"In a world where political tides shift rapidly, possessing a passport isn’t just about freedom. It’s about protection," the author writes.

I still remember the first time I held my passport in my hands. It wasn’t just a small blue book with my name inside – it was a key, a promise, a declaration of possibility. I was in my 20s and wasn’t immediately sure what travel would do for me, but I had what I needed to find out. As a Black Muslim woman, travel has been a way of expanding my world, learning my history beyond what textbooks tell us, and reclaiming my freedom in ways my ancestors fought for.

And yet, too many Black people in the United States don’t have access to this freedom. According to a survey from 2023, only 34% of Black Americans hold a valid passport.

I can promise that this statistic is not about not wanting to travel internationally; it is more of a reflection of systemic barriers that have long restricted our mobility. From the $165 passport application fee to the deep-rooted fears of traveling abroad, many Black Americans feel locked out of the world.

Furthermore, the lack of representation in travel media or stories of anti-Black racism abroad can create well-warranted anxiety. If we don’t see ourselves safely represented in the narrative of international travel, why bother?

And then there’s the unspoken reality: For generations, Black Americans were actively discouraged – or outright prevented — from moving freely, both within and beyond U.S. borders.

At 38 years old, I’ve lived in five countries and traveled to countless others, digging my heels into the literal paths traversed by Audre Lorde, Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, and so many other........

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