Despite Declining Costs, Prison Phone Calls and Visits Still Remain Inaccessible
By Jean Yi and Rahsaan Thomas
Phone and video calls are vital methods of communication for incarcerated individuals. Although California has made strides in making calls more affordable, prisons rarely have enough phones or tablets to make communication truly accessible for all.
Rahsaan Thomas remembers when a phone call from a California prison to New York City cost almost $30. “At that price, only three people would accept my calls and I could only call once a month, if that,” he said. Especially after the COVID-19 pandemic restricted visits in prisons, phone and video calls became the only way incarcerated people could communicate with their loved ones. (Thomas, a journalist, contributed substantial reporting to this piece and also described his own experiences as someone incarcerated in the California state prison system.)
Decades of advocacy changed that. The Federal Communications Commission introduced regulations in 2013 that slashed the rate of interstate phone calls by as much as 80 percent, capping it at 21 cents per minute. The cost of in-state and out-of-state calls for prisons have decreased by more than half since 2008, according to the report “State of Phone Justice” by the Prison Policy Initiative. Expensive phone calls are more of a problem at the local level, as county and city jails have far less bargaining power than state and federal prison systems. In 2018, the average cost of a phone call from a jail was almost three times higher than the cost of a prison phone call in California.
Last March, the cost of phone and video calls declined even further due to a new contract between the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation (CDCR) and Global Tel Link (now known as ViaPath Technologies), one of the leading providers of prison phone services. The policies set a standardized price of 2.5 cents per minute for phone calls nationwide, and seven cents per minute for international phone calls. CDCR said in a statement that these changes would save incarcerated people and their families more than $17 million a year. The contract also gives free phone and video minutes every few weeks, though the minutes don’t run over if they are unused. Incarcerated people classified as “indigent” (those who have less than $25 in their balance for at least 30 consecutive days) are eligible for more minutes, as well as paper and stamps to send mail and other essentials like soap or toilet paper.
While cost is no longer as much of a factor, the COVID-19 pandemic exacerbated the lack of phone availability. Overcrowding at San Quentin, which has consistently exceeded or been close to 100 percent capacity, made lining up to use the phone a health hazard. Hundreds of people line up to wait for the phone, food, and medicine, raising fears of a potential superspreader event. During some surges, prison officials have shut down access to phone services as part of their pandemic lockdowns.
In-person visits are a challenge, too. Even when COVID-19 concerns allowed prison visits, overcrowding and unreliable telecommunications infrastructure made scheduling visits difficult. There were just a few dozen slots each day to visit 2,000–3,000 people. Moreover, visits were scheduled through a Global Tel Link portal, the same provider of phone calls and tablets, which would open at 6 in the morning eight days prior to the day of the visit. The slots were often gone within minutes. “Often the website crashes and my people have to get retrying for 30–40 minutes,” said Thomas.
The COVID-19 pandemic lays bare San Quentin’s preexisting problems brought on overcrowding and outdated telecommunications infrastructure. While using the phone is no longer as much of a financial burden for the loved ones of incarcerated people, the logistical burdens of scheduling and placing calls makes phone access very difficult, if not impossible in practice. In responses to interview questions (which were emailed over JPay, a company that contracts with prisons to allow people to send money and media like letters and messages to incarcerated people, then mailed back), incarcerated people at San Quentin also chafed at what they saw as unnecessary bureaucratic restrictions and pointed out the health risks of congregating to wait for the phone. The consequences can be serious — missing death announcements, birthdays, anniversaries, and other milestones — and the prolonged effects of this reduced contact can make prison an even more isolating experience than it already is.
At San Quentin, people are allotted 15-minute call slots, and each person must sign up the day beforehand. In theory, each person is allotted two call slots per day of 15 minutes each. But with just a few dozen phones available for thousands of people, the demand for phones far outstrips the number of time slots. “I haven’t spoken to one of my best friends in years. I’m just starting to be able to reach people again with the free minutes, but many don’t recognize the caller ID number and don’t answer,” said Thomas.
Often, people wait around for someone who no longer needs their slot or to use an abandoned phone, though both run the risk of being written up for a rule violation. The consequences can be serious: “For lifers, it can mean a denial of parole once they go to board,” said Steve Brooks. People may be forbidden from using phones that appear to be available. Brooks also described officers saying that the phones were not working to prevent people from signing up, or claiming that phone slots were unavailable even after someone had waited in line to sign up for a slot. “If there is an open phone slot there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be allowed to sign up for it,” said one man, who spoke on the condition of anonymity.
But the desire to call their loved ones nevertheless leads many people to take the risk anyway. “I have to hope no one shows up to a call and I can get it. The phones lead to many conflicts between the incarcerated, sometimes violence,” said Brandon Riddle-Terrell. The inaccessibility of official phones has also contributed to illicit phones being a widespread part of prison life across the country. Last September, a San Quentin guard and two other people were charged for smuggling and selling phones inside the prison’s Death Row.
Some hoped that introducing tablets to prisons could help alleviate the problem, but the rollout has been rocky, leading to dwindling hopes and broken promises. The Secretary of CDCR said in a statement that the department had started a pilot program in 2018 that introduced tablets to five prisons, starting with Valley State. They announced that the program would be expanded to all prisons in early 2021 and to all adult institutions by the end of that year.
Over a year after the promised rollout date, tablets have still not materialized at San Quentin. People in the prison have heard reports that the tablets will be delayed until at least this summer. Several people doubted if San Quentin would meet the extended deadline or worried that tablet usage would be set at an unaffordable price to extract more money from their friends and family members. (CDCR declined to comment on tablet and phone availability at San Quentin, but said, “CDCR has provided incarcerated people throughout the state with a wide range of communication options, including a tablet pilot and video visitation.” Global Tel Link didn’t respond to a request for comment.)
Overcrowding at San Quentin increases the risk of potential spread, while decreasing phone availability further. Currently, San Quentin’s population stands at 3,054, despite an order by a state appellate court to reduce its population to about 1,700. “With the population increasing every day, and new policy being implemented to further restrict us from having access to the phones, it’s definitely going to be hard to use the phone,” said the anonymous man.
