Prison phone calls: A lifeline or shackle?

"This is Global Tel Link. You have a prepaid call from [my brother’s recorded name], an inmate at [prison name]. To accept this call, say or dial or five now."

I was in junior high, and my brother was age 2 or 3. This was at a church picnic.

I would have never imagined my brother’s phone calls from prison would be such a mind f*ck. Unlike normal calls, you don’t have the option to call back.

So, whenever I saw the prison ID pop up on my phone, I stopped whatever I was doing and answered. I realized that each phone call was kind of like a lesson in how to deal with interruptions. Stop. answer. shift focus. make usual small talk with brother.

It was harder than I thought and I realized I don’t like these interruptions in my day. Plus, I’m not a big phone person.

The pre-tablet days

I almost can’t believe it, but this month marks five years since my brother went to prison. He also turns 37.

In the days before he got his tablet, I sent him snail mail (USPS) or emails. The only difference was that email didn’t require paper or an envelope. The speed at which he received the email and wrote back felt just like snail mail. I was never sure when my emails would reach him or when he would respond because he accessed his emails from the prison media room, which wasn’t always open.

Then, COVID-19 indefinitely closed the media room. Also, prison-related lockdowns (i.e., when a pair of scissors went missing from the kitchen or a fight broke out in the yard) further reduced how often he called because he couldn’t leave his cell for long stretches of time.

Plus, from what I’ve read, making a call from prison can be a mini-ordeal. There are certain days and times to make phone calls, so I’m sure he had to endure long lines that formed in front of the phones. I imagined him standing in a long hallway with harsh fluorescent lighting, waiting. When it was finally his turn, he’d dial my number. If I didn’t answer, I saw his disappointment.

Because of the infrequency and unpredictability of his calls, I dropped everything to answer them. His calls were sporadic.

He called a few times when I was driving, and when I answered I was informed by the prison robot that my account balance was dwindling. I needed to replenish it to be able to speak to him. I’m a pretty good driver, but not good enough to drive and punch in my credit card numbers into my phone. I pulled into a Taco Bell, parked, and quickly pulled out my credit card to fund my account and accept the call. 🥵

I could be in the shower, out with friends, or working at a quiet coffee shop when suddenly my phone would vibrate and I’d see “PRISON” on the caller ID.

The only time I couldn’t answer was if I was in a work meeting. Whenever I saw his missed calls, I felt guilty. I couldn’t shake the image of him standing in line and looking let down when he didn’t hear my voice on the other end.

The burden

This year, communication with the outside world completely changed for my brother and many other incarcerated folks in California because they were issued tablets. He can call for free, right from his tablet.

Lately, he’s been calling… a lot… almost daily. Sometimes, multiple times a day. He calls my parents and my sister, too. 

The calls that had once felt so scarce had now become… a burden. 🫤

Last month, he called my sister relentlessly because he needed his monthly funds for canteen ($150), but she was busy and in back-to-back meetings. So naturally, he called me to tell her to hurry up and deposit the money. Then he said, “Remind her that she has a little brother.” Cue the massive eye-roll. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he can call more frequently. But sometimes, it’s overwhelming. What was once a 15-minute call now turns into 30 or even 45 minutes.

This is how our hang-up ritual goes:

Prison robot: “You have 60 seconds remaining…”

Brother: “Let me call you back.”

Me: “Uh, but I have to get back to…”

Two minutes later, my phone is buzzing.

More empathy and patience

I feel bad for thinking this way. But then again, the mix of annoyance + guilt pretty much sums up how I felt about my family growing up. So I knew annoyance would get me nowhere.

Rather than stew in it, I thought about why he was calling so much. I tried to imagine what it would be like to be stuck inside a tiny cell.

I’ve heard that in prison, time moves at its own, warped pace. Days and times and years blur together. When we talk, he often asks me what day it is.

My brother is housed in a level 4 security building which means he does everything alone and doesn’t get to socialize. He even eats by himself in his cell.

I get why he calls so much. He just wants someone to talk to. 

Five years—I’m certain the weight of his isolation has compounded with each passing year. If it were me, I’d feel super lonely.

But for my own sanity, I set boundaries and told him not to call me before 3 pm when I am usually buried in work or in a meeting. If I missed his calls, I usually followed up with a text message, explaining why I couldn’t pick up.

Changing the narrative

I remind myself to see his persistent calling as opportunities for my own growth. 

I never thought something so innocuous as phone calls would stir up such inner turmoil and emotions. But there’s never a dull moment when you have a loved one in prison. I feel like I’m always realizing something. 

When I take a step back and think about the last five years, my brother’s imprisonment opened up an entire new world for me. It inspired me to create this Substack, write my memoir, and become more involved in prison advocacy work, and for that, I am so grateful. 

Through these calls, I’m also getting to know him better. After I left home for college, we grew apart. It’s the first time I talked to him this much.

As of late, he’s had a lot of existential questions on his mind—how did humans (or our ancestors) get here, what came first, the chicken or the egg? He says, “This is what happens when you only have 10 channels on TV.”

I tell him maybe he shouldn’t fixate on questions he may never find the answers to, and instead, I encourage him to reduce his TV consumption and to start reading, writing, and taking classes to further his education. I hope one day, we can talk openly about his regrets and aspirations instead of the weather or what he saw on the news.

In the meantime, I'm trying to be less irritated and more understanding each time he calls.