Jaruporn Osathanont, a clothing store owner at Platinum Fashion Mall in Bangkok, was preparing her lunch in her shop—rice and spicy pork rib soup—when two Thai women strolled in. They came to purchase the hottest fashion item in Bangkok: a plain black T-shirt.
Iran is home to perhaps the most strictly enforced dress code in the world. In the capital, Tehran, thousands of Gashte Ershad, or morality police—both in uniform and plainclothes—patrol the streets, looking for men with flashy jewelry or certain haircuts and women in form-fitting clothes or loose hijabs, which are required by law to be worn at all times.
Photographer and filmmaker Arwa Al Neami concealed her camera as she sank into the driver's seat of a bumper car on a gender-segregated ride at an amusement park in southern Saudi Arabia.
When Gail Miller, a Saskatoon nurse, was discovered partially nude in a back alley near her home, stabbed 14 times, her throat slit, David Milgaard was passing through Saskatchewan on a road trip.
Journalist Cándido Figueredo Ruíz woke in a panic, windows shattering all around him. Automatic weapons fire was raining down on his house. The bedroom of his Paraguay home was riddled in lead. One bullet struck his bed, centimeters from where he'd been sleeping moments earlier.
Ashraf Fayadh, a poet recently sentenced to death in Saudi Arabia by beheading, relayed a simple but grim message to the world from his prison cell.
"I'm an artist and I want my freedom," Fayadh, 35, said over the telephone last week.
In 2013, Canadian border agents intercepted a suspicious package coming from Japan that was addressed to a residence in Newfoundland. That package contained a life-like sex doll. But it wasn't a typical sex doll—it resembled a small child.
The legal team for Ashraf Fayadh, the poet sentenced to death in Saudi Arabia for apostasy and writing love poems that were allegedly anti-Islamic, is appealing those charges, according to Fayadh's family, friends, and sources close to his lawyer.
In the front row of the viewing gallery on the eighth floor of a Brooklyn federal courthouse, Christine Cornell meticulously scribbles and shades the gaunt face of a Bonanno crime family mobster sitting in front of her.
In a recent report funded by the Ontario Mental Health Association and Ontario Ministry of Health that examined 301 separate child porn cases throughout the province between 1993 and 2006, it was discovered that 32 percent of these offenders had in their possession, some form of anime or cartoon kiddie porn.
Back in 2008, Jon McIntyre's favorite time to read was at dawn, when rays of sunlight would slowly creep into his cell's tiny window at Graterford State Correctional Institution in eastern Pennsylvania.
Kandaal Pheach, a monk in the Bronx might have a zen demeanor; however, he conceals a childhood past scarred by genocide. And he's not alone. Pheach and the majority of his temple's few hundred followers are survivors who fled to America after the murderous Khmer Rouge regime swept through Cambodia in the 1970s.