By LaKeshia N. Myers
Dr. LaKeshia N. Myers
Travel has always been more than movement from one place to another—it’s been an act of freedom, discovery, and joy. For Black Americans, however, the simple pleasure of hitting the open road has historically come with dangers that other travelers never had to consider. Yet despite these challenges, our community has consistently found ways to create spaces of refuge, celebration, and pure, unadulterated Black joy.
The story of African American travel is one of resilience carved from necessity. During the era of Jim Crow, when segregation laws made even basic accommodations uncertain, Black travelers faced the constant threat of humiliation, violence, or worse. A wrong turn could mean sleeping in the car. A stop for gas could become a dangerous encounter. The freedom to explore America—that fundamental promise of the open road—was systematically denied to Black families seeking nothing more than a vacation or visit to relatives.
Enter Victor Hugo Green, a Harlem postal worker who understood that information could be the difference between a pleasant journey and a potentially deadly one. In 1936, Green published the first edition of “The Negro Motorist Green Book,” a travel guide that would become essential reading for Black travelers for over three decades. This slim volume, updated annually, listed hotels, restaurants, gas stations, and other businesses that would serve Black customers with dignity and safety. The Green Book wasn’t just a directory—it was a lifeline that transformed travel from an act of courage into an act of joy.
The creation of the Interstate Highway System in the 1950s promised to democratize travel, making it faster and more efficient for all Americans. Yet even as these new highways opened up the country, many Black travelers still relied on Green Book recommendations to navigate safely through unfamiliar territories. The irony was stark: America was building roads for everyone while maintaining systems that made travel treacherous for some.
But Black joy has always been about creating beauty in spite of barriers, and our travel history is rich with places where that joy flourished freely. Idlewild, Michigan, emerged as the “Black Eden” in the early 1900s, a resort community nestled among pristine lakes where Black families could swim, dance, and relax without fear. Here, children splashed in clear waters while parents socialized on porches overlooking the forest. Musicians like Louis Armstrong and Della Reese performed for audiences who could simply enjoy the music without worrying about where they’d sleep that night.
Even in Wisconsin, Lake Ivanhoe, Wisconsin, is a historically significant community with a rich African American heritage. Lake Ivanhoe was established in 1926 as Wisconsin’s first Black-founded resort community, developed by three prominent Black Chicago businessmen: Jeremiah Brumfield, Frank Anglin, and Bradford Watson, who purchased an 83-acre farm on Ryan Lake. The community was named Lake Ivanhoe in honor of Ivan Bell, a white real estate agent who brokered the deal for Lake Ivanhoe. The community was created as a place where Black families could vacation in peace, away from the racial discrimination they faced at white resorts during the Jim Crow era. Like Idlewild in Michigan, but less upscale and distant, Lake Ivanhoe served as a “Black oasis” where African Americans could spend time away from the city and Jim Crow.
On the East Coast, Martha’s Vineyard became synonymous with Black excellence and leisure. The town of Oak Bluffs welcomed Black visitors as early as the 1890s, creating a tradition that continues today. Families like the Obamas have continued this legacy, showing that Black joy in travel is not just historical—it’s ongoing, evolving, and expanding. Oak Bluffs is my own personal summer haven, it is a place where children roam freely, adults discard most worries, and we can simply exist. Laying down the pretenses of everyday life to experience leisure and relaxation.
Sag Harbor, New York, tells a similar story of intentional community building. This historic whaling village became a haven where Black professionals could purchase property and create a summer retreat that rivaled any exclusive white enclave. The annual parties, beach gatherings, and social events weren’t just fun—they were acts of defiance against a society that said Black people didn’t belong in such beautiful spaces.
Highland Beach, Maryland, founded by Frederick Douglass’s son Charles in 1893, stands as perhaps the most powerful symbol of Black travel joy. Created after Charles and his wife were turned away from a whites-only resort, Highland Beach became a place where Black families could experience the same coastal pleasures denied to them elsewhere. The message was clear: if existing spaces won’t welcome us, we’ll create our own.
These destinations represent more than vacation spots—they embody the revolutionary act of Black people claiming space for rest, recreation, and pure enjoyment. Today, as we navigate new challenges and opportunities in travel, we carry forward this legacy of creating joy despite obstacles.
The road ahead looks different now, but the destination remains the same: spaces where Black travelers can experience the full spectrum of joy, wonder, and freedom that travel should offer everyone.