An American writer famously said that irony died when the Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to the US secretary of state Henry Kissinger for his efforts to bring peace to Vietnam. I was reminded of that when watching some of the coverage of the comments by the dynamic Labour MP Sadiq Khan, who criticised the government for failing to engage British Muslims in the year since the attacks of 7 July. Newsreaders introduced reports about the government failing to consult the Muslim community about their concerns.

There was no mention of the media's role, however. Nothing about how we journalists have failed to engage; nothing about whether the media's reporting had reflected the diversity of views and arguments taking place within British Muslim life. All the reports about the failures were directed solely at politicians, and were delivered without any sense of irony. Yet we journalists must share in these criticisms.

Just as there are some politicians who have done much to take part in and reflect the debates within the Muslim community, so there have been some journalists who have tried to do this. But they are a minority. It is still hard to find reports and programmes in the national media that give a platform to authentic voices - to what could be described, for want of a better phrase, as "mainstream Muslims", or the overwhelming majority of Muslims in this country, who regard themselves as British and Muslim and who see no contradiction in such an identity.

Three weeks ago I spoke at a community event in Forest Gate, east London, the area where the police raid and shooting at the house of Moham med Abdul Kahar Kalam and his brother Abul Koyair Kalam took place. It was a mixed audience; white, brown, Somali, Pakistani, English, Muslim, Christian - but all of them British. One lady, white, middle class and middle aged, stood up to ask a question. She said she hadn't come to make any point about the political consequences, but she had just one plea to me, as a member of the media.

"I live on Lansdown Road," she said, "not far from where the two young Muslim boys live. Now, the media reports which I've read make out that the street where I live is heavily Muslim, as though it's a kind of Muslim ghetto. It's not. It's a very mixed street. There are white people, Muslims, Hindus, you name it. Can you tell your colleagues that? Thank you very much."

Around that time, the two young brothers arrested in the raid gave a press conference at a local church in Forest Gate. When I saw Mohammed Abdul Kahar and Abul Koyair walk in, with their shaved heads and long beards, even I presumed that they were radical in their views and would use the occasion to attack the police, talking of "police brutality" and "the killing of innocent Muslims". Instead, people heard the voices of men who came across as "mainstream Muslims". The brothers spoke of their love for their country, of how they wanted to provide for their families, and said that all they wanted was a simple apology. If ever there was an opportunity for extending a hand of partnership, this was it.

What transpired was rather different. Reports emerged in the press about how the police had found £30,000 in cash in the raided house. To this day, however, I haven't read or seen a single report that has followed this up. The story must have been planted by the police, who were the only ones who could have known about the discovery of the money. Why was this put into the public domain? Was there evidence that the money was being used for suspicious purposes? Was it obtained illegally? Was it intended for dangerous individuals? None of these questions has been answered, at least from what I have seen. What was the purpose of releasing this information, other than to create the impression that these young men were up to no good, even though the police found no chemical material?

I repeat: here was a golden opportunity to follow up on the powerful words and hopes of the two young men, but, instead, stories appeared in the media that invited the British public to presume the worst about the brothers and their family. That is not public service.

At the end of the week, a national poll for the Times and ITV reported that 16 per cent of all British Muslims thought that although the 7 July attacks were wrong, the cause was right. The news headlines were, of course, about the 16 per cent, rather than the 84 per cent of respondents who did not express such sentiments.

At the same time as this poll, there emerged another story that offered another rare chance to reflect the beliefs and identities of this majority. It was the story of Lance Corporal Jabron Hashmi, a 24-year-old British Muslim who was born in Pakistan, grew up in Birmingham, but died serving his country in Afghanistan. Like the two brothers from Forest Gate, he loved Britain.

Hashmi's brother, who also served in Afghan istan, told journalists: "[Jabron] considered himself a Muslim, first and foremost, and a British Pakistani, and was proud of both identities." What a shame for us that we seem to hear such voices only in personal tragedy.

Rageh Omaar's "Only Half of Me: being a Muslim in Britain" is published by Viking (£17.99)

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