In the past, Arab television interviewers tended to be grey haired and fatherly. They stuck to the well-trod paths of politics and business, and often talked more than they listened. Then came Zaven, and because of him, Arabs are now not just talking about current events on TV, but delving into a broad range of issues, from the geopolitical to intensely personal. In his thirteen years on air, Zaven, 35, has been the conduit of a people power revolution on television. How? By bringing on real people talking about real issues, from globalization to how to cook chicken," he says.

Zaven has routinely shocked viewers by tackling formerly taboo subjects like sexuality, marital issues, and addictions. Critics dismiss him as tawdry and tabloid, but his millions of fans - who tend to be young or female - find him frank and fresh. "What I've done is talk about respect for the individual," he says. "In the midst of talking about democracy and liberty, individuals were forgotten." Too often, he adds, politics crowded out everything else. Where earlier shows were aimed at a middle-aged audience, Zaven made sure to include topics for teenagers "who were always outcasts on Arab TV." Traditional Arab television programs, says Zaven, hinge on nostalgia for an idealized Arab past, frequently set in the villages. "One of the problems of Arab societies is that we either talk about the past, or the future," he says. No one talks about the present."

The Arab urban middle classes, coping with such modern issues as internet chat-rooms, HIV, depression and body-image problems, find that Zaven speaks their language. His patter is slang filled, and he opens up himself before pushing his listeners to do the same. "The basics of my program are sharing experiences, and in order for this to work, I should be the first one to share." He says. Perhaps because he knows his audience has had access to a range of views through the internet, he's careful not to sound too judgmental. "On other talk shows, they all start the discussion by saying, "this is good, or this is bad," he says. "We don't."           

Born to an Armenian father and Arab mother, he was discouraged from becoming a journalist because Armenians are thought to have weak Arabic. When he first started as a young reporter on Tele Liban, "People noticed me because they wanted to know how bad my Arabic was," he remembers laughingly. "They used to turn up the volume on their sets to make fun of it." Zaven found his format ten years ago, when he did a three-month stint at the Reuters Foundation in London and New York, just when Western television was discovering the appeal of reality TV. Zaven saw a niche in Arab television for less formal television personalities. As an announcer covering Israel's 'Grapes of Wrath' offensive in South Lebanon in 1996, he cried on air when describing the massacres in the villages of Qana and Mansouri.

Increasingly, Zaven grabbed headlines of his own: after a broadcast he did on poverty and unemployment was banned he shaved his head in protest, and then moved to a different station, garnering a pan-Arab audience at Future Television. "I get lots of emails telling me I'm the Oprah of the Middle East," he says. Like the American talk-show goddess Oprah, whom he calls an inspiration, Zaven is a multi-media star. His 2003 book "Lebanon Shot Twice," a best-seller in his home country, traces ordinary people—in battles, street scenes, at the aftermath of bombings—from newspaper photographs of the Lebanese Civil War. "It's the untold story of the war," says Zaven. "It's always told through politicians, historians, or journalists' eyes. But these are the stories of people who lived through the war."

By giving ordinary Arabs the chance to tell their stories, Zaven isn't just a media star, He's a one man democratization movement.

Carla Power