I was 19 and working at New York Press, barely promoted to factchecker from listings intern. It was 2000 and I had two more years of college and the school newspaper to go, but at least I got to tell people that I was a professional journalist. Sort of. I loved New York Press back then, and I was bursting with pride at being a part of it, rambling annoyingly to nearly anyone I could about where I spent three days out of my week. Even better, my friend Colin was in town, and I considered him an arbiter of what is and isn’t valuable in this world. He strolled by 333 7th Avenue after work one day, and we chatted about the paper.

Colin’s mind processes information rapidly, and filters out what’s unimportant. “Spence,” he said, “what’s your journalism for?”

Aaaaaand body blow. Not only didn’t I have an answer, I hadn’t ever thought of the question. The pride I felt had blinded me, and now I was humiliated. I don’t remember the rest of our conversation. But I remembered that question very well. I remember it every day of my life, and I try to use it to guide the professional decisions I make. When I don’t, I regret it, guaranteed.

Today, after several days of trying and a few technological false starts, I interviewed an engineering student in Tehran who’s part of the Green Movement for the Washington Independent. He agreed to this interview at great personal risk. But he agreed to it because he wants the outside world to know that the Greens will not be silenced by a regime that stifles, imprisons, tortures and murders its opponents. He expresses his disappointment in Obama, his view of Green strategy, and his ultimate confidence that the Greens will win.

This is what my journalism is for.