Lately, travel has packed a disorienting new side-effect: a sudden, heavy case of geopolitical anxiety. There’s a persistent, underlying hum of vulnerability – the sort that makes you second-guess your destination choice and wonder if you’ll be safe or ‘othered’ while on the road. Welcome to the politics of travel today. Yet, for those of us who have always viewed the world through a lens of diversity, this isn’t exactly a new frontier. For the first time in a long time, we are all – well, mostly – sharing the same uneasy realisation that ‘belonging’ has become the ultimate luxury when we head out into the world. But look on the bright side: your newfound angst is an old story for us. We know a thing or two about the ‘to go or not to go’ dilemma. So, if anyone understands how to navigate the complexities of our ‘new world order’ – and yet can find joy in it all – it’s us.
For well over a decade, we at OutThere have championed boundless travel – the belief that the world, in all its messy, technicolour glory, belongs to anyone with the curiosity to seek it. But in just a few short weeks of this new year, our inbox has taken on a sharper, more frantic edge. The big question? “Will you be visiting the United States this year?” – a refrain that has forced us to weigh our longstanding love for America against a 2026 landscape that feels increasingly seismic.
But it’s not just the U.S. where ideological polarisation has opened a trench that buries both its arguments and its orators. A Latin American and Caribbean diorama that oscillates between reform and rupture, the tightening chessboard of mid-Atlantic and Baltic tensions and the Middle East, perpetually framed by conflict, is hard to sugarcoat. Travelling the world is – or is going to get – more complex for the luxury traveller this year, forced to navigate the fault lines and the politics of travel that they once had the privilege of swerving or ignoring.
Of course, for the affluent and determined, it has never been much of a barrier. Private aviation, discreet security and the hermetically sealed five-star ecosystems, the hallmarks of privilege, are designed specifically to insulate guests from inconvenience and often, from reality. This infrastructure ensures that almost anywhere can be reached safely and seamlessly. Alas, today, ease of access does not absolve responsibility; it sharpens it.
Luxury has always traded on aspiration, but today this aspiration is colliding head-on with accountability. The first rule of luxury travel has always been discretion, but this time, the definition of discretion is the wisdom to know when one’s presence is a privilege, and when it risks becoming complicity.
In today’s geopolitically febrile climate, that distinction is reflected in the numbers. As the World Travel & Tourism Council (WTTC) recently noted, the global tourism sector has reached a record economic impact of £8.5 trillion / $11.7 trillion, yet the United States is conspicuously leaking value, losing £9.1 billion / $12.5 billion in foreign visitor spending in 2025 alone. And last year, the average European visitation (among America’s greatest travel allies) dropped by an average of 20%.
This isn’t just about traveller sentiment. For the first time in generations, travel for the global majority has become starkly about who you are and what you stand for.
As diverse and intersectional OutThere travellers, we have always understood that we need to assess how we fit into a destination before going on any trip – calculating the friction between our identity and the experience. But for those who have historically moved through the world unmarginalised, without the lived experience of scrutiny, these concerns are relatively new and jarring – a result of the politics of travel in 2026.
On the other side of the divide, ‘conventionally privileged’ Americans have suddenly found themselves heavy with a concern they’ve never really carried: how they will be perceived while abroad. Safety has shifted shape; it is no longer just about physical security, but about reputational and moral standing. Moreover, the ground can shift overnight. Borders can harden; sanctions and tariffs materialise over wars of words. A destination that once felt aligned to your values when you booked it may feel like a much harder, ethical pill to swallow by the time you arrive. Travel insurance clauses now read like geopolitical primers. And for the many luxury travellers whose profiles are public – the journalists, executives, creatives, philanthropists and LGBTQ+ opinion leaders alike – the calculus of a simple trip has become a far more complex equation of values.
To go or not to go – the ethics of choice
So, is it right to visit politically aggressive regimes? It’s the age-old, OutThere question…
To debate the politics of travel purely around safety is to miss its most vital human dimension: empathy. Who truly benefits when we travel? Who is seen – and who is erased – by our presence? A luxury resort may promise that tourism dollars ‘support the local community’, but in the politically aggressive or authoritarian landscapes of 2026, that claim deserves a sharp interrogation. Are revenues flowing to the small businesses and the local hands that hold them together, or are they merely reinforcing state power structures? Are the staff protected, paid fairly and free to speak? Is the culture being celebrated as a living, breathing truth, or is it being curated into something palatable, polished and safely apolitical? How does this destination treat minorities – women, people of colour, queer communities, immigrants? Are we being shielded from realities that others cannot escape?
In the same way that we have learned to question human rights, sustainability and the weight of overtourism, people are looking more deeply into the politics of travel and the human cost of their stay. Currently, in the United States, this tension has become uniquely fractured. We are no longer navigating a monolith, but a patchwork of polarised realities where, sometimes, just moving between two cities can feel like crossing between two different Americas.
One school of thought – the one we hold dear – insists that engagement is better than isolation. We argue that luxury travel can be a profound force for good: sustaining livelihoods, preserving heritage and fostering a kind of ‘soft diplomacy’ where formal channels have failed. To boycott entire countries is often to punish ordinary people, long before it inconveniences their governments. To refuse to visit is, in some cases, to abandon communities that depend on us to survive and to deny a voice to those fighting back against a tide of oppression.
As a magazine, our editorial priority is clear and rooted in boundless travel. But it is not always easy to make space for stories that some may feel are tone-deaf to the larger issue. But we will always do our best to speak for those who might otherwise not be heard. Because we have seen it firsthand: in the guides, the artisans, the social entrepreneurs and the hoteliers whose quiet resilience exists entirely outside and often against the rhetoric of their governments. For them, the arrival of a traveller is not an endorsement of a regime, but an affirmation of our shared humanity.
Yet, we must appreciate that the counter-argument is equally compelling – and increasingly hard to dismiss against the background noise of 2026. Tourism, especially at the luxury end, confers legitimacy. It provides optics. When glossy campaigns showcase exquisite hotels or glitzy attractions while dissent is silenced and borders are militarised, travel becomes part of the narrative machinery. Even unintentional participation can signal acceptance. And it seems that for more and more travellers today, that discomfort has become impossible to reconcile with their personal values.
But travellers should also examine their own motivations. Is this journey about curiosity and connection – or conquest and bragging rights? Are we travelling to a place, or merely through it, insulated by privilege and indifference?
Perhaps the most honest position is to accept that travel is never neutral. Every booking is a choice. Every presence has weight. OutThere’s version of luxury, at its best, has always been about discernment. About choosing quality over quantity, meaning over excess. In this geopolitical moment, discernment should extend to ethics and impact.
These decisions will remain deeply personal, and of course, should never be at the expense of physical safety. But decisions – whatever they may be – should be debated, challenged and revisited. What is no longer acceptable is that luxury travel exists above politics. It does not. And some will argue that it never has.
In a world increasingly defined by division, the true luxury may be travelling with eyes open – aware not only of where we are going, but of what our journey represents.
That means travelling ‘better’. Supporting independent operators over state-backed behemoths. Seeking out destinations that navigate its complexities with transparency rather than denial. Giving as much voice to minorities and showing that there are other sides to every story, supporting people who are pushing back through your tourism dollar.
Or, sometimes – and we say this with great sadness – deciding not to go at all.
But, we must answer your burning question: Will we continue to visit and advocate for travel to the United States? Our answer is yes. At least for now. It’s hard to predict what it will become, but we have faith in a decent America. We remain steadfast in our commitment to meaningful engagement over isolation. We have learnt from over a decade of inclusive travel storytelling that to turn our backs on a destination is to turn our backs on the very communities within it who are fighting for a better future. While we do not ignore the complexities of the current political climate, we do so to support the individuals who keep the spirit of hospitality and activism alive. We travel to the U.S. not to endorse its regime, but to invest in a culture that is far larger and more enduring than any single political moment. To stay away is to cede territory; to show up thoughtfully and intentionally is to ensure the dialogue survives.
To our American readers, here is our take on your travels. When you step off the plane, you aren’t just ‘American tourists’; you’re a living, breathing rebuttal to your own headlines and proof that a three-hundred-million-strong culture cannot be reduced to a single narrative. And while your home-grown politics may be deafening, your individual voices are far more nuanced. And it is so important that we share a table, even if we might not always agree over the appetisers.
But we reiterate – this is not a call to be reckless; safety is paramount, and no one should knowingly walk into harm’s way. But there is a vital difference between being cautious and being erased. If we allow political rhetoric to stop us from connecting with others, or if we let fear keep us from seeing the world, then the architects of exclusion have already won.
For people of colour visiting the USA, safety carries a significant and particular weight right now. Our feeds are dominated by the intensified immigration enforcement and ICE presence on the ground, which has heightened concerns of racial profiling, creating an environment where international visitors may be at risk of being mistakenly stopped, questioned or detained. We urge all OutThere travellers to keep their credentials on hand at all times – and cooperate compliantly with law enforcement if stopped – ideally carrying your original passport alongside a digital backup. Ensure you have easy access to your valid entry criteria – whether that is a physical stamp, visa, digital authorisation, or Global Entry card – as well as clear proof of your temporary stay and your intent to return home, such as flight confirmations and accommodation details. By being prepared, you can navigate any systemic complexities with greater peace of mind should they arise and focus on the parts that make the trip worthwhile.
How to navigate this new world order
As we’ve already mentioned, there is a profound irony in the current geo-political situation. Suddenly, even ‘mainstream travellers’ are experiencing a jarring loss of the presumptive safety they may have once taken for granted. What the world calls a “new climate”, marginalised communities like LGBTQ+ travellers and people of colour have always called their lived reality.
So, take these hard-won pointers from those who truly understand. Think of these as dispatches from the front lines – tips from those who have navigated the world through its many moods and come out the other side with a story.
Be far more intentional. Yes, this requires a shift in mindset. We have never wanted to be ‘just tourists’, so let’s be intentional guests. As journalists, Experientialists and OutThere travellers, our greatest practical tools are truth and trust. We can help one another by stripping away the marketing gloss and sharing the raw data of our lived experiences.
Use the ‘burden of research’ as empowerment. The ‘thinking twice’ that is now hitting the mainstream has always been a mandatory ritual for travellers from diverse backgrounds. It’s about choosing to explore the microclimates of a country rather than just its headlines. When we find experiences driven by people fighting to keep their culture inclusive and rational, travel can become an act of solidarity, and you will find the heat in the cold and the pockets of resistance and joy. We’ve found it in the hoteliers who view their properties as sanctuaries, the chefs and bar-owners who use food and drink as a bridge and the local guides who keep the spirit of activism alive.
Embrace the radical “yes”. There is a temptation to retreat, to stay where it is “safe” and familiar. But travel is our greatest tool for empathy. By showing up – thoughtfully, safely and visibly – we remind the world (and ourselves) that people and joy cannot be legislated out of existence. We are at a point where “where it is safe to visit” has become the primary question… but let’s not stop there. Let’s ask: Where can we thrive? Where can we contribute?
Follow the people, not just the map. A country is not its government. Seek out the voices of those living the reality on the ground. Use your networks – your trusted travel advisor (they’re invaluable right now!), fact-based media, your peers – not to look for danger, but to find connection. Invest not just in things, but in human capital, where every pound, dollar, or euro spent is a vote. In a world of exclusionary policies, we can choose to put our resources directly into the hands of those building the world we want to see.
Make belonging the ultimate luxury. In 2026, the most valuable travel tip isn’t a restaurant recommendation; it’s a confirmation of safety and celebration. Now, these are no longer niche concerns or mere wishlist items; they are the ultimate luxury commodities. Look to work with travel providers that have evolved beyond simply peddling experiences and those who are curating sanctuaries that celebrate inclusion as a standard. We have all – finally – realised that the luxury of belonging is a gift we give to ourselves and, more importantly, to each other. So, let’s make it a permanent fixture!
In summary, the politics of travel is getting more complex, but the reason we still want to get out there and do it remains simple. We travel to find ourselves in others. We don’t just go out to see the world; we go to show the world who we are. We travel to prove that the world is still wide, still beautiful and, despite the foreboding headlines, still ours to explore.
While we have you here (and that you’ve had a moment to catch up) perhaps it’s the perfect time to finally understand what OutThere is all about: the intersection of diversity, discovery and discernment. They aren’t just our pillars; they are the lens through which we find beauty in a complicated world.
Travel for us has never just been about the destination; it’s about the people who hold the light. And in a shifting reality, our curiosity remains our greatest act of defiance. We mustn’t just navigate this new world – we must reclaim it.
And if it feels like we’ve been harping on about this for over a decade, well, that’s because we have. Pull up a chair; the tea is still hot. And given the state of the politics of travel, perhaps hotter than ever.
Featured photography by Tony Wiek
