First poppy to bloom on my fire escape, 📸 June 2025

Earlier this year in March, I attended the premiere of The Encampments, a timely, shrewd, and courageous documentary featuring activist and Columbia University graduate Mahmoud Khalil. At the time of the premiere, Khalil, serving as a lead negotiator on behalf of Columbia’s student encampment, had just been groundlessly abducted by ICE agents from his New York City home and transported to an unspecified ICE detention center in Louisiana.

On the other side of the world, Israel had just broken its ceasefire deal with Hamas, resuming its genocidal campaign on the Gaza Strip, implementing a full blockade on all humanitarian aid, restricting the entry of lifesaving supplies like food, medical supplies, fuel, shelter materials, and sanitation equipment.

When I watched The Encampments, it felt urgent, and that’s because it was. The film’s release date had been moved up specifically to bring awareness to Khalil’s detainment, to his steadfast support of a free Palestine, his active condemnation of the murder of then 50,000 Palestinians, as well as his leadership in demanding Columbia’s immediate economic divestment from companies profiting from Israel’s illegal occupation of Palestine.

For the two hours that spanned the screening and Q&A that followed, the theater felt like a short-lived sanctuary for those of us in perpetual mourning and rage. The space thrummed with solidarity, hope, and fortitude. At the end of the documentary, as I made my way up the aisle to exit the theater, a woman was handing out small manilla envelopes. “Poppy seeds from Palestine,” she announced, placing one of the DIY packets in my hand.

Premiere of *The Encampments* at Angelika Film Center, 📸 March 2025

Scribbled on the front in red marker were the barest of instructions: scatter in full sun. Or was it scatter in fall sun? I could not decipher the handwriting for the life of me, but after a little googling, “full” seemed the safest bet. Full sun and cold weather—not fall cold, but early spring. Poppy seeds like a bit of frost, but only before they germinate. Spring it was. And so, on a cold overcast morning in late March, I scattered the movie seeds bequeathed to me in a sturdy ceramic planter on my fire escape.

I didn’t use very much soil—about a quarter way up the planter—a decision that I still waver on. My concerns over too little soil was twofold: 1) the potential for insufficient room for mature roots, and 2) apparently poppies don’t like to be transplanted or potted up.

Poppies won’t germinate if they’re planted too deeply in the soil; they like to be literally scattered and resting on the surface (poetic!). But is a bitch in New York City, though, especially on a fire escape in early spring. Scattering poppy seeds and expecting them to stay put for months before they take root is a tall order. So, I kept the soil low in the planter as a wishful barrier from the wind and also took my chances covering the seeds with the thinnest layer of soil.

All I could do was watch and wait, disturbingly similar to everything else. And like everything else, I did what I could in the moment. For my poppies, that meant spritzing them in the beginning, eventually watering them, covering them when it rained 10 fucking days in a row, and providing extra spritzes during the mini heatwave in April. It took a long time for them to germinate and an even longer time to reveal themselves as poppies.

Things happen. Kind things. Just things. If not today, perhaps tomorrow. If not tomorrow, know that it’s only a matter of time. My first poppy bloomed this month on June 12, an auspicious day, my late grandmother’s birthday. It was a delicate thing, pale pink perfection. And on Saturday, after 104 days in ICE custody, Mahmoud Khalil was finally released and reunited with his wife and infant son.

We watch and wait, but we also must act—bravely, however we can. All deeds of all sizes matter, especially in this moment. Since March, 3,000 humanitarian aid trucks have sat outside of Gaza, waiting for Israel’s permission to enter. Since March, the IDF has murdered 6,000 and maimed 20,000 additional Palestinian men, women, and children, including 300 killed and 2,000 wounded while seeking aid at Israeli and United States-backed food distribution centers meant to replace the United Nations' existing humanitarian operation.

Do something you believe in, say something you know is right. Make sure it scares you just a little. See what happens. A handful of soil’s potential to transform into a vessel of flowers.

As My Poppies Bloom, I Know Palestine Will Be Free

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