Traveling While Black: Navigating the Shadows of Sundown Towns.
Recently, I drove from Texas to Missouri and passed a liquor store called “Sundown Liquors.” Not long after, on a trip through Utah, I passed a sprawling ranch named “Sundown.” Both times, my heart skipped a beat. But both times when I looked up the location, there was no threat or cause for anxiety. Just a name with a history, especially for me as an avid traveler, Black, and a history buff. For travelers of color, the word sundown carries a weight that’s impossible to ignore. It’s not just a quaint name on a sign. It’s a chilling reminder of a history that has shaped how we move through America—and how we still navigate it today.
A Brief History of Sundown Towns
For those unfamiliar, sundown towns were places across the United States—north, south, east, and west—that actively excluded Black people (and often other minorities) after dark. Signs at city limits warned: “Don’t let the sun set on you here.” These weren’t just whispers of prejudice; they were codified in local policies, law enforcement, and violence. Many assume sundown towns were only a Southern phenomenon. In reality, thousands existed in the Midwest, the West, and even New England. Their legacy lingers—sometimes in policies, sometimes in names, and sometimes in the uneasy feeling we get when we see a “Sundown” sign.
Traveling While Black in 2025: The Reality
Seeing “Sundown Liquors” or “Sundown Ranch” isn’t just a coincidence. It’s a reminder that these names still exist in the fabric of America—and they’re often tied to places where we don’t know how we’ll be received. Add today’s political climate—where laws, rhetoric, and visible acts of hostility are rising—and travel for people of color can become not just an adventure, but an exercise in constant vigilance. Even as a seasoned traveler, I’m not immune to the flash of anxiety when passing through certain areas. It’s the quiet calculation: Where can I stop? Where can I get gas? Where can I feel safe?
Navigating the Unseen Map
Unlike official maps, Black travelers have always needed an “unofficial map” of where we could safely exist. In the Jim Crow era, there was the Green Book—a lifesaving guide to hotels, restaurants, and towns that welcomed us. Today, we have Google, social media, and word of mouth. However, the principle remains the same: we must know where we can breathe. Before I take a road trip, I research my route—not just for attractions, but for safety. I research towns, read local news, and note where the population or politics may be hostile to individuals who share my background. It’s not paranoia. It’s survival.
Finding Joy in the Journey Anyway
And yet, even with this vigilance, I travel. We travel. Because travel is freedom, it’s a legacy, and it’s joy. It’s our way of taking up space in a country where we’ve historically been told not to. Passing a place called Sundown doesn’t stop me from exploring—but it does remind me of the strength, resilience, and preparation that our journeys require. It also reminds me why community matters—why sharing our stories, tips, and routes can make the road safer for the next traveler.
Traveling in the U.S. as a person of color means navigating not just highways and airports, but history itself. Names like Sundown are more than markers—they’re signals. But they’re also opportunities to reclaim space, to push forward, and to rewrite the narrative. So if you’re traveling while Black (or traveling with Black friends and family), know this: you’re not alone. We’re still here, still moving, still creating memories in places our ancestors were warned away from. That is its own kind of quiet revolution. Let’s keep telling our stories. Let’s keep sharing our routes. Let’s keep traveling boldly—even where the signs still whisper otherwise.
Have you ever passed through a place that made you pause—not because of how it looked, but because of how it made you feel? As travelers of color, our instincts are often our compass. I invite you to share your story. Whether it’s a road trip memory, a moment of discomfort, or a travel tip that helped you feel safe and seen—your voice matters. Drop a comment below or tag @EbonyTravelers on social media. Your experience could be the insight or comfort another traveler needs. And if this resonated with you, I encourage you to share this newsletter and have a friend subscribe to the EbonyTravelers newsletter. Join a community that values not just where we go—but how we move through the world. Because our journeys deserve to be remembered, honored, and shared.
