PĀNUI
NEWS
He Kaimahi Tēnei - Chase Parata.
15/04/2026
When Chase Parata first walked into He Waka Tapu, he came from a sports and building background with no formal training in social services and no clear roadmap for what came next. What he did carry was thirty years of lived experience with the corrections system, a history that would come to define not just why he does this mahi, but how.
In the mandated space at He Waka Tapu, Chase works as a Whānau Support Kaimahi, walking alongside tāne who have been directed by the courts into programmes focused on stopping violence, changing behaviour and finding a different way forward. It is demanding, layered work, and for Chase, it is also incredibly personal.
His connection to this space begins with his father. A man of considerable mana, a business owner and former army officer, who made one devastating decision after his daughter was harmed. That decision cost him eleven years inside, six of them in Paremoremo in maximum security. Growing up without him, raised by his mother alongside his 10 siblings, Chase normalised what he knew and made do with what they had. It wasn't until he found himself inside the Kaupapa of this mahi that he began to understand the full weight of what that chapter had taken from their whānau.
Then came the loss of his eldest brother. While Chase was in Australia, his brother was hospitalized from an assault and later died in hospital. Chase came home. And he knew then that this was where he needed to be.
"I could see through my experience that people needed real help. Not just support on paper, but real, genuine help. That's how I started."
The mandated space sits at the intersection of accountability and healing. When tāne move through the justice system on charges involving family or domestic violence, the courts can direct them into programmes. Chase and his team are the ones who show up, facilitate those programmes and walk alongside people through the process. Non-violence programmes, stopping violence programmes, education around protection orders and a range of other kaupapa all sit within the mahi.
"We want them to be safe. To manage their emotions. To become good men, and good fathers again."
The programmes are not short. The Non-Violence Programme alone runs for thirteen weeks, which can feel significant when someone first arrives, but as Chase points out, it is a brief window compared to the years of normalised behaviour that brought them there. Nearly every person who comes through has some form of violence woven into their story, often absorbed from childhood, passed down without anyone ever naming it as harmful.
Trust is everything in this space, and it does not come easily. The tāne who arrive carry deep distrust of anything connected to the system, courts, corrections, police, and often organisations like He Waka Tapu as well. Chase and his team lean into their values to navigate that. Whanaungatanga. Manaakitanga. Showing up consistently, being genuine and meeting people exactly where they are at.
"They can smell it a mile away and see through you if you're not being real. You have to be living these values yourself before you can bring them to anyone else."
The mahi asks a lot. By the end of a shift the cup is empty, as Chase puts it, and replenishing becomes essential. For him that looks like whānau, spending time at the beach, fishing, travelling and a genuine commitment to education, learning not just the clinical frameworks behind the work but understanding himself more deeply in the process.
"In order to help others, you need to help yourself first. That's not just something we say. It has to be followed up by action.”
Last year Chase received a Whanonga Pono Award from Ara Poutama Aotearoa, the Department of Corrections, recognised specifically for the value of Wairua and for the caring and respectful way he shows up for both corrections staff and the people in their care. He almost missed the news entirely. Busy with assessments on the day the notification arrived, he declined the meeting without reading the attachment. It wasn't until the following day that he realised what had been offered.
He had never heard of the award before. Which, as he reflects, probably makes sense for recognition designed for people who do the mahi quietly.
For a man whose family has carried thirty years of history with that same corrections system, from a siege in the nineties to court cases spanning seven years in the 2010s, the significance of the acknowledgement was not lost on him.
"We've endured many things, and I'm proud to have the opportunity to turn the page and start anew for me and my whānau. This was all my father wanted, and I know he would be proud."
He dedicated the award to his father. A man who, despite everything, never lost his sense of identity or his mana. A man who, Chase says, taught him more transferable skills than he ever realised at the time. Seeing his father change after release, seeing that transformation was possible, gave Chase something to hold onto.
"Coming to this place changed my life. I came in with no idea and I've learned tools, frameworks, psychology. But more than anything I've learned who I am."
Looking ahead, Chase hopes the system continues to evolve. That education is understood as more powerful than punishment. That frameworks shift away from tick-box compliance toward something more human and more sustainable.
For those considering this kind of mahi, particularly those who carry lived experience similar to his own, his advice is straightforward.
"Stay open-minded. Be humble. Get out of your own way. If you're coachable and teachable, you'll love this work."
A proud son, and now a father himself, Chase continues to show up as a kaimahi shaped by experience and a steady presence in one of the most demanding spaces in our sector, for the tāne who need it most.
Stay tuned in the coming weeks as we continue to put the spotlight on the incredible kaimahi across He Waka Tapu and the many ways they show up for our community.
