Most mornings in downtown El Cajon, the smells of cigarettes and coffee waft down Main Street.
Business signs in both English and Arabic line the street. Conversations in Arabic, Dari and other languages and dialects drift in and out of shops and restaurants. Women wearing colorful scarves push their strollers.
And at the heart of the city in a small park, uncles and grandfathers puff their cigarettes, sip their coffee and sit together on park benches, huddling over games of backgammon.
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These glimpses of downtown El Cajon offer a snapshot of the diverse refugee and immigrant communities that have come to the city. While El Cajon is a Republican stronghold, it has for decades also been a haven for Middle Eastern and North African refugees and immigrants — from Iran, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon and Afghanistan, among others.
The first to arrive in El Cajon in significant numbers in the 1970s and 80s were Chaldeans, who are Christians mainly from Iraq. They were followed by the Kurdish, Syrians, Afghans and others in the 1980s and 90s. But it wasn’t until the turn of the current century that this growing refugee and immigrant community was able to build lasting support networks.
“When I came, there were zero services to meet the needs of refugee and immigrant communities, especially when it comes to issues of domestic violence,” said Dilkhwaz Ahmed, CEO of License to Freedom, in an interview with KPBS. “I just realized something got to be done for my community. We need to create a space for them.”
Ahmed founded License to Freedom in 2002. In the decades since, the organization’s services have expanded to include language and business classes, housing navigation, therapy sessions and more.
Now, more than a year since President Donald Trump began his second term, the services are needed more than ever.
Among Trump’s first actions upon taking office was to enact a refugee ban. This suspended decisions on applications for refugee status and paused resettlement agency support. Then, at the beginning of the current fiscal year, Trump set a historically low refugee admissions cap. The 125,000 cap in 2025 dropped to 7,500 this year.
“We see a lot of people seeking services. They want to be free to talk to somebody without being punished, or challenged or being threatened of deportation,” Ahmed said. “And we are creating that space for them.”
The growth of El Cajon’s refugee population
The U.S. Department of Justice’s Immigration and Naturalization Service earliest refugee report available online reported in 1997, 69,276 refugees arrived in the U.S. Around 2,600 of those refugees came from Iraq. The U.S. Census estimates El Cajon’s foreign-born population prior to the year 2000 was 9,782.
Ahmed attributes the growth of El Cajon’s refugee and immigrant population to the roots established by the first Chaldeans who came to El Cajon.
“They brought the most beautiful thing, culture,” Ahmed said. “The city was missing that (a) long time ago. I think they brought the spices, the flavor that would make El Cajon something different.”
Dr. Noori Barka came to El Cajon in 1998 and later founded the Chaldean Community Council. He said it took awhile for Chaldeans to feel accepted.
“When more people start coming here from (the) Middle East, mainly Chaldean, we were new to the environment,” Barka said. “And people, they see us, we are different and we speak different language.”
The impact of the Iraq War, which lasted from 2003 until 2011, on the Chaldean community — both in El Cajon and nationwide — can’t be overstated.
From 2007 to 2008, Iraqi refugee admissions nationwide increased over eight-fold; and by 2013, Iraqis accounted for nearly 28% of new arrivals to the U.S.
The influx of new arrivals led to inevitable cultural clashes. Barka remembers when he was planning the first Chaldean community festival in 2010. He put two ads in the penny saver — one in Arabic, the other in English. The ad in Arabic set off alarms.
“After a few days, I received the call from the Chamber of Commerce and they are telling me … people are receiving it at home and they are not happy,” Barka said. “That was unacceptable at that time for the community to accept even the language.”
However, he said with more time and opportunities for people to meet at events and collaborate on community boards, El Cajon’s perception of the Chaldean community changed. Plus, along with the growth of the population, came more Chaldean businesses and churches throughout the city.
“We made (a) significant change in the life of El Cajon,” Barka said. ”You see, all this shopping, all these businesses, all these supermarkets, all these restaurants are flourishing.”
Tom Wong, a UC San Diego political science professor and founding director of the U.S. Immigration Policy Center, said the establishment of these businesses were part of a social network that laid the groundwork for future waves of immigration.
“The role that social networks play is incredibly important. From the 70s, 80s, 90s onward, when we think about Iraqis in places like El Cajon, there's an initial sort of settlement of groups of people who then bring family members, and others,” Wong said. “The initial settlement builds upon itself … which then creates larger and larger communities.”
Geography matters
The Iraq War is just one of many conflicts that have roiled the Middle East over the past 50 years. And with each war comes a new group of refugees looking for some semblance of home.
Homayoun Siddiq is a sociologist and translator for Afghan people in San Diego. He said the connections among the immigrant and refugee groups in El Cajon mirror the connections back in the Middle East.
“We are close geographically,” Homayoun said. “We are close by value. We are close by traditions… When I meet a Chaldean or an Arab from El Cajon, we shake hands twice. First we say, ‘Hi, how are you?’ And then he says, ‘Hi, I'm Chaldean. I'm from Iran…’ So, we shake hands again because it's to show how close we are. It's like seeing an old friend you haven't seen for a long time.”
The San Diego County reported that 9,617 refugees came to the county between fiscal years 2020-2023, which made it one of the top refugee resettlement sites in the state. Most refugees during that time came from Afghanistan, Haiti, Syria and Iraq.
But even though the U.S. is a better option than their home countries, the realities of living here are often jarring for refugees.
Faridullah Ibrahimkhil works at Arman Market and Restaurant on West Main Street. He was a journalist in Afghanistan in 2021 when the U.S. withdrew the remainder of its combat troops after 20 years of war. His life there became increasingly perilous as the Taliban retook control of the country.
“The Taliban did not accept journalism work because (the) Taliban said journalism and media is anti-Taliban,” Ibrahimkhil said. “Life in Afghanistan for journalist is (a) very hard life. Every one week, every month some journalist (is) arrested by (the) Taliban. We decide we want to leave Afghanistan to another country.”
After years of working through the asylum system, Ibrahimkhil and his family were reunited in 2025. But they didn’t experience the welcome they had expected.
“He said at first they were hearing lots of great things about America but now they're more scared of if ICE is gonna come and deport them,” Ibrahimkhil said through a translator. “They just want their basic human rights.”
Feeling like home
License to Freedom’s walls are painted vivid colors: tangerine, lime green, lavender and pomegranate. At their therapy offices, one room is called the kitchen, another the living room.
This is by design, said Qamar Almwali, one of the organization’s marriage and family therapists.
“I actually painted some of the rooms here to make it as colorful, as homey and cozy as possible,” Almwali said. “We work with a lot of families and kids … a lot of people whose homes maybe represent some of what it looks like here. So that's what we are trying to do is replicate the feeling of just being at home and feeling comfortable.”
Their central offices, a block from Main Street, are a hub that plugs folks into support, from therapy to housing navigation to business classes to English as second language (ESL) classes.
In addition to individual and family therapy, License to Freedom also runs several support groups for men, women and children.
On Monday mornings, a small group of around 10 women meet with case manager Nahid Siddiq and therapist Dr. Niyati Kadakia to talk about raising their children and adjusting to life in the U.S. Siddiq came as a refugee with her family in 1989.
“We just tell them to be hopeful and be strong,” Nahid said. “I think the strength we have (is) because we went through so much back home. “
Kadakia leads therapeutic art practices to help them navigate their feelings and discuss their difficult experiences.
“They carry a lot of trauma (and) fear,” Ahmed explained. “They survive war, torture, being disconnected with the family members, they lost family members. So, when they come to this country, they need mental health services.”
Kadakia approaches it with an understanding of their cultural and religious values.
There’s an emphasis on supporting these women because the women before them did not have the same resources. That intentionality comes directly from the experiences Ahmed, the founder, had as a new refugee.
“I just realized something got to be done for my community,” Ahmed said.
One Monday morning in April, Kadakia led the women through a practice where they were encouraged to connect to their younger selves. She also had them write love letters to themselves.
“We always tell them, you guys need to express your feelings,” Nahid said, “We want to provide a safe space in License to Freedom for them.”
Coping with Trump’s funding cuts
The life of a refugee has never been easy in the U.S., but the Trump era has brought another level of fear.
In July, the federal administration cut support systems for refugees and asylees. Trump then set the lowest refugee admissions cap in the 45-year history of the program.
Sundus Al Mithiab is a case manager from the Majdal Center, an El Cajon organization that does advocacy and outreach with Arab immigrants and refugees. She said the Trump administration’s changes have directly impacted clients they work with.
“We are seeing an increase in fear related to immigration status,” Al Mithiab said. “Individuals with work authorization, pending green card applications, or those planning to apply for citizenship are concerned that using public benefits may negatively affect their future immigration outcomes. This fear often leads them to avoid or delay accessing services, even when they qualify.”
And the challenges aren’t just coming from the federal government. Last February, the city of El Cajon also passed a resolution that declares the city is not a sanctuary city for immigrants.
“(U.S. Customs and Immigration Enforcement) ICE have a lot of power,” Ahmed said. “And the city of El Cajon gave them more power by removing (the) city of El Cajon from being a sanctuary city. Our job is to tell them to don't walk without your immigration status (papers) ... I'm a U.S. citizen, I've been here for 25 years. I don't walk out of my house or the office without my passport.”
The shifting immigration policy and rhetoric is something that folks at License to Freedom are navigating with their clients.
“I can tell it impacted a lot of work here especially in the city of El Cajon, especially organizations who offer mental health services or focusing on refugees like us,” Ahmed said. “We have not been impacted yet.”
She said it was jarring for her to see the shift in rhetoric against the refugee community.
“I remember I came five days after September 11th,” Ahmed said. “People told me they (are) going to deport you. Let me tell you something, I was treated with respect, and love, and kindness, even during that difficult time. I received fast political asylum. But now, I don't know what happened. I hope things will change. I think things will change.”
Ahmed believes, despite these setbacks, the businesses and community must persist and continue to pursue their dreams in El Cajon.
Wahid Sediqi is part of that story. He moved to the U.S. from Afghanistan 10 years ago and is a U.S. citizen.
“At the beginning, very hard,” he said. “You work like a machine … I work day shift, night shift.”
Sediqi started out driving Uber. Eventually, he and his business partner scraped together enough money to establish Kabul Green Market, which he says is El Cajon’s first Afghan market.
“Eight years ago there was not Afghan bread here,” Sediqi said.
Now, the smell of bread baking on the walls of the oven, wafts through the store in the mornings, giving the new Afghan refugees a slice of home.
“People (are) thinking, we are going shopping in our own country,” Sediqi said. “We have everything in our stores. “
This growth in Afghan business and representation in El Cajon is something Sediqi sees as an important reason why many come here.
“The city look(s) like their countries, that's why the people move here,” Sediqi said.
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