Michel Elefteriades – guerrilla fighter, artist, musician – doesn’t even consider himself Lebanese, rather the Emperor of Nowheristan, a state with no land and where everyone is welcome. Provided they pass the test. Where do we sign up?

The folks back in the office kept calling you the gypsy, why is that?

It might be the look that I used to have when I came back to Lebanon after my exile, or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t really have a home country. I’m as much Cuban as I am Lebanese. I’m French in my thoughts and writing. I used to move around a lot, with a plane as my caravan and I just changed countries as soon as I get bored of a place.

And professions I hear; you’ve been everything from an artist to a guerrilla fighter, really? Have you managed to find yourself?

It’s not like that. I’ve been all those things all the time. When I was fighting with a machine gun in my hand I was still a musician. After the fight, the machine gun was replaced by a guitar. I’m into music, sure, I have had projects lined up for ten years. Music for me is the best way to express my ideas and make money.

And it seems you’re passionate about it.

Yes, of course. I inherited that from my father who’s a great musician. My mother also plays piano. But it only became a viable career in my late twenties, when there was little else to do. I’ve wasted a lot of time and only got into politics in my early teens.

And you’ve held many successful events…

I have. I remember my Wadih al Safi and Jose Fernandez tour was a huge success worldwide. We sold so many albums, it was almost a shock. The press-book was huge. People for and against the combination had a lot to say about it. I love contrasts – in food, in relationships, aesthetics. I love surprises: whores who look like saints and saints who look like whores, bankers who wear earrings and artists who dress up as bankers. A gypsy and a conservative singer is a lovely contrast, and we traveled all around with it. People loved it.

Do you still roam as much, by the way?

No, no, not at all. It all changed about ten years ago and my roaming mentality was cemented into a culture, one I’ve poured a lot of my beliefs into, which led to the ignition of the Nowheristan project.

I was about to ask you. So what’s the story behind Nowheristan?

People would ask me: ‘Are you Lebanese?’ I’d say yes, and they’d invariably ask: ‘Is that the Lebanese attire?’ No, it isn’t. Same with my name; they’d ask: ‘Isn’t Elefteriades a Greek name? So are you Greek?’ It became tiring so I just created a country. I’m a Nowheristani; people have no idea where that is and the conversation ends there. Simple. A few friends liked it and wanted to become Nowheristanis too. From this anecdotal approach we started pulling together the basis of Nowheristan, its philosophy, political system and culture – a project that can later make a change to the world.

How can an imaginary country make a change?

When you have Nowheristanis all over the world, a few per cent in every country, they can create movement, rise up in civil disobedience – make a change to their system. We have something like 55,000 citizens now. It’s gotten a lot of press everywhere and it’s still going strong. It got some international and political support from the UN and local governments. It’s a lot of fun. I get to be Emperor – little more than a title of course – and I’m working on a car soon, an armored limo that looks a lot like Batman’s car.

How do we sign up?

There’s an online form to fill and a committee based in Switzerland – we have several committees, there’s an office in Starco for instance – it studies the citizenship application, and if approved they’ll send you a certificate. The requirements aren’t steep: you have to agree with our principles and realize that one day you’ll be expected to perform a service for your new country. We might ask you to elect someone specific, help with a civil uprising or do something for global unity and the greater good.

The ultimate purpose being?

Overthrowing all governments and creating a single world government, with no armies or borders, led by two senates of 600 people each, composed of outstanding individuals in their fields, aged 60 or more. There would be a single armed force for controlling terrorism and lawlessness, placed strategically to reach any point in the world. A doctor in Africa will be earning as much as a doctor in the US and the oil of Saudi Arabia will be available to all, as would the waters of the Amazon. There will be a common economy and the entire world will be one territory.

You’re actually serious?

Very serious. I have always been involved in serious projects. Before Nowheristan I was leading the United Movements of Resistance (MUR). A lot of people who’ve helped me during the MUR days were killed and I myself have escaped two assassination attempts. I had to escape to Cuba at the time.

Certainly more refreshing than artists who plan to change the world through song; do you think music makes a difference, while we’re on that?

Well, it can…but not a significant one. You can give a man enough money to eat and you can say you’ve helped. But you could also train him, house him, feed him and give him a job, and also say you’ve helped. It’s not the same. Through politics you can profoundly change people’s lives and dreams.

Well, have you started uniting the world?

Before uniting the world I started uniting the Nowheristanis. Nowheristan counts citizens from all over the world. They share a common vision and have the same dream. It’s a small step but if I have a couple of hundred million behind me, it’s a different story altogether. Einstein used to say that any idea that does not first sound absurd doesn’t have a great future.

Well, it certainly sounds strange; a Utopia of sorts…

Progress is the realization of Utopia. You have to start with dreams, big dreams. Otherwise your entire set of desires will be limited to a supermarket on the corner, a nice car and sex with some hot number.

Tell me then, what perks does the Emperor of Nowheristan get?

None. The Emperor has no power, and can be thrown in jail. He is the first and last Emperor whose only charge is the creation of Nowheristan. The constitution does not allow a successor to the Emperor. It’s just a title, it’s not serious. We like gimmicks because gimmicks are attractive to the media and through these showbiz tricks you can send stronger messages. An ultra-serious book would reach less people than a serious message in flashy, sexy packaging.

What is your favorite place in Lebanon?

My house in Ajaltoun; my library to be specific. Beirut is not what it used to be though.

Known for her strong presence and edgy talk shows, not to mention her immensely popular astrology books, Maguy Farah shares a bit of her past and future.

You started off on the renowned Sawt Lubnan radio station, didn’t you?

I was in university and I joined a station that we thought would be temporary. It was a time of war and political parties and I knew nothing about any of that.

And you learned quickly…

I started hosting talk shows in colloquial Arabic, something that was unheard of. They were very successful and eventually I was asked to lead the news. I initially refused as I was afraid. I had every right to be. It was a very politically turbulent time, but it was also a golden age for the media. Sawt Lubnan was a statement unlike any other; we had over 90 per cent of the market. It gave me a lot of confidence and I put a lot of myself into the news. I once improvised an entire news broadcast.

You did what?

I read the brief and there was someone in the station who didn’t read the news and he didn’t like that I did. He removed the entire Bachir Gemayel brief from my desk so I wouldn’t find it, wouldn’t read it and would be criticized for that. I’m on the air and there’s nothing there, so I closed my eyes and read it from memory, summarizing it again in my own words. It was great practice.

But things changed…

It was a bad time. The station was taken over by force and I was left without a job and without severance pay. You couldn’t do anything about it during the war but that’s OK. I had sold a couple of books by then and they sold very well. I was approached by Dar al Kitab al Lubnani to make twelve books of horoscopes. I did and they paid in advance. I had no money, I was driven by need and I loved horoscopes as a hobby. I remember I couldn’t get advertised on Sawt Lubnan. Think about that for a moment. A station that I helped build from nothing and now I couldn’t get an advert on it. It stung, to be sure. But it didn’t matter. My close friend from Dar al Kitab took care of the advertising.

And then you got back into media…

Eventually I started a political show on LBC. It was the first talk show on LBC and it was recorded rather than live. They wouldn’t let us run live. MTV approached me for a talk show and I agreed and once it succeeded I was approached again by LBC but I didn’t comply. I had my principles and I was bound by my word if not by contract. I stayed for seven years.

What happened then?

Even MTV had issues and politics always interfered. What doesn’t kill you enriches you though. Under tough circumstances I moved to Future Television but someone there didn’t like me. I acted on my principles once and was punished – but that’s the way it is. I wish they’d just ignore your principles or not appreciate them. But to punish you? That’s a problem.

Is there light at the end of the tunnel?

I’m not optimistic really. But at least there’s freedom. Listen to this side and listen to that side and find an area in between and that’s your story.

You must like the challenge…

My husband says: ‘Any sailor can tackle the calm sea but only a good sailor can handle the storm.’ That’s my destiny, he said. That gives me some consolation. But I don’t know if people pick their destiny and how much of it is chance.

What’s your favorite place in Lebanon?

It’s hard to say, but I choose Achrafieh. I was born there, I studied there, I know it corner to corner. It has laughter and tears, the good things in life..

With her book breaking all local sale records, I revisit Maguy Farah to see what all this astrology business is about.

You were a media student…

I started off studying media in university. It was my first year and a war-time station was born. I joined ‘Sawt Lubnan’, and I was a student with no political views whatsoever. I wanted the practice really, and the experience. When I graduated I became a presenter.

And the horoscopes?

It was a hobby really, something I was interested in. A guy I knew guessed my horoscope (Libra), and that of a friend of mine. I asked him how; remember I never believed in this prediction nonsense, and I still don’t. I asked him how he knew, and he told me it was a science. He gave me some reading material, and I took it up as a hobby.

But it eventually became much more than that…

Sometime later the station asked us for ideas for new shows, and I had one. I’d done quite a bit of reading by this time, and I’d tried my hand at the calculations involved. I proposed a show about horoscopes, and everyone loved it. People asked about it so often, and asked for reruns and recording that I was pretty much forced to publish it; and that’s how the first book was born. It was a coincidence, and I believe that coincidences change your life.

I agree…

Half your life is a coincidence; your choices are perhaps the second half, but at least half your life is a coincidence. I was working in media, how does that lead to horoscopes? You’re an Aries, aren’t you?

I am; how’d you guess?

It isn’t a guess; Aries was the first thing that came to my mind. Some people wear their horoscopes well; you have a strong, lighthearted presence, one that I can get along with. But where were we?

Thank you… So it was your shows that made your name?

I used to do talk shows, in the common Arabic, at a time when these things were unheard of. They were a success, as measured by viewers and advertising. The horoscope shows seemed to get more advertising.

But you didn’t indulge in those till later…

I was asked to take over the news. I initially refused; I was afraid. And I had every right to be. I’d already been threatened, and things were already tense. It was a huge responsibility, a time of political parties none of which I subscribed to. The political world was in turmoil: Amine Gemayel was president, Bachir had just been killed. But it was a golden age for news, and Sawt Lubnan was unique; it grabbed 90% of the audience. When something happened everyone would tune in, those with or against the station.

So how did your second book come about?

They asked me for a second one, and I did it. At a time when books would sell maybe 500 copies a year, I sold 10,000. I was still in university, and I didn’t at first realize what I’d done. I had no frame of reference, how could I know that 10,000 was a hit. But I eventually stopped making books, until I got my first bitter taste of politics.

What was that?

The station was taken by force, and you could do that during the war. Who could say anything? I was left without a job and without severance pay. I was approached by Dar el Kiteb el Lubnani. I was approached by May, one of my closest friends now, and she wanted to meet me and see what the fuss was about. She told me she had a bookshop, and had gotten many requests for my book. She proposed we make another together. We made 12, and she paid me in advance. She also suggested I start with the prediction books; we launched the first of those in the early 90s.

And the rest is history…

It sold, it was different. I never pretended to tell the future or look into crystal balls, I wrote about an old science, and people appreciated it. And I’ve released a book every year, ever since.

Well how accurate is it?

It’s a science of probabilities, not magic. In old times people notices that some planetary alignments coincided with major events, things like wars and disasters. With time they refined it, and made clear rules. So if this planet is in that location, then there might be a war; that’s all it is.

Writer and cultural editor of Al Safir, Abbas Beydoun talks about the effect of war on literature and on the Lebanese.

&nbsp

You don’t seem to like my Dictaphone…

It’s not that I’m afraid of machines but these things immortalize your mistakes. A recorder is something that can perpetuate your mistake. Not that what I say is infallible, but everything one says tends towards mistakes, as a lot of what is said is said for impact.

What kind of impact have you had on the local culture?

It’s a confusing question essentially because it is difficult to understand what the country’s culture is. Even more confusing is the country itself, its movements and politics. All these are a mystery to me. But despite this, Lebanon has produced a culture suitable to its role. It’s one of the few countries in the world that was forced into having a role through its imposed social structure.

A unique social structure? What do you mean?

Its role is that of a mediator between two worlds. This role has kept both worlds intact. What I’m saying is the locals know as much Arabic as they do French or English and they know all these languages well. Furthermore, the foreign languages we learn actually strengthen our Arabic. We have the capacity to overcome educational tradition. We’re certainly a traditional country in our everyday life but when it comes to our minds we can face tradition down with ease. We’re a bit snobbish actually but that’s still better than conservatism.

And you’re part of that generation?

I am. I’m part of a generation that is in one way or another creating what you’d call Lebanese education culture or literature. This is, if you’d like, the generation of war-time Beirut.

What’s so different about the war generation, besides the explosions and such?

The war changed Lebanon’s self image. Before the war we thought we were culturally part of a wide cosmopolitan march. Our poets were walking along with Faulkner, Joyce and Hemingway. Before the war we felt Lebanon was larger than life. Literature at the time sang of Lebanon the fantasy and novels were mental tales, like Sartre’s work. These two things collapsed during the war along with national radicalism. We suddenly realized that we aren’t part of the worldwide march; we’re a desperate, small part that is somehow exiled.

And we became introverts…

We at least started thinking locally and started considering where we live and who we are. Furthermore, the war showed us that the country might disappear and it still might. When waking up to no country became a real possibility, people started hanging on to Lebanon’s details.

What’s your favorite place in Lebanon?

What do you mean?

Where would you go to take a break or take a rest?

Ah, I can’t seem to rest at all, even when I am on vacations or breaks. Life is something of a struggle, a battle to survive. Lebanon, though, is one of those places that you have to keep rediscovering. I’m from the south, originally, but I’ve lived in Beirut for a long time. I never really saw it until I decided to open my eyes and look around. I like the heart of Beirut and while I’m one of those who was against [the redevelopment of]Downtown Beirut, because it’s something of a Disneyland, I still like the heart of the city.

Have you ever soaked up the bohemian vibe around Gemmayzeh Stairs? Thank Joseph Raidy, the man behind its renaissance.

What’s your favorite place in Lebanon?

Ehden. It’s my village and that of my ancestors. It’s the village of patriarchs and saints.

We all know you because of the printing press, but your contribution are greater than that…

The press is a business and a culture but my role in culture also came through the Gemmayzeh Stairs, the goal of which was to bring out the more artistic side of Lebanon. I’m one of the founders and I’m currently president of its committee.

How was the Stairs project born anyway?

In the 1980s Gemmayzeh was a war zone. The residents of Gemmayzeh, myself included, got together and wanted to create something, anything, that would get the place moving again artistically and culturally. And we had that beautiful staircase. So we renovated it and started organizing events around it and carnivals. The Beirut Carnival is in fact, a product of our labor.

And your events got popular very quickly…

They were for free. You didn’t have to pay to attend and you only paid a symbolic sum as an exhibiting artist, a sum that helped them take the exhibition more seriously. The artists would bring in their work, sell them and keep all the profit. But we’d take care of the artists that didn’t sell.

How so?

Well, if the artist had paid $50 to exhibit and had sold nothing, we’d buy back $50 worth of his work. There were no monetary goals behind these events, we just wanted to help the many local artists launch themselves into the wide and rather difficult world of art.

And you did…

It worked, of course. You only have to look at its current fame to realize that. It’s in every tourist book about the country and has received an incredible amount of media. Which is fitting.

Why’s that?

It’s the St Nicholas staircase. Its original name might not be as well known. It means ‘Father Christmas’s staircase’. It’s a cultural space, on a cultural street. It is still a small yet uncorrupted location in Beirut. Who knows how long it’ll remain intact, though.

You’re referring of course to the constant ‘upgrades’ the area enjoys. Is the staircase in any real danger?

There’s no organization. We don’t have officials, we have traders in this government. Already you can see monstrous constructions around it although the entire area is under study and constructions there shouldn’t be allowed, yet here we are.

Despite your organization’s efforts…

The Association for the Development of Gemmayzeh (ADG) had put a lot of effort into this matter, efforts that were backed by the French External Ministry. We paid €90,000 for studies and created what we thought was an excellent plan for the stairs and its surrounding areas.

A plan without monstrous constructions of course…

It would be surrounded by small, quiet cafés. Each would have exhibition spaces for artists and musicians without speakers or microphones. The establishments would be complementary rather than competitive and the area would become a clean, calm and quiet space for students and youngsters. But people continue to miraculously source building licenses, and until the government shapes up places like this are in constant peril.

You sound tired…

It’s my last year with the committee. Hopefully we’ll find someone to lead it with more energy and renewed interest. Maybe they’ll succeed where we couldn’t.