Community members and advocates grabbed every seat in the El Cajon City Council chambers, while protestors with signs filled the lobby and spilled outside. Tensions ran high as the community gathered in February to reject Mayor Bill Wells’ proposed policy allowing local police to collaborate with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).
Vocal Trump supporters with MAGA hats backed the mayor’s proposal, but they were vastly outnumbered. For many, this wasn’t just another council meeting—it was a fight for their families, neighbors, and the fundamental right to live without fear of deportation.
One by one, speakers approached the podium, sharing stories of loved ones torn from their homes, of racial profiling, of trust eroded between law enforcement and the community. Legal advocates warned the council that policies like these have historically led to constitutional violations and broken communities. Grassroots organizations, who had spent years building networks of protection and resistance, made their demand clear: no police cooperation with ICE.
As opposition mounted, Wells attempted to dismiss the protestors, claiming that many were not El Cajon residents. But the crowd would not be silenced. One man held up his U.S. passport and a utility bill during his testimony, directly confronting the mayor’s claim. “I live here. I work here. This is my community,” he declared, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment.
The overwhelming community presence and public testimony pressured the city council to abandon the proposal. This victory was a testament to the power of organizing against attempts to criminalize and target immigrant families. When communities stand together, they can disrupt policies that threaten their dignity, safety, and right to belong, however temporary the victory.
Just two weeks later, Wells re-agendized the item, and it unfortunately passed. The fight is far from over.
While headlines often focus on immigration enforcement at the U.S.-Mexico border, the real story is one of resistance—communities working together to confront injustice and uphold human dignity. Nowhere is this more evident than in the San Diego-Tijuana region, the largest transnational metropolitan area along the U.S.-Mexico border. Here, grassroots organizations and coalitions have long fought back against anti-immigration policies, adapting their strategies to meet evolving threats.
“For the past 30 years, at the local level, San Diego and Tijuana have developed a base of grassroots organizations that formed as a counter-strategy to immigration policies that impact the border—to document and report human rights abuses from immigration agencies, such as Border Patrol and ICE, and the overall immigration system,” wrote Philppe Stoesslé, Valeria Alejandra Patiño Díaz, and Yetzi Rosales Martínez in a 2020 research article. Resistance takes many forms–from Know Your Rights (KYR) training and community patrols to legal battles and direct action like strikes, protests, mutual aid, and other collective efforts. Civic engagement and solidarity remain critical tools in the fight against state violence.
Ricardo Favela, a longtime organizer from Fallbrook, has spent decades defending his community from racial violence, immigration raids, and political disenfranchisement. Growing up in a migrant farmworker family, he witnessed firsthand the attacks on his community—from the rise of the Ku Klux Klan in the 1970s to contemporary neo-Nazi movements.
“For the most part, we’ve been in self-defense mode,” Favela explained. In response, Favela and other organizers worked to secure political representation for Latinx residents in Fallbrook, a historically conservative town.
“One of the ways we can protect and defend ourselves is to get representation in local government agencies,” he said. “If we can’t control the government at the state or federal level, we can control our local community.”
His work extends beyond the ballot box. As part of Voces De Fallbrook, an independent grassroots organization, he has helped create networks to track ICE activity and mobilize rapid-response teams.
“When Trump threatened mass deportations in his first term, we launched community patrols—volunteers from Oceanside to Escondido monitoring pre-dawn ICE operations and documenting their presence,” he recalled. “We don’t interfere, but we alert the community.” These efforts led to the removal of ICE agents from DUI checkpoints through a policy change at both the state and local levels, while also establishing a real-time communication network that now connects with over 40,000 people.
“The Trump administration didn’t know what they were doing,” said Maria Chavez, an immigration lawyer who has fought against and successfully blocked anti-immigrant policies in court. “Our communities are resilient regardless, and they understood that the goal was to keep them in the U.S. and the goal is the same now.”
However, she warned that Trump-backed immigration enforcement is becoming more strategic.
“They had four years to learn from their mistakes,” Chavez said. “They’re coming back with a vengeance. They feel empowered and feel like they have a mandate.”
She urged both immigrants and allies to take action—documenting ICE encounters, knowing their rights and staying engaged in the political process. “If you see something going down, videotape and share it with the community,” Chavez advised. She also emphasized the importance of Red Cards, which help undocumented individuals assert their constitutional rights when confronted by ICE. When sharing ICE sightings, remember to include the exact location, time, date, and a visual description of agents and their vehicles. These posts can spread panic and isolation, so only share vetted sightings with helpful information.
For Sarah, who requested a pseudonym out of fear of retribution due to her immigration status, resisting immigration enforcement means staying grounded in community spaces.
“A lot of what’s happening right now is fear-mongering,” she said. “Defeating that means being present—attending KYR events, making that knowledge accessible, and ensuring undocumented people know they have our support.”
She believes citizens have a unique responsibility to take action. “Being a good community member means building relationships with neighbors, showing up to protests, supporting organizations—physically and financially—connecting to mutual aid efforts, and standing up to injustice,” she emphasized. She also highlighted the importance of masking, both for COVID safety and disability justice, as well as protecting people’s identities.
For Sarah, these struggles are part of a larger historical pattern.
“The U.S. has attempted mass deportations before, and it won’t be the last time. This country is a settler colony—it depends on creating enemies,” she said.
She sees the current moment as a critical turning point, where disillusionment with political leaders is pushing people to rethink their commitments. “Democrats made a deliberate choice to continue these policies. People saw through Biden’s empty promises, and Harris wanted even harsher border policies. The fact that fewer people voted for them, rather than more people voting for Trump, is a sign of that shift.”
Despite the bleak realities, Sarah holds onto hope that growing resistance will lead to deeper systemic change. “Unless we organize, take action, and be in community, there’s not going to be a way out of this,” she said. “The harsh push to the right has led to a harsh push to the left. Maybe this will be the moment that forces people to think beyond the two-party system—maybe even the moment that ends the empire.”