The three men, taken to Syria by their parents at the age of 11 or 12, were allegedly forced to participate in propaganda activities, policing duties and combat roles under Islamic State, according to legal filings submitted in France.

A source familiar with the case said the detainees are seeking recognition as victims of a war crime due to their recruitment as minors.Their lawyers, Marie Dose and Matthieu Bagard, said in a joint statement that the French authorities were failing to uphold obligations under international conventions prohibiting the use of child soldiers.

They argued that the men’s transfer to Iraq and continued detention amounted to inhumane treatment rather than victim protection.The detainees are among approximately 5,700 suspected Islamic State fighters of multiple nationalities transferred from Syria to Iraqi custody earlier this year, following shifts in territorial control in northern Syria.

France has opened investigations into the three men for alleged terrorism-related offenses committed during their time in Syria.The lawyers contend that, instead of pursuing prosecution, French authorities should prioritize repatriation and rehabilitation, citing the circumstances under which the individuals were recruited and their age at the time.

Hundreds of French citizens joined the Islamic State after it seized large areas of Iraq and Syria in 2014 and declared a so-called caliphate. Iraqi authorities, supported by a U.S.-led coalition, declared victory over the group in 2017, while Kurdish-led forces in Syria defeated its remaining strongholds in 2019.

Since then, thousands of suspected fighters and their families have been held in detention facilities across Syria and Iraq. Kurdish authorities in Syria have repeatedly called on foreign governments to repatriate their nationals, but most Western countries, including France, have proceeded cautiously, often handling returns on a case-by-case basis.

The recent transfer of detainees to Iraq has renewed scrutiny over their legal status and future, particularly in cases involving individuals recruited as minors.

In London, Wolfgang began searching for his father with growing urgency after losing contact with him in the United Arab Emirates. Unable to reach Albert directly, he contacted associates in the country and began tracing possible leads.

Initial concerns centred on reports of violence along border regions, where Wolfgang believed smugglers might have been involved. He organised searches along known transit routes and contacted hospitals and police authorities, but no information emerged during the first week.

Roughly ten days later, Wolfgang received a call from an unfamiliar UAE number. Albert, speaking amid audible background noise, confirmed he was alive but in distress. By that point, he had already spent days in solitary confinement, according to his account.The episode unfolded against a backdrop of heightened regional instability that has begun to affect perceptions of the UAE as a secure destination for foreign residents.

In recent weeks, missile strikes linked to the conflict involving Iran have disrupted daily life in parts of the country, prompting some expatriates and visitors to leave. The developments have challenged the long-standing narrative of the UAE as a stable regional hub.Authorities have also tightened information controls during the crisis.

Influencers, who have required government licensing since 2025, along with members of the public, have been warned against sharing unverified footage of attacks. Violations carry the risk of fines or imprisonment. Reports indicate that more than 20 individuals, including a British tourist, have faced charges related to the dissemination of such material.

Before the escalation in regional tensions, the UAE hosted an estimated 250,000 British expatriates, many concentrated in Dubai and Abu Dhabi. The country has attracted foreign professionals and entrepreneurs with low taxation, modern infrastructure and business opportunities.

At the same time, its legal and political framework differs significantly from Western systems, with restrictions on political activity, strict social regulations and extensive surveillance infrastructure.Wolfgang and Albert were among earlier waves of expatriates who built businesses during periods of rapid development. Wolfgang described a social environment in which expatriates were integrated into high-profile networks, often participating in events that showcased Dubai’s global image.

He said expatriates like himself were used to project success, describing the experience as “the proof in the pudding” of opportunity in the city.Albert, however, characterised his time in the UAE differently, focusing primarily on work and family life. He said he avoided risky or informal business practices, believing that legal processes in the country operated fairly.

That assumption changed after his detention.According to Albert, his legal situation deteriorated rapidly. He described escalating legal costs, asset seizures and pressure from creditors as his case moved through the courts. Legal advice he received suggested that his chances of success were limited.

He said he had not previously encountered the concept of financial entrapment, but claimed that many inmates he later met had faced similar circumstances.As legal avenues narrowed, Wolfgang explored options to extract his father from the country.

He said he arranged contact with a people-smuggling network in London and agreed to pay £20,000 for an operation that would move Albert across borders through a multi-stage route involving land and sea transit. The plan involved crossing into Iran and eventually reaching Pakistan before returning to the United Kingdom using emergency documentation.

Albert’s detention continued during this period. He was eventually transferred in June 2021 to Al Awir prison in Dubai, a large facility on the outskirts of the city. There, he shared a cell with multiple inmates, including individuals from various national backgrounds. He described conditions as overcrowded, with up to 15 prisoners sharing limited sleeping arrangements and basic amenities.

Foreign nationals make up a significant proportion of the UAE’s prison population, reflecting the country’s broader demographic composition. Many detainees come from South Asia, often linked to labour migration under the kafala system, which ties workers’ legal status to their employers.

Albert said that living conditions depended in part on access to financial support from outside the prison. He reported paying for basic items, including a chair to accommodate a pre-existing back condition. Access to facilities such as gyms and libraries was limited, with long waiting periods.

Daily life inside the prison was marked by inactivity and restricted communication. Albert said visits from family and legal representatives were blocked, and he developed coping mechanisms to manage extended periods of confinement. He described irregular sleep patterns and persistent noise within the facility.He also said he was pressured to sign legal documents written in Arabic, a language he did not understand.

He maintained that his case involved coercion and lacked transparency, though no official response to these claims was provided in the material.The experience has highlighted broader tensions within the UAE’s model of economic openness combined with strict legal enforcement.

While the country continues to attract foreign investment and talent, cases involving expatriates have drawn attention to the risks associated with its legal system, particularly for individuals unfamiliar with local regulations.

Wolfgang’s account underscores the challenges faced by families attempting to navigate cross-border legal disputes in jurisdictions with differing legal frameworks.

His efforts to locate and assist his father unfolded alongside a shifting geopolitical environment that has begun to affect both the perception and lived reality of expatriate life in the Gulf.

Chirinne Ardakani, a France-based lawyer representing Mohammadi, said two Iranian lawyers and the activist’s sister visited her at Zanjan Prison on Sunday and found her in a weakened condition.

According to Ardakani, Mohammadi, 53, appeared pale, had lost significant weight and was being assisted by a nurse during the visit. Mohammadi told her lawyers that she had been unconscious for more than an hour on March 24 and was later informed by a prison doctor that she had likely suffered a heart attack.

She has since experienced recurring chest pain and breathing difficulties, Ardakani said, adding that Mohammadi described her condition as severe.The lawyer said authorities have denied requests to transfer Mohammadi to a hospital or allow her to see a cardiologist.

Direct communication with Mohammadi’s Iran-based lawyers was not immediately possible, as they do not speak to media. Ardakani said an internet blackout in Iran has further restricted information flow, noting that speaking to foreign media without authorization can lead to prison sentences.

A prison official was present during the visit, which was brief.Background and legal statusMohammadi, a rights lawyer, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2023 while in prison.

She was arrested again in December in Mashhad and sentenced to an additional seven years in prison following a ruling by a Revolutionary Court.Prior to that, she had been serving a sentence of 13 years and nine months on charges related to national security and propaganda, though she had been released on medical furlough in late 2024.

Her husband, Taghi Rahmani, previously said her health had deteriorated following alleged physical abuse during her December arrest.

Mohammadi has a history of heart problems and has suffered multiple heart attacks in custody, undergoing emergency surgery in 2022, according to her supporters.

The Nobel Committee last month criticized what it described as life-threatening mistreatment of Mohammadi by Iranian authorities.

At the edge of Cancún in the Mexican state of Quintana Roo, a high-security penitentiary known as Cereso stands behind barbed wire, watchtowers and military surveillance.

The complex houses both male inmates and a separate women’s section known as Modulo 2, where 284 women are currently held.Daily life inside follows a rigid routine. Time is structured around chores, workshops and administrative schedules, with little variation.

Movement is controlled, and activities are closely supervised, reflecting a system designed to impose order and predictability.Until recently, however, the prison operated under markedly different conditions. Just two years ago, Cereso was widely regarded as one of the most dangerous facilities in Mexico.

According to accounts from within the system, male inmates exerted significant control, while a shortage of guards undermined basic security and oversight.In response, the government of Quintana Roo intervened with the backing of the army, installing new leadership and reasserting institutional control.

The facility has since undergone extensive renovation, with upgraded infrastructure and a shift in administrative approach.

Under the new administration, the prison has introduced a framework centred on rehabilitation. Mental health support has become a key component of this approach, particularly within the women’s wing. Six psychologists are assigned to Modulo 2, providing regular counselling and psychosocial workshops aimed at preparing inmates for eventual reintegration into society.

Officials have structured programmes to address behavioural, emotional and social challenges faced by inmates, many of whom come from backgrounds marked by poverty, marginalisation and unstable living conditions.

These factors, while not excusing criminal conduct, are frequently cited by prison authorities as shaping the trajectories that led many women into the justice system.Within the facility, six women have given birth during their incarceration.

Their children are allowed to remain with them until the age of three, after which custody is transferred to relatives. A designated area for mothers and young children has been adapted to include play spaces and child-friendly features, though it remains firmly within the confines of a controlled prison environment.

The population of Modulo 2 reflects the broader dynamics of Mexico’s criminal justice system. Many inmates have been convicted of serious offences, including human trafficking, sexual exploitation, drug-related crimes and, in some cases, murder.

At the same time, a significant number remain in pre-trial detention, sometimes for extended periods lasting several years. The judicial system in Mexico has faced criticism for delays, particularly following the adoption of stricter criminal policies that have increased reliance on detention before trial.

While legal frameworks do not formally differentiate between men and women in sentencing, inmates and observers point to gender-specific challenges. Social and family circumstances are often cited in proceedings, and women may face forms of discrimination linked to their roles within households and communities.

Those awaiting trial frequently maintain their innocence, underscoring the uncertainty that accompanies prolonged detention.

Despite the restrictive environment, moments of personal expression continue to emerge within Modulo 2. A photography project named after the women’s wing documents how inmates assert a sense of identity through small, regulated acts such as applying makeup, styling hair or grooming nails.

Access to beauty products is limited and tightly controlled, available only during designated periods under supervision. Yet these brief intervals alter the atmosphere within the facility. Participants adopt more confident postures, engage more openly and, in some cases, reveal aspects of themselves that remain otherwise concealed.

For some inmates, these acts carry particular significance. Blanca, who is serving a 54-year sentence, the longest in the facility, learned to read and write during her time in prison. She has filled notebooks with handwritten reflections and drawings, including a song she composed titled “mi último lugar,” or “my last place,” which she describes as a meditation on a life trajectory reshaped by incarceration.

Observers involved in the project say such expressions do not diminish the seriousness of the crimes committed or the structural inequalities embedded in the penal system. Instead, they highlight the complexity of life inside prison, where discipline and control coexist with resilience, creativity and interpersonal connection.

While prisons in Mexico are often associated with overcrowding and violence, conditions vary across regions. Cereso, following its restructuring, presents a more controlled environment, though challenges remain.

Sentences are lengthy, oversight is constant and opportunities are limited.Within these constraints, inmates continue to form bonds, share experiences and, at times, reclaim elements of their identity.

The resulting portrait is neither one of redemption nor condemnation, but of a system in transition and the individuals navigating its boundaries.