I was 12 when Mum went to prison. Instead of crying, I threw myself into planning everything we’d do once she came back.

My name is Leslie. I am a 66-year-old New Zealander and I have been incarcerated since August 2023 on a charge of dangerous driving causing GBH.

My name is Michael, and I am a person who has an ABI (acquired brain injury) and I have done a lot of time in prison.

“Keep your shit together, don’t let the bastards grind you down.”

Sometimes, it can be hard for people to tell their stories, especially when trying to describe things that cannot be put into words. Photovoice is a way to deal with this – it is a research method where people take photographs about aspects of their lives or topics that are important to them.

The community is now watching, listening and aware of lockdowns inside our prisons. The persistence with media, radio and newspaper, and with emails and phone calls is finally paying off. Next – a protest. What else is left to do?

Jail is a journey, and it is certainly not over the moment they hand you a release certificate, open that gate and send you on your way.

But slowly, the control crept in. Subtle. Clever. Coated in love.

It’s gutting that you died spending your last eight years inside, especially when you were so close to the end of your sentence. And it’s gutless that I squandered the chance to see you off, when so many others would have leapt at it.

Prisoners doing long stretches often face deep psychological and social isolation. Years away from family can mean missing key milestones, children growing up, parents aging, relationships ending. The world outside doesn’t wait.