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.”

Survivors of torture from multiple regions are advocating for the adoption of a new international framework aimed at strengthening accountability, rehabilitation, and recognition, as the United Nations intensifies efforts to address gaps in justice systems worldwide.

The proposed Charter of Rights of Victims and Survivors of Torture, developed over three years through consultations and regional hearings, was presented at the 61st session of the Human Rights Council in March 2026 by UN Special Rapporteur on Torture Alice Edwards.

The document outlines standards intended to guide states in addressing the long-term consequences of torture, with a focus on survivor participation and access to justice.The charter draws on more than 120 submissions from survivors globally and reflects recurring patterns identified across different regions.

According to Edwards, survivors frequently face a second phase of hardship after the abuse itself, marked by difficulties in securing recognition, accessing healthcare, and navigating complex legal systems.“Many described a second struggle: to be believed, to access care, to navigate complex institutions, and to obtain legal recognition,” Edwards said, adding that institutional barriers often prolong suffering rather than alleviate it.

The initiative has been supported by organizations working with survivors, including those funded through the UN Voluntary Fund for Victims of Torture. It seeks to shift the focus of anti-torture frameworks toward long-term recovery and systemic reform, rather than solely prohibition and punishment.

For survivors such as Shireen Khudeeda, a Yazidi woman abducted during the 2014 attacks by Islamic State in Iraq’s Sinjar region, the consequences of torture extend far beyond physical harm. Held in captivity for three years and subjected to severe abuse, Khudeeda now advocates for justice, including the identification of mass graves and support for affected communities.

“Sometimes when it’s physical you can treat it, but torture in your soul you can never heal it,” she said, reflecting on the enduring psychological impact of her experience.More than a decade after the attacks, many Yazidi families remain without closure, with missing relatives yet to be accounted for.

Khudeeda said that even when answers emerge, they can reignite trauma, citing the identification of her father’s remains as a moment that brought both confirmation and renewed grief.In Mexico, Italia Méndez, a survivor of sexual torture during a 2006 police operation in San Salvador Atenco, continues to pursue justice nearly two decades after the events. Her case, along with those of other women, was recognized by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights in 2018.

Despite this ruling, Méndez said access to adequate medical care and reparations remains limited.“We have a binding judgment and yet we still have not been able to access even the most basic thing, which is dignified and specialised medical care,” she said, describing ongoing challenges in receiving treatment for the long-term effects of torture.

Méndez emphasized that her advocacy is collective, reflecting a broader effort by survivors to prevent recurrence and address systemic impunity. She said continued legal action remains necessary to secure accountability and meaningful redress.In Burundi, Donatien Ndabigeze, a survivor of political violence linked to the 2015 crisis, has pursued justice through international mechanisms.

His case was recognized by the UN Committee Against Torture, which found the state responsible for violations. Ndabigeze said the decision affirmed the severity of the abuses and underscored the importance of international accountability mechanisms.“My case is not only personal; it reflects the situation of many Burundians,” he said, adding that access to justice often requires engagement beyond national systems when domestic remedies are unavailable.

The experiences of these survivors illustrate broader structural challenges identified in the charter. Edwards noted that justice processes are often fragmented and slow, with accountability typically achieved through cumulative efforts involving documentation, litigation, and sustained advocacy.“Accountability rarely happens through a single dramatic moment. It is usually cumulative,” she said.

The charter emphasizes that survivors should play an active role in shaping policies and institutions designed to address torture. It calls for their inclusion not only as witnesses but as stakeholders in decision-making processes, reflecting a shift toward participatory approaches in human rights governance.“Survivors are not merely witnesses to atrocity.

They are rights-holders, advocates and architects of positive change,” Edwards said, cautioning against tokenistic engagement that limits participation to symbolic gestures.For Méndez, the initiative represents a significant step toward recognizing the expertise of survivors. She said incorporating their perspectives into policy design is essential to ensuring that justice mechanisms are responsive and effective.

The charter outlines key areas for reform, including ensuring access to rehabilitation services, strengthening legal recognition, preventing re-traumatization, and establishing safeguards to avoid recurrence. It also underscores the need for systems that restore dignity and rebuild trust between individuals and institutions.

Khudeeda said that speaking out is a necessary part of that process, particularly for communities that have experienced large-scale atrocities. “Because we lost everything, there is nothing else to lose,” she said, describing advocacy as a means of demanding accountability and recognition.

Ndabigeze similarly highlighted the importance of visibility, noting that survivor testimony can challenge societal silence and bring attention to the human impact behind statistical data.The charter is intended as a practical framework for states, with proponents urging governments to adopt and implement its provisions.

Edwards said that embedding survivor perspectives into policy design could improve both prevention and response mechanisms.“If the Charter were implemented, survivors would no longer feel invisible,” she said, adding that timely access to rehabilitation and meaningful participation would strengthen trust in institutions.The initiative comes amid broader international efforts to enhance accountability for human rights violations and improve support systems for victims. By centring the experiences of survivors, the charter aims to address longstanding gaps in justice systems and reinforce global commitments to preventing torture and supporting those affected by it.

“Justice after torture restores dignity — and only when trust is rebuilt can societies prosper and thrive,” Edwards said.

A British woman convicted on terrorism-related charges after traveling to Syria has described her trajectory from personal vulnerability and radicalisation to imprisonment and eventual reintegration into society, offering a detailed account of the personal, legal and social consequences of her actions.

The woman, identified as Shakil, said her early life was marked by instability, including regular visits to her father in prison. She described a determination during adolescence to pursue a different path, excelling academically and enrolling at university to study psychology.

However, at age 20, she entered into a relationship that she said quickly became controlling. Within a year, she had married and left her studies.Shakil stated that the relationship resulted in social isolation and restricted communication, including periods during which she did not have access to a phone.

She distanced herself from family members, citing fear of disclosing her circumstances. During this period, she became involved with individuals who facilitated her travel to Syria via Turkey. She later told authorities that she concealed the truth from her family out of concern that she would lose access to her child.

Following her return, Shakil was released on bail and allowed limited contact with her son. She described this period as the most difficult phase of her life, marked by severe emotional distress and close monitoring by family members concerned about her safety.

After several months, she was formally charged with joining the Islamic State group and encouraging acts of terrorism, based on digital communications and social media activity during her time in Syria.In court proceedings, prosecutors presented messages in which Shakil expressed support for extremist causes and encouraged others to join her.

One message indicated a desire to die as a martyr. Additional evidence included photographs recovered from her phone, among them an image of her young child holding an assault rifle. Shakil denied the charges, arguing that she had not formally joined the group and that her actions were influenced by coercion and surveillance within Syria.

The presiding judge rejected her account, citing inconsistencies in her statements and the nature of the evidence. The court emphasized the risks posed to her child, including exposure to extremist ideology. Shakil was found guilty on both counts and sentenced to six years in prison.

Her case unfolded against the broader backdrop of the territorial defeat of Islamic State, marked by the fall of Baghouz in March 2019. Around the same time, another British national, Shamima Begum, re-emerged in a refugee camp.

Begum had left the United Kingdom as a minor and later became the subject of international attention when her citizenship was revoked by the British government on national security grounds. Authorities argued that she was eligible for citizenship elsewhere through her family, a claim that has been contested in ongoing legal proceedings.

Shakil drew a distinction between her own case and that of Begum, while acknowledging similarities in their circumstances. She expressed the view that Begum had been groomed as a minor, but argued that differences in their experiences, including the duration of time spent in Syria, shaped their respective outcomes.

Following her conviction, Shakil served approximately half of her sentence, including time spent on remand, before being released under strict probation conditions. These included geographic restrictions, limits on contact with family members, electronic monitoring, and a curfew.

Despite these constraints, she secured employment in multiple roles, including cleaning, hospitality and administrative work, often holding more than one job simultaneously.After completing her probationary period in 2021, Shakil began to speak publicly about her experiences.

She participated in a documentary and media appearances aimed at raising awareness about online grooming and radicalisation. She described her actions as the result of vulnerability and manipulation, while acknowledging public skepticism regarding such claims.

Efforts to establish a charitable initiative focused on educating young people about extremism did not materialize, which she attributed in part to a lack of public trust. She continued to receive negative reactions online but indicated that such responses did not significantly affect her.

In the years following her release, Shakil reported gradual improvements in her personal circumstances. Contact with her son was eventually restored, and she described rebuilding relationships with family and establishing a stable social network. By 2024, she indicated that she had reached a level of stability that had previously seemed unattainable.

More recently, she has used social media platforms to engage with audiences on topics including relationships, self-esteem and personal development. While she does not regularly discuss her past, she views her current lifestyle and public presence as part of a broader effort to demonstrate the possibility of rehabilitation.

Shakil remains subject to long-term monitoring requirements and continues to report regularly to law enforcement authorities, a condition that will remain in place until 2034. She stated that she accepts these measures as part of the consequences of her actions.

Her account reflects the intersection of personal vulnerability, extremist recruitment, legal accountability and reintegration challenges, illustrating the long-term implications of involvement in conflict zones and proscribed organisations.

Singer-songwriter Angelo De Augustine has described a prolonged and debilitating illness that disrupted his career at a critical moment of rising recognition, forcing him into years of recovery and prompting a reassessment of both his creative process and personal priorities.

De Augustine said the episode began on Halloween in 2022 at his home in Los Angeles, when he experienced acute neurological symptoms before collapsing. Family members transported him to hospital, where he underwent several days of testing.

Despite extensive evaluation, doctors were unable to establish a definitive diagnosis and discharged him with instructions to return if symptoms worsened significantly.“I was conscious most of the time,” he said, noting that he experienced impaired hearing, limited vision and loss of motor control. He added that he retained only partial memory of the episode.

Following his discharge, De Augustine remained physically incapacitated and uncertain about his prognosis. During this period, he focused on completing Toil and Trouble, an album he had been working on for approximately a year prior to the incident.

He said the decision was driven by both professional commitment and concern about his health outlook. “I didn’t think I would survive the illness,” he said, adding that he was unable to perform routine physical tasks while finishing the project.The album was released in 2023, adding to a catalogue that had been gaining attention in recent years.

After his debut Spirals of Silence in 2014, De Augustine signed to Asthmatic Kitty for his 2017 album Swim Inside the Moon. He later collaborated with Sufjan Stevens on the 2021 album A Beginner’s Mind. His 2019 track Time, from the album Tomb, gained wider exposure after being featured in the 2023 film A Good Person, becoming his most streamed song.

However, De Augustine said he was unable to engage with the increased attention due to his health condition.In the years following the illness, he underwent a gradual rehabilitation process that included relearning basic functions such as walking, speaking, hearing and performing music.

He described recovery as uneven, characterised by incremental improvement interspersed with setbacks. He temporarily returned to live with his mother due to his inability to manage daily activities independently.

De Augustine said emerging scientific discussions around the central nervous system may offer some explanation for his condition, although he emphasised that no formal diagnosis has been confirmed. He referred to the concept of allostatic load, describing it as the cumulative burden of chronic stress on the body’s regulatory systems.

According to his account, prolonged stress may have contributed to a breakdown in normal neurological functioning, leading to widespread physical symptoms. He identified the pressures associated with sustaining a career in the music industry as a potential contributing factor.

During recovery, he introduced structured physical and mental exercises into his routine and reported gradual improvement. He also identified therapeutic benefits from water-based activity, noting that symptoms temporarily subsided while he was in a pool, which he interpreted as an indication of stress-related triggers.

The experience has informed his subsequent album, Angel in Plainclothes, which incorporates themes of physical vulnerability and altered perception. De Augustine said several tracks reflect on the loss and gradual return of sensory and cognitive functions. He described one of the lead songs as capturing a sense of detachment from reality, comparing it to observing life without feeling fully present.

Due to physical limitations, De Augustine departed from his earlier approach of independently recording and producing his music. Instead, he collaborated with other musicians and producers, including Thomas Bartlett, who contributed piano arrangements, and Jonathan Wilson, who provided studio space and instrumentation.

His mother, a professional vocalist, also contributed to the recording process.He said the album’s sound was shaped in part by the use of a range of unconventional and antique instruments, reflecting an ongoing interest in exploring varied tonal textures. Recording sessions were conducted intermittently, depending on his physical condition at the time.

De Augustine resumed live performances in 2025 after a five-year hiatus, describing the experience as a controlled reintroduction to public performance. He said the return involved measured steps rather than a full-scale resumption of touring, citing ongoing health considerations.Reflecting on the period, De Augustine said the illness led him to reconsider his earlier approach to music and work.

He indicated that a singular focus on songwriting may have contributed to prolonged stress, and said his current priority is maintaining a more balanced lifestyle while continuing creative work.

He described his present condition as a combination of partial recovery and adaptation, noting that he does not yet consider himself fully restored to his previous state.

A new documentary revisits the life and career of Lamar Odom, examining the circumstances that led to his near-fatal overdose in 2015 and the personal and professional consequences that followed.

The film, part of Untold, presents a detailed account of Odom’s trajectory from a prominent National Basketball Association player to a figure defined by struggles with addiction and loss.

Directed by Ryan Duffy, the documentary situates Odom’s life within a broader narrative shaped by early exposure to trauma. Duffy said Odom’s experiences can be understood as a prolonged response to repeated encounters with loss, beginning in childhood.

Odom’s mother died of colon cancer when he was 10, and his father struggled with heroin addiction, remaining largely absent from his upbringing.Odom rose to prominence as a versatile forward, achieving success with the Los Angeles Lakers, where he won two NBA championships alongside Kobe Bryant.

His playing style, characterised by positional flexibility, has been widely noted in basketball analysis as anticipating the modern emphasis on multi-role athletes. Despite these achievements, the documentary underscores how his career was repeatedly overshadowed by personal challenges.

The central event examined in the film is Odom’s medical emergency in October 2015, when he was found unconscious at the Love Ranch. Reports at the time indicated he had been on a prolonged drug binge.

According to the documentary, Odom suffered kidney failure, multiple heart attacks and a series of strokes. He was placed in a medically induced coma, with doctors initially expressing concern about the likelihood of survival without lasting neurological damage.

The incident drew widespread media attention, becoming one of the most high-profile sports-related crises of the period. Data from Google Trends showed Odom as the most searched living individual that year, reflecting the scale of public interest.

Coverage in tabloid media framed the episode as the culmination of ongoing substance abuse issues, which had previously resulted in legal difficulties, including a 2013 driving under the influence conviction.At the time of the incident, Odom’s personal life was also under scrutiny due to his relationship with Khloé Kardashian.

The documentary provides new details about their marriage, which began shortly after they met at an event connected to Ron Artest in 2009. Kardashian describes the rapid progression of their relationship, including their marriage within a month and Odom’s involvement in her family’s expanding reality television presence.

Kardashian’s account also addresses the impact of Odom’s substance use and infidelity on their relationship. She said she took active steps to manage the public narrative around his behaviour, including intervening in situations that might have attracted media attention.

Following an unsuccessful intervention in 2013, she filed for divorce, though the process was not finalised at the time of Odom’s hospitalization.According to the documentary, this legal status enabled Kardashian to act as Odom’s next of kin during his medical crisis, influencing decisions regarding his treatment.

She claims she played a role in ensuring life-sustaining measures were maintained during a critical period. The film also includes her reflection that her actions may have inadvertently enabled Odom’s addiction.Odom does not dispute these accounts in the documentary.

Instead, he acknowledges the impact of his behaviour on those around him, including his children. His daughter, Destiny, describes a pattern in which Odom avoided prolonged reflection on personal setbacks, focusing instead on moving forward.

The film suggests this approach may have functioned as a coping mechanism shaped by earlier experiences of loss, including the death of his infant son in 2006.The documentary also features commentary from Phil Jackson, who coached Odom during his tenure with the Lakers.

Jackson describes Odom as a team-oriented player who contributed to a collective dynamic, while also noting the challenges posed by his off-court life. Jackson’s perspective adds a professional dimension to the narrative, situating Odom’s personal struggles within the context of team performance and league expectations.

Duffy said Kardashian’s participation in the project significantly influenced its structure. Initially planned as a secondary element, her interview expanded in scope following an extended on-camera discussion, leading to substantial revisions in the film’s editing process.

Her account provides additional context to events that had previously been reported primarily through media coverage.The documentary also addresses Odom’s post-recovery trajectory. Following his discharge from hospital, he resumed public appearances, including attendance at Bryant’s final NBA game.

However, the film indicates that his recovery process did not include sustained engagement with therapy, a decision that family members suggest may have affected his long-term stability.In recent developments referenced in the documentary, Odom entered a 30-day rehabilitation program for marijuana use and faces ongoing legal proceedings related to a driving offence.

These events are presented as part of a continuing pattern rather than a resolved narrative, with Odom describing himself as still seeking direction following his survival.Duffy said Odom’s willingness to present his experiences without attempting to impose a structured resolution distinguishes the documentary from other athlete-focused productions.

He noted that many subjects seek to frame their narratives around recovery and closure, whereas Odom’s account remains open-ended, reflecting ongoing uncertainty.The film situates Odom’s story within a broader context of sports biographies that examine the intersection of fame, personal adversity and public perception.

By focusing on both his achievements and his struggles, it provides a comprehensive account of a career shaped by both success and instability, without presenting a definitive resolution.