History is often treated as something distant—something finished. But for me, history has always felt close, lived-in, and deeply connected to the present. I am a public historian because I believe the past is not just something we study; it is something we carry.

My work focuses on African American history, particularly Black travel, mobility, and memory. Much of my research centers on the Negro Motorist Green Book, a travel guide used by Black Americans during the Jim Crow era to navigate a segregated nation. Over time, the Green Book has become more visible in popular culture, museums, and classrooms. That visibility is important—but it is also incomplete.

Too often, the Green Book is framed solely as a survival tool, a symbol of danger and restriction. While those realities cannot be ignored, that framing flattens the story. It overlooks the entrepreneurial networks, community knowledge, and everyday decision-making that shaped Black travel. It misses the ways Black Americans created spaces of dignity, rest, and belonging in a country that tried to deny them all three.

As a public historian, my work asks different questions. What did it mean for Black families to plan vacations, business trips, or long drives across state lines? Who were the people who opened their homes, gas stations, beauty shops, and restaurants to travelers? How did these spaces function not just as safe havens, but as economic and social anchors within Black communities?

I tell these stories because public history matters. Museums, archives, and historic sites do more than preserve objects—they shape what the public understands as “important.” When we simplify Black history into moments of trauma alone, we miss the full humanity of the people who lived it. We also miss the lessons embedded in their creativity, resilience, and choices.

This space is an extension of that belief. Here, I will share stories about the Green Book, Black travel, place-based history, and the work of remembering. Some posts will focus on specific locations or communities. Others will reflect on museums, archives, and how history is interpreted for the public. All of them are grounded in the idea that history is not neutral—and that how we tell it matters.

My goal is not just to inform, but to invite reflection. To slow down the conversation. To consider how the past shapes where we are now, and how we might tell fuller, more honest stories moving forward.

History is not distant. It is not finished. And it deserves care.

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