police would clear us out by the end of the day and I would go home when dusk fell.

I was wrong. Occupiers managed to stay the night.

That first day of Occupy Wall Street was unlike any protest I had ever attended. Instead of marching and shouting, we settled down in Zuccotti Park, broke into small groups and had discussions.

We talked about the financial crisis and the fact that banks got bailed out while millions of people lost their homes and jobs (black families were hit worst of all, losing around half of their collective wealth, according to a 2013 report by the National Low Income Housing Coalition). We talked about politicians serving rich donors, not regular people. We talked about how we couldn’t afford rent or medical insurance. We talked about student debt. We talked about climate change. We talked about the kind of movement we wanted to build together.

Most of the people in the circle were in their early-20s, but there were older people too. None of us felt represented by the people holding public office. We all agreed that massive, systemic change was required.

Occupy was never my ideal protest. It could be messy and frustrating at times, but I also knew my perfect social movement would never appear. The conversations I had that first afternoon, sitting in a circle with random strangers, convinced me to stick it out. I quickly became so invested in the occupation that I asked my partner, the musician Jeff Mangum, to come sing for our fellow protesters in hopes it might raise their spirits.

Today we take for granted that social movements exist, but Occupy emerged at a moment when public demonstrations were practically nonexistent. Just seeing people out in the streets was exciting. Even better, the protesters were talking about inequality, using the frame of the 1% and the 99% to highlight glaring economic injustice.

If nothing else, Occupy forced a conversation about class and capitalism in America. Now we talk about how billionaires shouldn’t exist and the need for universal public health care, as opposed to profit-driven health care. We talk about the fact that our economy is broken, and name socialism as a possible and increasingly popular alternative (among younger people, at least). A decade ago, such ideas were basically taboo.

But Occupy did more than “change the conversation,” as the cliché goes. Today I see Occupy’s influence all over. Former occupiers are working to transform the system from inside and out.

Here are four areas where Occupy’s ongoing legacy is at work:

Electoral Politics

I never would have guessed that Occupy Wall Street, given its staunchly outsider stance, would help breathe new life into electoral politics. These days people often connect Occupy to Senator Bernie Sanders’ 2016 and 2020 presidential campaigns, but few likely realize just how direct a line it is. For example, Sanders' 2020 senior adviser Winnie Wong, national organizing director Claire Sandberg, California grassroots director Melissa Byrne, national field director Becca Rast, and deputy national field director Nick Martin were all on the ground for Occupy, in one city or another, in 2011.