I often meet children who miss their parent but can barely find the words to express their feelings. Sometimes they casually mention that they were allowed to see their dad for an hour last month, and sometimes they avoid the subject altogether.

I know this silence well. I was one of those children. Sometimes I stayed silent because talking about it hurt too much. When I did speak, my words were tangled and hard for others to grasp. Then I would immediately regret speaking, wishing I had said nothing at all. I didn’t want the looks, no matter how well-intentioned they might have been.

At the same time, I felt burdened to say that I missed my dad, that I was tired and worried. After all, I missed my father because he had committed a crime. It constantly felt as though my missing wasn’t allowed to exist. He was the one serving a sentence, not me. Moreover, it was his own fault, and if you do something against the law, you must face the consequences. That was a lesson I learned from him as well.

But the truth is this: a prison sentence never impacts only one person.

Invisible children

When someone goes to prison, their partners, children, and families also carry the consequences, yet in public debate and policy, they remain invisible.

It wasn’t my sentence, and it isn’t the sentence of the approximately 25,000 children in the Netherlands who currently have a parent in prison. And yet, in many ways, they too are punished. Behind their silence lies a reality that we, as a society, pay far too little attention to.

These children feel the impact of a parent’s prison sentence every single day. They are often literally and figuratively invisible. In the classroom, they usually don’t tell the real reason why their father or mother is absent. If they do, they risk facing the consequences:, 

“Maybe you should aim a little lower.”

“Better not talk about it, because it scares the other kids.” 

“We’d rather our child doesn’t play with yours.”

Teachers and social workers often don’t recognize the signs either, because nothing is said, and no official notification is made when a parent goes to prison. And maybe that’s for the best, because before you know it, the system may step in too quickly, deciding that contact with the parent should be cut off altogether. That, too, is a form of professional helplessness.

The reality is that most of these children are caught in silent grief, loyalty conflicts, shame, and uncertainty, all playing out behind closed doors, with all that follows from it.

Beyond judgment

I can already hear the voices: “He should have thought of that earlier,” “What a bad example!” 

I understand those reactions. But behind many crimes, there is a parent who takes his kids to school, buys his son the soccer shoes he dreamed of, reads bedtime stories, tells bad jokes, and wipes away his daughter’s tears after a hard day at school. The two are not mutually exclusive.

Of course, there are situations where contact between a child and a parent is not safe or desirable. But when safety is not the issue, decisions about contact should be made in the best interest of the child and, whenever possible, rest with the child themselves.

In many cases, two perspectives exist side by side: a crime is something you do, a parent is someone you are.

The hidden impact

Research on ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences) shows that having a parent in detention is a profound childhood experience. Before I continue, let me add a caveat: professionals shouldn’t fixate on numbers and facts, as this can also contribute to stigmatization. 

Anyway…

The effects can last well into adulthood. Some children develop behavioral problems or struggle at school. Others withdraw or take on the role of “the strong one” in the family. But there are also resilience factors, such as supportive networks, hobbies, and stable routines, that can help prevent children’s lasting harm.

What these children especially need is a safe and stable environment where they are free to love their parent, unconditionally, and where they can receive that unconditional love in return.

What I mean is that the punishment itself isn’t what creates the greatest risk of developmental problems, but rather how we, as a society, view and treat these children.

A different approach: detention houses

What if justice looked different?

In large-scale prisons, visiting opportunities are limited and rarely designed with children in mind. To help bridge this gap, the Dutch Custodial Institutions Agency, often in collaboration with volunteer organizations such as Exodus Netherlands, organizes special parent–child days at least four times a year. These initiatives allow children to spend time with their parent in a more natural, meaningful way.

This also means that some children see their parent for barely eight hours a year. just eight hours to hold on to a bond that shapes their entire childhood. 

Knowing that children benefit from contact with their parents, and that such contact supports healthy development, makes this reality a bitter pill to swallow. After all, our children are the future, aren’t they?

Detention houses could offer a different perspective. For children, this could mean fewer barriers and less rigid, impersonal security measures, making visits feel more natural. Detention houses support integration during the sentence, meaning that parents can remain visibly involved in their child’s upbringing, helping with homework or even attending parent–teacher meetings, ensuring continuity in their role. 

Because detention houses are located within society, they are often closer to home, which reduces travel time and makes visits less of a burden while allowing for more frequent contact. The buildings and atmosphere themselves are more homely, less intimidating, and safer, with room for simple, everyday moments like playing a game or sitting on the couch together. Such settings encourage genuine contact without children having to be on guard, everyday moments for most children, but a rare luxury for those with a parent in detention.

In this way, detention houses create space for children to remain children, and for parents to remain parents.

But most importantly, detention houses create more room for tailored approaches, shaped around the needs of the parent AND the child.

Families know the parent best, yet in most cases they are not considered an active partner. I believe that is a missed opportunity. When genuine trust is built, and trust truly is the key, families can play a pivotal role in the parents’ life, time in detention and (re)integration process.

Moreover, detention houses do not only enable a more person-focused approach; they allow the entire family system to benefit. Strong family relationships make children and parents more resilient against the negative effects of detention, and in turn, this reduces the risk of reoffending. It is, quite simply, a win–win for children, families, and society as a whole.

Our children, our future

When we talk about justice, we must also talk about the children who live with its consequences. They didn’t commit the crime, yet they carry the sentence in silence.

If we truly believe our children are the future, then we must build a justice system that protects not only society from harm, but also children from unnecessary loss. A system that sees them, supports them, and allows them to keep hold of the bond that shapes their childhood.

Because their future is our future, too.

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