10. Keeping Families Connected – Putting Children First

Strong families build strong futures — but what happens when connection breaks down?

In this episode of Piecing Together Unity, Nigel McFall explores what happens when children lose connection with the people who matter most — whether it’s because of work, distance, family breakdown, or incarceration.

He shares Unity’s vision for turning schools into hubs of connection, creating safe spaces where children can receive messages from parents and whānau, request live calls when they need support, and access Messages of Hope from inspiring Kiwis who’ve walked similar paths.

If you care about breaking cycles, supporting our tamariki, and building a society where every child feels seen and valued, this episode is for you.

Thanks for listening to Piecing Together Unity!

If you enjoyed this episode, make sure to follow or subscribe so you never miss a conversation.

Want to be part of the change? Visit www.unityparty.org.nz to explore our vision for a better Aotearoa — and follow us on Facebook at Unity Party NZ for updates, discussions, and ways to get involved.

Together, we’ll piece it all together — one idea, one story, and one conversation at a time.

Transcript

Kia ora, hello and welcome to Piecing Together Unity. I'm Nigel McFall, the founder of the Unity Party, and today I want to talk about something that sits at the heart of everything we believe about building a stronger, safer, and better New Zealand.

It’s about connection.

I’m talking about the kind of connection that can mean the difference between giving up and holding on. Real, practical, everyday connection. The kind of connection that holds families together, helps kids feel like they belong at school, and gives them a sense that they matter — no matter what’s going on at home, in their community, or in their own head.

Because here’s the thing — when a child feels disconnected, whether that’s from their family, their culture, or their sense of who they are — they lose more than just that relationship.

They lose hope.

They lose the sense that school even matters.

And sometimes, they lose the belief that they matter.

Whether a parent works away, lives overseas, is separated from their child because of family breakdown, or is sitting in a prison cell — that connection still matters.

Actually, when life gets hard, that connection matters more than ever.

And right now, we’re leaving too much of that to chance.

Unity’s vision is simple — we want every school to become a hub of connection.

A place where children don’t just show up to pass tests, but a place where they feel seen, supported, believed in — no matter what’s happening at home.

Because you can’t build strong futures on broken connections.

And if we want to break the cycles we talk about so much in politics — cycles of harm, poverty, and crime — then the very first thing we have to fix is belonging.

When I talk about connection, I’m not talking about just one type of family, or one type of story.

Connection looks different for every child — but every child needs it.

For some kids, connection is simple.

Mum or Dad’s there at the end of the day.

They’re in the crowd at sports day.

They’re at the kitchen table for homework, and at school interviews to hear how things are going.

But not every child gets that.

Some kids have a parent who works overseas for months at a time.

Some have a sibling who’s moved away for high school.

Some have a grandparent they adore, who lives in another town, or another country.

And some have a parent who’s in prison.

But here’s what matters — the need for connection doesn’t disappear just because life gets complicated.

Kids still need to feel that those people — the ones who matter most to them — still see them. Still believe in them. Still love them.

That’s why Connection Spaces in schools aren’t just for kids with incarcerated parents.

They’re for every child who’s missing someone, or needing someone, or feeling like they’ve lost their anchor.

A quick video from Dad on night shift.

A morning message from Nana overseas.

A voice message from an older brother who’s moved away.

Those moments seem small — but for a child, they’re massive.

Because they remind them:

You are not alone.

You are seen.

You are loved.

And that’s the stuff that builds resilience, long before they ever sit a test.

I saw this play out in real life, over and over, when I worked in Corrections.

One of the hardest parts of that job wasn’t the work itself — it was reading the files.

Page after page, story after story.

Cold, clinical language documenting where things went wrong.

But when you read between the lines, it always started in the same place.

Disconnection.

No positive role models.

No one at the parent-teacher interviews.

No one showing up for school plays.

No one to celebrate the small wins, or sit beside them when they failed.

For a lot of the men I worked with, the first people who showed up — consistently — were the gangs.

The gangs became their whānau, because the real ones were either absent, disconnected, or struggling themselves.

And here’s the thing — disconnection leaves a hole.

And something always fills that hole.

If it’s not family, if it’s not community, if it’s not positive connection — then it’s going to be survival. Fear. Violence.

We talk about crime and punishment like it’s simple — but until we talk about disconnection and belonging, we’re just treating symptoms.

And that brings me to one of the hardest truths.

Parenting doesn’t stop when a parent goes to prison — but our system acts like it does.

Right now, if your parent is in prison, you might get a visit every now and then — sitting in a space that feels nothing like home, with guards watching, time limits counting down, and rules hanging over every word you say.

Outside of those visits, you might get the odd phone call — if the prison schedule allows it, if your parent’s unit isn’t locked down, if the timing happens to line up with when you’re home from school.

But there’s nothing regular about it.

There’s no system designed to make sure you actually get to hear from your parent when you need them most — after a tough day, or a school award, or just because you miss them.

There’s no way for your parent to drop a quick message saying "I love you" or "I’m proud of you" — the kind of simple things that make all the difference to a child.

That silence hurts the child — but it also hurts the parent.

Because when you cut off that connection, you’re not just punishing the person in prison — you’re robbing them of one of the strongest reasons to want to change.

Unity says that’s wrong — and not just for the child.

It’s wrong for the parent too.

Because if you’re trying to turn your life around, and you can’t see your child’s face, can’t hear about their day, can’t feel the pull to be a better parent — what’s driving that change?

Connection is rehabilitation.

It gives people a reason to do the hard work of change.

And it gives children a reason to believe they still have a family worth holding onto.

So here’s how it would work.

Every parent in prison — where it’s safe and appropriate for the child — would have the chance to record regular video messages for their tamariki.

These could be long or short, a quick check-in or a proper sit-down message — whatever feels right for the parent and the child.

It might be something simple, like:

Morning kiddo — hope you smash it at touch today.

Or something a bit deeper, like:

I’ve been thinking about how proud I am of you, and how much I’m working to be someone you can be proud of too.

Whatever form it takes, those messages would go straight to the school’s Connection Space — waiting for the child to watch whenever they need a boost, a reminder, or just to hear that voice they miss.

And when something big happens — good or bad — school staff could request a live video call so that parent can be there in the moment, even if they can’t be there in person.

Corrections would be obliged to make that call happen, as long as it fits the criteria — meaning there are no safety concerns, no risk factors, and the connection genuinely supports the child’s wellbeing.

Because that’s the bottom line — this is about putting the child first.

Connection wouldn’t be a random privilege parents might get if everything lines up perfectly.

It would be part of what we expect and support — a normal part of how we keep families linked, even when life pulls them apart.

And yeah — there will always be cases where connection isn’t appropriate, and we’ll deal with those carefully.

But for the vast majority of families — where the only barrier is a system that forgot about them — Unity says it’s time to remember.

This is something I’m especially excited about — because it’s not just an idea, it’s a whole new resource we want to build for every school in Aotearoa.

The Messages of Hope Library would be a national collection of video messages, recorded by people kids actually look up to.

And not just generic celebrities — but people who’ve walked hard roads, people who know what it’s like to struggle, feel out of place, or fight through tough times.

This is about real talk from real people, saying:

I’ve been where you are — and I’m still here. And you can be too.

Thanks for listening to Piecing Together Unity.

Together, we will piece it all together — one idea, one story, and one conversation at a time. Until next time, take care.