How Léa Salamé Learned to Speak Without Fear
In this 2021 conversation, French journalist Léa Salamé reflects on the personal and political forces that shaped her and made her one of France’s most formidable interviewers.
Photography by Éric Nehr
Fashion by Tess Pisani
This is article was first published in Mastermind 10, November 2021. To read the full issue, purchase it here.
She has one of the most recognizable voices and faces in French journalism. At 42, Léa Salamé has established herself as a leading figure on France’s media landscape, having spent 15 years on the air carrying out hundreds of interviews. Since 2014, she has hosted the country’s most popular morning show on its leading radio station, France Inter. At the same time, Salamé hosts two television shows on public broadcaster France 2, meeting artists on the magazine-style cultural program Stupéfiant! (Amazing!) and interrogating political figures on Vous avez la parole (You Have the Floor). Her specialty: asking questions without fear of upsetting her guests.
There’s more. In September 2020, Salamé, who was born in Beirut, made a remarkable foray into the world of publishing, with the adaptation of a project born under unusual circumstances. In 2019, she took a break from the airwaves while her companion, Raphaël Glucksmann, campaigned in the European Parliament election. During this hiatus, she conducted long interviews with powerful women, based on an idea from France Inter director Laurence Bloch. When the conversations were broadcast the following summer, the voices of the former Minister of Justice Christiane Taubira, singer Carla Bruni and writer Leïla Slimani excited listeners. The podcast was a huge success, leading to a second series and a book, Femmes puissantes (Powerful Women), the collected transcriptions of these captivating, subtle exchanges. A second book will be released at the end of 2021, published by Les Arènes. Ahead of this, we met this woman of influence, who has her own way of holding power to account.
As a child, what kind of adult did you dream of becoming?
LÉA SALAMÉ I didn’t want to grow up and be an adult. I was born in Lebanon, a country at war, and my greatest fear, until I was five years old and left for France, was that my parents would die. I was afraid of the adult world, a world of war.
What memories do you have of your native country?
LS First of all, the noise. The noise of bombs is very particular: you never forget it. That’s why I have a phobia of fireworks – it’s exactly the same sound. A whistle at the beginning, which amplifies until it becomes an explosion. Both Muslims and Christians lived in our neighborhood. I remember spending nights in the bathtub – my sister and I slept on mattresses in the windowless room, protected from the shrapnel. I still remember the trek to the bathroom on nights when bombs were going off. When it was too much, we went down to the underground shelters. Imagine, from the time you were born until you were five years old… I was born one night when my father couldn’t cross the demarcation line. Because the electricity was out, my mother had to walk up four flights of stairs alone while her waters were breaking. That shaped the person I have become.
What was it like to arrive in France?
LS It was difficult because I felt guilty. Every night, I prayed that my grandparents, who had stayed in Lebanon, would not be killed by the bombs. The coldness of France – both the climate and the people – made it difficult. I didn’t know the rules. For example, I was afraid of animals. In Lebanon, we don’t have pets. In the street, I would change sidewalks if I saw a dog. I was petrified. It took me quite a while to really move from Lebanon to France and to understand the rules. Early on, faced with a form of hostility – I won’t go so far as to say racism – I swore to myself that I would make it. When I was 11 or 12 years old, I promised myself that I would go further, higher than the French. I thought, “I’ll show them!” It was a kind of revenge, but it didn’t stem from poverty. I don’t come from a disadvantaged background. It was a form of revenge on life. At first, I hated the fact that I was different, before I understood that it would be my strength.
You lived through the September 11 attacks in New York, where you were a student. Did that affect your choice of a career?
LS Yes, clearly. I had just arrived in the city as a Sciences-Po [France’s prestigious Institute of Political Studies] exchange student at New York University. I was experiencing the pure pleasure of feeling free during the Indian summer in New York. It was a magnificent feeling of discovery. This enchanted interlude lasted until September 11. The events of that day precipitated my decision. I was born in Lebanon and had lived in exile. I had always thought I would become a journalist or be close to the torments of the planet and the world. I couldn’t live without that. I couldn’t have chosen a contemplative profession.
At the time, I was three blocks away from the World Trade Center. My roommate was in class. I heard a huge noise. I thought two trucks had collided. I couldn’t imagine what had happened. A Black mama pounded on the door and said, “You go down now.” I put on a T-shirt with no bra, flip-flops and a skirt. I went downstairs, taking only a dollar to buy a loaf of raisin bread. I saw the building burning and decided to call my family. In the line at the phone booth, people were listening to the radio. I heard about a bomb at the Pentagon. A tsunami of air suddenly knocked us to the ground. We were covered in white. I got up, with only one flip-flop left, and started running, for 45 minutes. I thought about that detail, my bra… After a while, I stopped and turned around. I saw people jumping from the second tower…
At the university, I found my roommate, Clémence, in tears. “You’re not dead,” she said. “The Twin Towers have fallen.” That’s when I understood what had happened. My parents asked me to come home, but I said no. I wanted to stay and experience that moment.
Did your family support your choice?
LS My father – who is both very Middle Eastern and very liberal – was not against it. He was more feminist than we were. His thing was: “Be a man, my daughter.” When he was raising my sister and me, he was obsessed with the idea that we should never rely on a man to support us. My father is a great Arab thinker, a great diplomat; he was a minister in Lebanon and a professor at Sciences-Po. TV was “awkward” for him – only the written press was noble. He dreamed that I would become a journalist for Le Monde or The New York Times. Even radio was a bit blasphemous for him, so TV… Don’t even mention it! Today, he looks at it all with amusement. Perhaps I was trying to provoke him.
Did you dream of being powerful?
LS Yes. When I was 20 or 25, I had an incredible desire – a rage – to succeed. Much more so than the others around me. At that time, I was very ambitious. I am much less ambitious today. At 30, I was unhappy. I told myself that I was just one of many. I wanted to do things differently, better, to live. It was pathological. But without that desire for revenge, I would have had to choose something other than journalism.
We are all inhabited by the idea of having to please our husbands, our parents, our colleagues, but at some point, we don’t want to please anymore. Léa Salamé
How do you define a powerful woman?
LS That has always fascinated me. Power has to do with a form of domination over others. Strength comes from within. Women start to perceive this around the age of 35. At some point, you are centered, in your place, where you need to be. It’s a path. It’s that moment when you are no longer afraid, when you settle your account with fear, as Christiane Taubira says. The best definition is the writer Leïla Slimani’s: “A woman’s power is having the courage to displease.” I think that’s just right. We are all inhabited by the idea of having to please our husbands, our parents, our colleagues, but at some point, we don’t want to please anymore. We have all been conditioned to give away the best piece of chicken, but at some point, we will keep it for ourselves.
Who do you see as the most powerful woman?
LS Angela Merkel. She is the embodiment of true power – economic and political. She has a way of leading without brutality. There is a way of doing things that is a form of achievement. And it is my dream to interview her.
Why did you decide to take an interest in the power of women?
LS I was uncomfortable with the topic. In 2019, during the European campaign, my companion was a candidate. My boss, Laurence Bloch, is a truly powerful woman. She and I decided that I should leave the air for a while, but I had to work during those two months. Because she is a woman of great finesse, she suggested that I interview women. I saw myself as a warrior who ignored all obstacles. I thought I had to fight with men’s weapons. Talking to women was not my thing. I had a hard time calling myself a feminist. I set off as if I were going on a trip. Those interviews became a podcast, then a book. They were a professional miracle that forced me to think against myself. Basically, my feminist fiber was beginning to form and assert itself. Her idea turned into the best experience of my career.
How does talking about female power change things?
LS I know now that I have influence. Not one day goes by without a woman telling me about it and saying it has helped her, enlightened her. Without being narcissistic, I think I can say that I have done something good, something useful for them. It has given me incredible confidence. If I get fired tomorrow from all my jobs, there will still be those powerful women.
You interview men as well as women. How can an interview change things?
LS It would be presumptuous to say that it can, but it may reveal things. There are moments of grace! In a successful interview, something happens that surprises the journalist. If not, it’s a failure.
What is your goal when you interview your guests? What do you have in mind? Are you looking for the clearest expression of their ideas? Do you want to unearth ideas from the interstices of their thoughts that have not been expressed?
LS I fine-tune the staging of the interview. I want to create a moment. Every morning, I hope something will happen. It’s easy to ask questions; anyone can ask questions, but there’s a way to engage people, through their eyes. When you can’t do that, it’s a failure.
Do you interview a powerful person in the same way as someone who is not?
LS The only distinction I make is between politicians and the rest. It’s a hell of a thing to get anything out of their way of speaking.
In the era of double-talk, how do you avoid such traps?
LS I listen. I’m always on the lookout for an opening, to the point where I am sometimes reproached for interrupting. I am a little disappointed with the political staff. Fifteen years ago, when I started, they were very different. Today – I am not going to name names – I find myself working with people who do not have the necessary strength and erudition. They don’t read anymore… Many are absorbed by the joys of being in the world of media. There is less and less vision.
Whom do you dream of interviewing?
LS Pope Francis. I am touched by the simplicity of his relationship with believers and the way he wants to reform the Church step-by-step.
Whom do you model yourself on as an interviewer?
LS Thierry Ardisson [a French TV host]. I loved his programs on the channel Paris Première – his precisely targeted provocation, his way of shocking the bourgeois with erudition and of playing with the rules. And Anne Sinclair was an early example for me, but I don’t really have a model. There is no one I dreamed of being like.
What would you do if you were a man for 24 hours?
LS I would make love to many, many women. I would love to know how to use a penis.
A seminal book?
LS The Monk by Antonin Artaud. I am interested in the transgression of a monk who falls in love, his itching flesh, and the schism between his Christianity and the need for his body.