Not Just a Word
How a Latinx journalist found freedom and joy in their name
Editor’s note: This essay is part of the “Authentic Self” series, which is part of the initiative "More LGBTQIA+ Latinx in Newsrooms." It aims to share stories and underscore the importance of hiring more queer reporters in newsrooms. The series is a project of the National Association of Hispanic Journalists’ LGBTQIA+ Committee, palabra and GLAAD.
I changed my name for the first–but not the last–time in the summer of 2013.
I had started exploring my gender expression and realizing those feelings went much deeper than clothes or a haircut, I was eager to learn more. So when I set out to Boston for a summer journalism internship, I took my chance to socially transition in a city where no one knew me.
For three months I lived a rather silly double life; my birth name for sources and bylines and my newly chosen name for socializing in my free time. Given that I assigned myself the LGBTQIA+ community beat the summer of the landmark Obergefell v. Hodges U.S. Supreme Court decision legalizing gay marriage, it wasn’t long until my professional and social circles started overlapping and both names became laughably intertwined.
When I returned to the University of Missouri’s campus I came out to friends, classmates and professors as transgender and nonbinary. I finally changed my byline and in the decade since, I’ve changed it again three more times.
‘In a culture where journalists try to stay out of the story, it’s scary asking others to see you more authentically, whether it’s your gender or your cultural identity.’
With each change came another wave of anxiety about being too confusing or an inconvenience to others. All the milestones in my transition were like this: deciding on a name, starting hormone therapy, and having top surgery. I dragged them on until they were unavoidable. I’d joke that procrastinating even my personal needs showed I picked a fitting career. Afterall, I was used to bumping up against deadlines.
The reality though is that I wasn't only juggling how people perceived my transness. Being Latinx in predominantly white and non-Latino newsrooms meant my name confused colleagues enough already. The spelling of “Herrera” was frequently fumbled, and even more frequently mispronounced. Once at an awards reception, my name was mispronounced all six times I was honored on stage. I know the situation says more about event organizers than my intrinsic worth within journalism, but it’s still hard to shake the embarrassment off while on stage and even years later.
Unfortunately, I know I’m not alone having watched Latino journalists publicly grapple with the perception of their names and pronunciation.
Not long after I changed my name for the third time, Vanessa Ruiz’s defended her pronunciation of Spanish-language city names for Channel 12 despite lashback. Like me, Ruiz is Colombian American and raised bilingual in Miami. The way she respectfully, yet firmly, maintained her position helped me think clearly about what I wanted for myself.
In a culture where journalists try to stay out of the story, it’s scary asking others to see you more authentically, whether it’s your gender or your cultural identity.
Supporting colleagues across identities has always been part of the fight for more representation in news. Including more transgender and nonbinary Latinx reporters in the newsroom is just a continuation of the work Latino journalists have already taken on for generations.
In 2023, I changed my name for the fourth and last time. With the support of friends and family, including a particularly helpful mentor who asked me if my name change went through every few months, I finally made it legal: José María Herrera Tamayo.
Much longer and more complicated than anyone expected, much like the journey it’s been on the last 10 years. But it doesn’t feel silly anymore. Now I'm part of a long line of Latinx journalists telling the world how to say their names correctly.
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