Tom Avila is a contributing writer to Metro Weekly [1] news magazine and a staffer for the National Lesbian & Gay Journalists Association (NLGJA) [2]. He has written a book...which no one has chosen to publish.

I’m a bad gay man.

The other day a story came on NPR about Alvaro Orozco [3], a Nicaraguan immigrant who was petitioning to avoid deportation because, he claimed, he was gay and his sexual orientation would put him in violation of the laws of his home country.

According to the report, Orozco’s petition was denied because officials questioned whether he was actually gay, citing a lack of evidence regarding his sexual orientation. No photos of him at a Pride parade. No membership to an advocacy organization seeking equal rights for lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgender (LGBT) individuals. No online profile on a gay dating site. In short, his sexuality lacked a paper trail.

And it struck me. If pressed, could I prove it?

There are no pictures of me marching in a Pride parade. I don’t donate to any of the large LGBT advocacy groups. Based on the evidence I’m either incredibly boring (which I kind of am) or a bad gay man. Or, there is this third possibility to consider.

I’m a journalist.

(A confession to readers: I’m a theater critic for an LGBT weekly newsmagazine. To some, I am a journalist. To others, I’m a ridiculously lucky individual with the ability to score free tickets. For the sake of where we’re going, let’s meet halfway and say that I’m a ridiculously lucky journalist.)

To me, that means that I don’t give money to advocacy organizations or sign petitions or boycott corporations or march in parades.

It also means there are times when I feel like a bad gay man, because my first concern when it comes to stories regarding the LGBT community is that they are told fairly and accurately. It means that I accept that not all stories will be positive. It means that I have done interviews where I have spoken in a manner which would seem in conflict with being a “good gay man.” (And I have the e-mails to prove that there are others who think the same.)

Not long ago there was a case that involved a high school journalism teacher who was—according to the coverage—first disciplined by administrators and later dismissed because of her decision to print a student authored editorial that asked for tolerance for LGBT individuals. On the face of things, my immediate reaction should have been anger and indignation…and in part it was. But not for the reasons some might think.

I wanted to know the details. Sure, the summary made for great newscast teasers and headlines: “Teacher Fired for Asking for Tolerance.” But I wanted to know if there had been other incidents at the newspaper. I wanted to know what school policies existed concerning the newspaper and its content. What other stories, perhaps not as sexy and media-attention grabbing as this one, had been stifled?

I wanted to know what students in the school were learning about the journalistic enterprise. And not just those who were at risk of losing an obviously passionate faculty member. What were the other students learning as news consumers? How were their ideas about such fundamental exercises as speaking truth to power and giving voice to the voiceless being shaped by this incident? At the end of the day, who were they going to trust?

I think this conflict exists for many of us who straddle that line between being a journalist and being a member of a minority community. Is it possible to be a good journalist and a good gay man (insert Latino, Asian-American, etc.)?

I think so. In fact, I think those of us who live in underrepresented communities have both the ability and responsibility to bring intellectual diversity to our newsrooms. We can inform stories in a fashion our colleagues might not. We can raise questions that may not occur to others. Inform word choices, suggest sources and propose story frames. And we can do all of that from the vantage point of journalists.

I consider myself fortunate to have learned about journalism from individuals for whom I have an incredible level of respect. Because of them, I have a sentimental view of the practice. I believe that communities, all communities, are done a greater service when the stories told by the media are told fairly and accurately. Even when those stories aren’t pretty…even when they sting.

And I accept that sometimes this will leave me feeling like a bad gay man…who is, I hope, a good gay journalist.

The views expressed are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of NLGJA or his sister, who frequently tells him he’s wrong.

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