The woman was detained in May at a rented residence on the tourist island of Lombok after police learned she had received a delivery containing liquid cannabis, narcotics officer I Nyoman Diana Mahardika said on Thursday.

According to police, the suspect told investigators that she used the cannabis vape product to alleviate knee pain and depression. Authorities said the explanation would not exempt her from prosecution under Indonesian law, which prohibits the possession, use and distribution of marijuana and cannabis-derived products.

“She must comply with the laws and regulations in force in our country. As for narcotics such as marijuana, it must not be possessed, used, or traded within our jurisdiction,” Mahardika said.

If convicted, the woman faces a maximum penalty of 20 years in prison and a fine of up to two billion rupiah ($111,000), according to police.

The case underscores the legal risks facing foreign nationals in Indonesia, which maintains some of the world’s toughest anti-drug regulations. The country retains the death penalty for drug trafficking offenses, although it has not carried out an execution since 2016.

Indonesia currently has dozens of convicted drug traffickers on death row. The last executions were conducted in 2016, when authorities executed four drug convicts by firing squad, including three Nigerian nationals and one Indonesian citizen.

The arrest follows other recent narcotics prosecutions involving foreign nationals. In March, two British men were sentenced to nine and 11 years in prison after being found guilty of smuggling cocaine to the resort island of Bali.

Authorities did not provide further details regarding the source of the cannabis liquid or indicate when formal charges may be filed.

A judge in Islamabad sentenced 22-year-old Umar Hayat to death and imposed a fine of $7,200 after convicting him of fatally shooting the 17-year-old influencer at her home in the Pakistani capital, according to court proceedings witnessed by reporters.

Investigators said Hayat killed Yousaf in June 2025 after she repeatedly rejected his advances. Surveillance footage presented during the investigation showed the accused fleeing the scene carrying the victim’s mobile phone, while Yousaf’s mother and aunt were identified as eyewitnesses to the shooting.

Speaking outside the courtroom, Yousaf’s father said the ruling delivered a broader message against gender-based violence.

“This verdict is a lesson for anyone who commits such acts,” he told journalists alongside the victim’s mother.
Hayat initially confessed to the killing during the investigation before later retracting his statement.

Under Pakistan’s legal framework, the conviction and sentence remain subject to appeal in higher courts.
Yousaf had amassed millions of followers across social media platforms, particularly on TikTok, where she shared videos related to fashion, skincare and lifestyle content. She also discussed personal relationships and social pressures, subjects that remain sensitive in Pakistan’s conservative society.

Her killing triggered widespread public outrage and renewed scrutiny of online harassment and victim blaming targeting women in the country. Social media reactions following her death included both condolences and hostile comments accusing the teenager of provoking the violence against her.

Women’s rights groups organized demonstrations in Islamabad after the killing, demanding stronger protections for women and accountability for gender-based crimes.

The case drew comparisons to several high-profile killings of women in Pakistan linked to rejected romantic advances or disputes over social behavior. In 2016, social media personality Qandeel Baloch was murdered by her brother in a so-called honor killing that shocked the country.

In 2021, Noor Mukadam was killed by her Pakistani-American boyfriend after rejecting his marriage proposal, a case that also led to a death sentence.
Rights organizations and Pakistan’s Human Rights Commission have repeatedly warned that violence against women remains pervasive, with many cases linked to patriarchal attitudes, social stigma and weak enforcement of protections for women.

TikTok has grown rapidly in Pakistan in recent years, offering younger users particularly women access to audiences and income opportunities in a country where female participation in the formal workforce remains low.

Three women who helped secure the conviction of a London man for historic sexual offences say the bond they formed during the legal process has become central to their recovery, as growing numbers of survivors of sexual violence choose to waive anonymity and speak publicly about their experiences.

Laura Hughes, Lauren Preston and Mary Sharp, now in their 40s and 50s, describe themselves collectively as “the girls,” a term they say reflects the close emotional support network that emerged after years of trauma connected to the same abuser, Martin Butler.

The women, who maintain regular contact through a WhatsApp group called Sister Solidarity, said their friendship developed after Butler was convicted for offences committed decades earlier.Martin Butler is serving a lengthy prison sentence after being convicted of the rape and buggery of Mary Sharp in 1988.

During the prosecution, Hughes and Preston provided evidence about separate abuse they said they experienced from Butler during the 1990s. Butler was later convicted in another trial involving the historic rape of an unidentified teenage victim.According to the women, Butler operated within the same community in Ruislip, where Hughes and Preston grew up and attended school together.

Sharp also lived in the area, although she did not know the other two women at the time.The women said Butler, who was significantly older than Hughes and Preston when they were teenagers, cultivated influence over vulnerable young people through parties involving alcohol and drugs at his apartment.

In 2023, the women met for the first time after Butler’s conviction in the case involving Sharp. Their decision to speak publicly later drew wider attention and became the basis for a documentary examining the long-term effects of abuse and the role of survivor solidarity.

The women’s experiences come amid broader public discussion around sexual violence and survivor testimony. In recent years, more survivors have chosen to identify themselves publicly, arguing that open discussion can challenge stigma surrounding rape cases.

Gisèle Pelicot, whose case in France drew international attention after she publicly discussed repeated drug-facilitated sexual assaults, said she hoped removing anonymity would help shift social attitudes around shame and victimhood.

Hughes, Preston and Sharp said that while Butler’s conviction represented a significant moment, the process of recovery remained difficult and uneven. All three described ongoing emotional effects linked to the abuse and the court proceedings.

“We would never allow a man to use the word ‘girls’ about us, but we use it with each other,” Hughes said. “We all have the same demon, the same monster, but we are rising together.”

The women said public exposure and revisiting traumatic experiences during legal proceedings carried emotional costs. Preston said that speaking publicly initially intensified anxiety and distress.“For about a year, I went backwards,” she said.

“I started to really suffer from anxiety.”Sharp said the psychological effects of the abuse and subsequent legal process continue to surface periodically despite the support system the women have built together.“We are not out of the woods,” Sharp said.

“I do still have wobbly moments.”Mental health specialists and victim support groups have long noted that recovery from sexual violence can involve prolonged psychological impacts, even after successful prosecutions.

Survivors may continue to experience anxiety, trauma responses and emotional distress long after court proceedings conclude.The three women said mutual support has become one of the most important factors in rebuilding confidence and stability.“I feel like I have freed my childhood self,” Hughes said.

“I can look myself in the eye now, almost as if I have become my own parent.”She added that trauma remained a permanent part of her life experience but said shared understanding among the women had changed how she copes with it.“Someone said that pain is a skin you can’t take off,” Hughes said.

“I feel that’s true with me and my trauma. But having the girls helps me cope with living in that skin and getting stronger within it.”Preston said the court proceedings and subsequent documentary project altered how she viewed herself publicly and privately.

“Everything that has happened, the court case, the documentary, it does make me hold my head up higher,” she said. “I couldn’t have done any of this by myself.

The girls give me strength.”Sharp described the friendship as an enduring emotional responsibility shared among the three women.

“I feel stronger now,” she said. “I wouldn’t do anything to upset my girls. They are part of me now.”

More than a decade ago, filmmaker Debra Granik met Coss Marte in a diner on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, where he described an idea that many investors and employers initially dismissed as unrealistic: a fitness business staffed almost entirely by people returning from prison.

Marte, a former drug dealer who had spent years incarcerated before the age of 27, had developed a personal prison-cell workout routine while serving time and emerged with a plan to turn that discipline into a business model. His proposal was simple but unconventional for New York’s boutique fitness market build a gym where formerly incarcerated people would not only find work, but also become trainers, mentors and examples of successful re-entry into society.

That idea became Conbody, a fitness company that now stands as both a business and a social intervention in one of New York City’s most rapidly changing neighborhoods.

It is also the subject of Conbody vs Everybody, Granik’s five-hour documentary series released on the Criterion Channel in the United States, tracing more than a decade of struggle, expansion and institutional resistance around Marte’s effort to create employment pathways away from the prison system.

Granik, known for films such as Winter’s Bone and Leave No Trace, originally intended to make a drama about life after incarceration. Instead, she found in Marte a long-form documentary subject whose personal story reflected broader structural questions about criminal justice, housing, labor access and urban inequality.

“He was defying all the odds,” Granik said, reflecting on their first meeting. Marte’s ambition was not only to avoid returning to prison, but to build an enterprise that could help others avoid the same cycle. “He was using all his energy to not get re-ensnared in the criminal justice system,” she said.

Marte grew up on the Lower East Side as the son of Dominican immigrants. His mother worked in a clothing factory and his father operated a neighborhood bodega. After returning from prison, he found that the area had changed dramatically. Boutique fitness studios were multiplying, rents were rising and wealthier residents were moving into what had long been a working-class immigrant neighborhood.

He recognized both a challenge and an opportunity. He believed affluent customers would pay for intense bodyweight workouts modeled on prison training routines, particularly if the business was framed around second chances and social impact. Conbody marketed its classes with slogans such as “do the time,” combining hard physical training with the personal narratives of its instructors.

Marte proved adept at navigating two worlds at once. He sold customers on the fitness experience while persuading investors to support a business model many viewed as too risky because of its workforce. Some openly questioned whether formerly incarcerated employees could be trusted in a customer-facing environment.

The skepticism reflected a broader contradiction in the startup culture of the mid-2010s, Granik said: the public celebration of entrepreneurship as universally accessible often collapsed when social stigma and financial gatekeeping entered the picture. Investors praised innovation in theory, but many hesitated when the founders or staff had criminal records.

The barriers extended beyond funding. One early Conbody location was forced to move because it shared a building with a preschool, raising objections over the presence of former prisoners nearby. Some employees also faced parole restrictions that made ordinary employment nearly impossible. In certain cases, associating with other formerly incarcerated people could itself violate parole terms, creating what Granik described as institutional mechanisms that made re-entry harder rather than easier.

One of the documentary’s early episodes follows Marte and trainer Sultan Malik trying to help a coworker jailed at Rikers Island over parole violations tied to commuting from Long Island to teach fitness classes in Manhattan. The case highlighted how employment itself could become a legal risk for people trying to rebuild their lives.As the business stabilized financially, the role of Conbody expanded.

It became not only a workplace but also an informal support system for employees navigating housing insecurity, grief and rejection from mainstream employers.The documentary follows Tommy, who after spending 27 years incarcerated struggles to secure stable housing and temporarily sleeps at the gym.

Another trainer, Jamal, faces the loss of his son to gun violence. Syretta, one of the few female instructors and someone rebuilding life after nearly 23 years in prison, works toward ending years of parole supervision while establishing herself professionally in fitness.

Many employees secured interviews with mainstream gyms only to be turned away once criminal background checks were completed. The pattern reinforced a reality Marte frequently confronted: society often speaks of rehabilitation while maintaining barriers that make reintegration financially and socially fragile.

The physical transformation of the Lower East Side runs parallel to the human stories in the documentary. Luxury apartment towers replaced older tenement buildings, and commercial rents surged. Real estate marketing promoted the area as a place “at the intersection of grit and glamour,” while longtime residents and small businesses faced displacement.Conbody itself was forced to relocate after its lease was not renewed.

In one sequence, Marte and his team walk through vacant storefronts where monthly rents ranged from $20,000 to $30,000, figures that placed long-term survival in constant doubt.The documentary also captures one of the decade’s stranger symbols of urban branding: Conbody running a prison-themed fitness pop-up inside Saks Fifth Avenue, complete with chain-link fence imagery and staged “mug shots” for clients.

The luxury retailer reportedly viewed the concept as a way to increase foot traffic and encourage shopping through experiential fitness.For Granik, these moments illustrated gentrification not as an abstract policy term, but as a daily accumulation of notices, rent increases and quiet removals. She said the neighborhood’s transformation became inseparable from the story of re-entry because economic displacement and criminal stigma often reinforced each other.

Politics also entered the family story. Marte’s younger brother, Christopher Marte, became active in organizing against displacement and privatization, later winning election to the New York City Council in 2022 after years of grassroots activism and involvement in Black Lives Matter protests.

Coss Marte, initially more focused on private entrepreneurship than public protest, gradually expanded his own advocacy beyond business. By the end of the documentary, he is visiting prisons across the country, leading fitness classes and speaking directly with incarcerated people about life after release.

He argues that meaningful justice begins not at sentencing reform but at re-entry through immediate work, housing and income rather than symbolic second chances.“I feel like what we’re doing is real justice,” Marte said. “It’s a different justice when you get out and you have a check in week one, instead of $40 and a bus ticket.”In New York, about 188,000 people are released from prison each year, a figure cited throughout the documentary.

Conbody and Marte’s cannabis business, Conbud, employ only dozens of them, but he sees each job as a direct challenge to a system built around permanent exclusion.The team now works with youth in juvenile facilities, trains people inside Rikers Island and continues hiring formerly incarcerated workers. Marte says the goal is not simply employment, but changing how people view those leaving prison.“If they’re seeing somebody come out of the system,” he said, “look at them different and change perceptions.”

Kyrgyzstan has reaffirmed its commitment to abolishing the death penalty following a period of intense public debate triggered by a high-profile criminal case, with authorities and international partners emphasizing prevention and rule-of-law reforms as more effective responses to violent crime.

The debate emerged after the rape and murder of a young girl in September 2025, which prompted widespread public outrage and calls for the reinstatement of capital punishment. The issue quickly gained political traction, culminating in a formal proposal by President Sadyr Japarov to seek a constitutional review of whether the death penalty could be reintroduced.

The Constitutional Court delivered its ruling on 10 December 2025, concluding that reinstating capital punishment would violate Kyrgyzstan’s international treaty obligations, which are embedded within its constitutional framework. The decision effectively blocked any immediate return to the death penalty and reinforced the country’s legal commitments under international law.

Kyrgyzstan has maintained a moratorium on executions since 1998 and formally abolished the death penalty in 2010 following its ratification of the Second Optional Protocol to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. The protocol obliges signatory states to take all necessary measures to prevent the reintroduction of capital punishment.

The United Nations human rights office played a consultative role throughout the process. According to Matilda Bogner, Regional Representative for Central Asia, the office engaged with both executive and judicial authorities to provide guidance on international legal standards and treaty obligations.

“It is positive to see that despite an initiative that appeared to have strong public backing but did not comply with international obligations, the rule of law approach ultimately prevailed in Kyrgyzstan,” Bogner said.The episode has also prompted broader discussions within the country about the nature of justice, particularly in cases involving serious violent crime.

While public sentiment in the aftermath of the incident favored harsher punitive measures, international human rights officials have argued that such approaches are not supported by evidence as effective deterrents.UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Türk said that while the crimes cited by authorities were “clearly appalling” and required accountability, there is no empirical basis to conclude that capital punishment reduces the incidence of serious offenses.

He called instead for responses grounded in prevention, victim protection, and institutional strengthening.Türk emphasized the need for a “well-resourced, victim-centred approach” to tackling violence, particularly sexual and gender-based violence.

This approach, he said, should focus on improving access to justice and ensuring that systems are capable of responding effectively to early warning signs.Bogner echoed this perspective, noting that a predictable and consistent rule-of-law framework is more effective in preventing violence than reintroducing capital punishment into a system that may lack uniformity in enforcement. “A rule of law process that is predictable is a better form of prevention of egregious cases,” she said.

The focus on prevention has translated into ongoing institutional reforms. The UN human rights office is working with Kyrgyzstan’s Ministry of Internal Affairs to develop a new risk assessment system aimed at strengthening early intervention in cases of gender-based violence. The system is intended to enable law enforcement agencies to identify potential risks, monitor evolving situations, and take timely action to prevent escalation.

Authorities in Kyrgyzstan have also reiterated their commitment to upholding international legal standards following the Constitutional Court’s decision. Officials, including representatives from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, have emphasized the importance of maintaining adherence to the rule of law while addressing public concerns over safety and justice.

The case highlights the challenges faced by governments in balancing public demand for punitive measures with international legal obligations and evidence-based policy approaches. It also underscores the broader shift in international human rights discourse toward prevention-focused strategies, particularly in addressing gender-based violence.

Efforts to strengthen legal and institutional frameworks are seen as critical to improving outcomes for victims. This includes ensuring that police and judicial systems are adequately resourced, capable of responding promptly to complaints, and equipped to handle sensitive cases involving women and girls.

The UN human rights office has indicated that its engagement with Kyrgyz authorities will continue, with a focus on building systems that prioritize accountability and prevention. The approach aligns with broader international efforts to address gender-based violence through structural reforms rather than punitive escalation.

The developments in Kyrgyzstan reflect an evolving policy stance in which adherence to international obligations and evidence-based approaches are being prioritized over retributive measures, even in the face of strong public pressure following serious criminal incidents.

The suspect, Park Wang-yeol, was serving a 60-year sentence for the murder of three South Koreans when he was transferred to Seoul for investigation.

Authorities said the extradition was arranged after President Lee Jae Myung requested cooperation from Philippine President Ferdinand Marcos Jr during a summit earlier.

Officials from South Korea’s foreign and justice ministries said the transfer was conducted under a temporary clause that suspends the inmate’s sentence in the Philippines to allow prosecution at home. Park arrived in Seoul under police escort and was immediately placed in custody.

Authorities allege that Park, believed to be 47, orchestrated a drug trafficking operation from prison, coordinating with accomplices in South Korea to smuggle and distribute large quantities of illegal narcotics.

Justice ministry and police officials declined to confirm details regarding the scale or financial value of the operation. However, some local media reports have estimated that the network distributed up to 60 kilograms of methamphetamine per month, with a street value of around 30 billion won (about $20 million).

South Korea has reported a steady rise in illegal drug use in recent years, despite stringent enforcement measures and crackdowns targeting imports and domestic distribution networks.

Security concerns over prison operationsOfficials said Park had escaped from Philippine custody twice, citing lapses in prison supervision that allegedly allowed inmates access to smuggled mobile phones to continue criminal activities.

In a statement, South Korea’s foreign ministry said bringing Park to trial domestically was necessary to prevent similar cases of criminals directing illegal operations while incarcerated abroad.

President Lee also expressed gratitude to Marcos, stating that authorities would pursue individuals harming the country “to the end of the earth.

”Philippine officials were not immediately available for comment.