The United Arab Emirates ordered the arrest of 25 people in March 2026 over what prosecutors described as the publication of misleading digital content harming national defence measures and glorifying acts of military aggression against the state. The Attorney General, Dr Hamad Saif Al Shamsi, referred the defendants — who were of several nationalities — for expedited trial, and said the case followed sustained monitoring of digital platforms for fabricated material intended to incite public disorder.
The public prosecution divided the defendants into three groups according to what it said they had done. The first, comprising twelve people, was accused of taking authentic video of missile interceptions in Emirati airspace and of public gatherings and republishing it with added commentary and sound effects designed to suggest that attacks were imminent. Prosecutors argued this was intended to provoke anxiety and panic and risked exposing details of the country’s defensive posture.
The second group was accused of circulating fabricated video, either generated using artificial intelligence tools or recycled from footage shot outside the UAE and presented as though it showed explosions or strikes on Emirati landmarks. The third was accused of publishing commentary that celebrated attacks on the country. Al Shamsi said exploiting cyberspace to spread misleading content damaging to public security is a criminal offence under Emirati law, and that anyone found to have taken part would be referred to the judiciary for the prescribed penalty.
The arrests were not an isolated action. They formed part of a wider campaign of prosecutions during the same period, with further groups of defendants detained on comparable allegations as the authorities extended their monitoring. Emirati officials presented the effort as a response to a genuine surge in manipulated material circulating on messaging apps and social platforms while the country was under aerial attack.
That context matters. Through the early months of 2026 the UAE, along with Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Bahrain and Jordan, reported intercepting Iranian missiles and drones. Interceptions over populated areas produce exactly the kind of dramatic, ambiguous footage that spreads quickly and is easily recaptioned, and Gulf governments faced a practical problem: distinguishing verified information about incoming threats from material that was fabricated, misdated or lifted from an unrelated conflict.
The stated rationale for the prosecutions rested on two claims. The first was operational: video showing where interceptions occurred, at what altitude and at what time can, in aggregate, reveal something about how and where a country’s air defences are positioned. The second was social: false reports of strikes on recognisable landmarks can trigger crowd movements, panic buying or evacuation of areas that are not under threat, complicating the work of emergency services.
Human rights organisations have long criticised the breadth of the UAE’s cybercrime and counter-terrorism legislation, arguing that provisions framed around national security and public order are drawn widely enough to capture ordinary speech and legitimate criticism, and that expedited proceedings limit the scope for a defence. Those concerns predate this case and were raised again in relation to it. The Emirati authorities’ position is that the material in question was demonstrably false or deliberately misleading and that its circulation during an active air campaign carried concrete risks rather than theoretical ones.
Little was made public about the individuals concerned. Their names and nationalities were not released, the specific posts were not published, and no detail of legal representation or trial scheduling was announced. Because the account of the case comes from the public prosecution, the characterisation of what each group did should be understood as the prosecution’s, not as findings established in open court.
The episode illustrates a wider difficulty that is not specific to the Gulf. Cheap and widely available generative tools have made convincing synthetic video easy to produce at the moment when the demand for immediate information about an unfolding attack is at its highest. Governments in many jurisdictions have responded with some combination of rapid official verification, platform takedown requests and criminal enforcement. The balance struck between those instruments varies considerably, and the Emirati approach placed unusual weight on the third.
The legal framework behind the arrests has been in place for several years. The UAE overhauled its cybercrime law in 2021, replacing earlier legislation with a statute covering rumours, fake news and content deemed to threaten public order, and pairing it with a separate law on combating disinformation. Together they give prosecutors broad discretion over online publication, including material posted by residents about events inside the country. Penalties can include imprisonment, substantial fines and deportation for non-citizens, which is significant in a country where a large majority of the population holds temporary residency tied to employment.
Alongside enforcement, Emirati authorities ran a parallel communications effort, issuing frequent official updates through state media and government accounts and urging the public to rely on them rather than on unverified footage. Officials repeatedly stated that only announcements from the defence ministry and the national emergency authority should be treated as authoritative during an attack, and that resharing unattributed clips — even without malicious intent — could contribute to confusion at moments when accurate information was most needed.
What the case did establish clearly is how the Emirati state chose to treat the information environment during the campaign: as a domain requiring the same active management as airspace, with prosecution used as a deterrent rather than as a last resort.

