Lebanon's Fairouz: The Arab World's Most Celebrated Living Voice

Lebanese icon Fairouz. (AFP)
Lebanese icon Fairouz. (AFP)
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Lebanon's Fairouz: The Arab World's Most Celebrated Living Voice

Lebanese icon Fairouz. (AFP)
Lebanese icon Fairouz. (AFP)

The Arab world's last living music legend Fairouz, who French president Emmanuel Macron is to visit Monday in Beirut, is a rare symbol of national unity in crisis-hit Lebanon.

Since the death of Egyptian diva Umm Kulthum in 1975, no Arab singer has been so profoundly venerated as 85-year-old Fairouz -- a stage name that means "turquoise" in Arabic.

For decades, she captivated audiences everywhere from her native Beirut to Las Vegas, including the grand Olympia in Paris and the Royal Albert Hall in London.

She has sung of love, Lebanon and the Palestinian cause, in ballads that have revolutionized Middle Eastern music.

Fairouz is "certainly one of the greatest Arab singers of the 20th century," expert in Middle Eastern music Virginia Danielson told the New York Times in 1999.

When she sang, she appeared as if in a trance: eyes glazed over, expression stoic, small smiles flashing quickly across her face.

"If you look at my face while I am singing, you will see that I am not there, I am not in the place," she told the New York Times in a rare interview.

"I feel art is like prayer."

Fairouz has been dubbed "our ambassador to the stars" by her compatriots -- not just for her celestial voice, but because she is a rare symbol of unity for a country bitterly divided by a 15-year civil war.

‘I love you, oh Lebanon’
Born Nouhad Haddad in 1934 to a working class family, she studied at the national music conservatory as a teenager.

During her time with the Lebanese state radio choir, composer Halim al-Roumi nicknamed her Fairouz and introduced her to composer Assi Rahbani, whom she married in 1955.

Fairouz, Assi, and his brother Mansour revolutionized traditional Arabic music by merging classical Western, Russian and Latin elements with eastern rhythms and a modern orchestra.

Fairouz shot to fame after her first performance at the Baalbek International Festival in 1957.

Her reign as the queen of Arabic music was partly thanks to her championing the Palestinian cause, including "Sanarjaou Yawman" or "We Shall Return One Day", an elegy to Palestinians exiled by the creation of Israel in 1948.

The star is an immortal icon in her native Lebanon.

Many of her most popular songs are nostalgic odes to pastoral times. Others are poems by the likes of Lebanese legends Gibran Khalil Gibran and Said Aql that are set to music.

She has largely disappeared from public life in recent years, but her soaring voice remains ubiquitous, blaring every morning from radios in street cafes and taxis.

"When you look at Lebanon now, you see that it bears no resemblance to the Lebanon I sing about, so when we miss it, we look for it through the songs," the diva told the New York Times.

Fairouz also won national acclaim for remaining in Lebanon throughout the country's civil war from 1975 to 1990, and for refusing to side with one faction over another.

Tens of thousands of people swarmed her first post-war concert, in 1994 in Beirut's downtown.

"I love you, oh Lebanon, my country, I love you. Your north, your south, your valley, I love you," she croons in one of her most well-known songs.

Political, family controversies
Fairouz is famously protective of her personal life.

"When she wants to, she can be really funny. She's also a distinguished chef. Very humble, she loves serving her guests herself," journalist Doha Chams, her press officer, told AFP.

But she hates "the invasion of her private life".

Fairouz had four children with husband Assi Rahbani, who died in 1986.

Their daughter Layal died at a young age of a brain hemorrhage, their son Hali is disabled, and Rima, the youngest, films and produces her mother's concerts.

Her eldest son, Ziad, followed in the footsteps of his father and uncle as a musician and composer.

Fairouz worked closely with Ziad – an iconic artist in Lebanon in his own right -- to compose songs with a jazz influence.

The Lebanese star's recent past has been marked by a string of family and political controversies.

In 2008, when Lebanese political factions were fiercely divided over support for the regime in neighboring Syria, Fairouz performed in Damascus.

Two years later, the Lebanese judiciary prevented her from singing tunes co-written by the Rahbani brothers without the authorization of the sons of her brother-in-law Mansour.

Fairouz spent several years without new material until 2017, when her daughter Rima produced her last album, "Bibali".



Amr Moussa to Asharq Al-Awsat: Gaddafi Initially Treated Me as an American Spy, Then Things Changed

Hosni Mubarak was able to manage the difficult relationship with Moammar al-Gaddafi. (AFP)
Hosni Mubarak was able to manage the difficult relationship with Moammar al-Gaddafi. (AFP)
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Amr Moussa to Asharq Al-Awsat: Gaddafi Initially Treated Me as an American Spy, Then Things Changed

Hosni Mubarak was able to manage the difficult relationship with Moammar al-Gaddafi. (AFP)
Hosni Mubarak was able to manage the difficult relationship with Moammar al-Gaddafi. (AFP)

In the third installment of his interview with Asharq Al-Awsat, former Egyptian Foreign Minister and ex-Secretary-General of the Arab League Amr Moussa discusses various experiences with Arab leaders, emphasizing the nuances of diplomacy in a turbulent region.

Moussa recalled that former Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak “was neither bloodthirsty nor a pharaoh, nor did he try to be one.” He points to a famous remark by President Anwar Sadat, who once said: “Gamal (Abdel Nasser) and I are the last of the pharaohs.”

The Gaddafi encounter

Reflecting on his complex interactions with Libyan leader Moammar al-Gaddafi, Moussa admitted that the beginning was anything but smooth. “When I first met Gaddafi, he treated me as if I were an American spy. He wouldn’t look at me directly, only speaking while facing another direction. It was very theatrical,” Moussa said. He recalled this behavior with a certain amusement, treating it almost like a game: “I would wager with myself before our meetings—will he speak to me directly this time, or not?”

Initially, rumors had reached Gaddafi that Moussa had been sent with a US agenda, though he had actually been Egypt’s ambassador to the UN in New York, not Washington. “But once he observed how I performed in my role, he began to change his mind. Eventually, he would ask President Mubarak if I could join their private discussions.”

Moussa recalled a specific instance in Tobruk, where he was invited by Gaddafi to sit at a table with him and Mubarak to discuss a matter of importance. He knew this would stir unease among others present, but the conversation went ahead regardless. This type of scene, he noted, happened several times.

Hosni Mubarak, Moammar al-Gaddafi and Amr Moussa at the Arab summit in Sirte in 2010. (AFP)

Diplomatic drama in a tent

When Gaddafi visited Cairo during Moussa’s tenure as foreign minister, the Libyan leader insisted on setting up his trademark tent in the gardens of the Qubba Palace. Though the palace was fully equipped, Gaddafi would receive guests only in the tent. “At that time, he still saw me as a US spy,” Moussa said, “so he avoided looking at me during our meeting. He inspected every corner of the tent—except the one where I was sitting.”

Despite Gaddafi’s sometimes abrasive behavior, Moussa conceded that the Libyan leader was intelligent and unique. “He was eccentric, yes, but he had a cleverness about him. His actions often carried a deeper rationale, even if misguided.”

Gaddafi’s erratic rule extended to his own ministers. Moussa noted how even highly regarded officials like Abdul Rahman Shalgham and Ali Treki were subject to his whims. “If Gaddafi was displeased with something, he might simply tell you to stay home—and that could mean house arrest for years. Yet, your salary would still arrive at your door.”

A moment of humor

One incident stood out. Libya was scheduled to host the Arab summit and had failed to pay its dues to the Arab League, and as Secretary-General, Moussa received an envoy from Gaddafi carrying a list of demands. Moussa didn’t even read the letter; he simply locked it in a drawer. “When the envoy asked what to report back, I told him exactly that,” Moussa laughed.

Soon after, Gaddafi summoned him to Sirte. As Moussa waited in the tent, Gaddafi’s secretary, Bashir Saleh, walked by singing an old Arabic poem: “You seem tearless, and patience is your nature.” Moussa quipped: “Tell the leader he’s not tearless—he’s payment-less!” Saleh shared the joke with Gaddafi, who burst into laughter and finally paid Libya’s dues.

Later, during an Arab summit in Libya, Gaddafi displayed a surprising sense of responsibility. Moussa recalled a heated moment when Yemeni President Ali Abdullah Saleh demanded immediate action on forming a pan-Arab army. Gaddafi gently interrupted: “Take it easy, Ali.” That phrase—“Take it easy, Ali”—spoke volumes, according to Moussa. “It revealed Gaddafi’s desire to manage tension even among volatile leaders.”

On Hosni Mubarak and the ‘pharaoh’ myth

Asked if Mubarak ever resembled the authoritarian archetype of a “pharaoh” as Russians view their “czars,” Moussa was firm: “No, not Mubarak. Maybe Sadat had some traits—he liked symbolism. But Mubarak? He wasn’t violent, nor bloodthirsty. Yes, he could be firm, but he didn’t revel in bloodshed.”

Moussa clarified that while Mubarak might have approved harsh punishments as president, it never escalated to a murderous level. “Perhaps there were isolated incidents, especially within the prison system, but it wasn’t part of Mubarak’s character to govern through violence. He wasn’t built that way.”

Saddam Hussein meets with Amr Moussa in Iraq in January 2002. (AFP)

The song that stirred controversy

When the Egyptian folk singer Shaaban Abdel Rahim sang “I hate Israel, and I love Amr Moussa,” it caused a stir. Moussa downplayed the drama. “I don’t think Mubarak himself was offended. He was the president; no foreign minister would rival him in popularity. But some people in the surrounding circles—not necessarily his inner circle—were irked.”

Eventually, another version of the song emerged, replacing Moussa’s name with Mubarak’s. “But it was the original that made waves. Even a diplomat from Latin America once told me, ‘We’re dancing to this song here!’”

A difficult meeting with Saddam Hussein

One of the most tense encounters Moussa ever had was with Iraqi President Saddam Hussein. After being elected Secretary-General of the Arab League in 2001, Moussa set out to visit all Arab leaders. He deliberately left Saddam until the end, knowing the sensitivities involved.

In January 2002, Moussa visited Saddam at a small palace. He carried a message from UN Secretary-General Kofi Annan regarding weapons inspections. “I told Saddam that Annan was open to negotiations, and that continued confrontation with the US would lead nowhere. At some point, no one would stand by him.”

Moussa asked Saddam directly: “Do you possess nuclear weapons?” Saddam answered, “No.” Moussa pressed him again: “Are you absolutely sure?” Saddam repeated, “No.” This made Moussa’s deputy, Ahmed Ben Helli, visibly nervous. “He probably thought we weren’t going to walk out of there.”

Moussa then asked why Iraq objected to the UN inspectors. Saddam responded: “These people don’t just inspect nuclear sites. They ask civilians about food supplies, their opinions on the government. What business is that of theirs?”

Moussa promised to report this to Annan, which he did. Negotiations resumed between Iraq and the UN, but history took its course and the US-led invasion followed.

Asked if he felt fortunate never to have served directly under a figure like Gaddafi, Moussa answered without hesitation: “Absolutely. I saw how respected men like Shalgham and Treki were sidelined. You could be a top official one day and under house arrest the next.”