WESH 2 Investigates: The toll the prison phone system takes on Central Florida families
The Cost of Connection: Part I
The Cost of Connection: Part I
The Cost of Connection: Part I
Many local families who have a loved one incarcerated in a Florida state prison say the cost to keep in touch has gone up significantly because of a new deal signed by the Department of Corrections.
WESH 2 Investigates: The Cost of Connection has been digging into the contract, the strain it's putting on families and what can be done about it.
Five-year-old Ava loves to talk to her mom.
"I like to talk about unicorns and bears and lots of creatures," she said.
Often, Ava can't just talk to her mom whenever she wants because she has to wait for her mother to call from prison and because her family can't always afford the phone calls. This means Ava can only talk to her mom once or twice a week. Ava and her two sisters currently live with their mom's sister, Temeca Woodall, and her wife, Pamela Schuster.
“Sometimes, like, we'll be able to put $150 on there, but there have been months where I've only been able to put $30," Woodall said.
They say, at times, they've even had to make tough choices between making their car payment and buying groceries, or putting money on the account so the girls can hear their mom's voice.
"They get hurt the most. They're the ones that feel it," Schuster said.
And this is more common than you might think, according to Amy McCourt, the legislative director for Florida Cares, a non-profit dedicated to improving the lives of inmates.
“The families of incarcerated people, the loved ones of incarcerated people are also penalized," she said
McCourt said calling someone behind bars has never been cheap in Florida, but in the last year, the price has skyrocketed. The reason is because the Florida Department of Corrections switched its phone provider.
The DOC said its new contract with GTL, now known as Viapath Technologies, would save families money mainly because calls went from 14 cents a minute to 13 and a half cents.
However, when asked about that price cut, McCourt said it’s “a bit deceptive, because it's more than that.”
WESH 2 Investigates took a look at the numbers.
Every time families put money on their accounts, it costs 99 cents. And, according to McCourt, because many families with incarcerated loved ones are low-income, they don't always have large sums of money and often make many small deposits when they get money. Each minute is 13 and a half cents, and this new contract did away with something crucial. Families used to be able to get phone numbers local to their loved one's prison and pay only 4 cents a minute.
There's also a varying tax rate for each minute, and McCourt said the cheapest rate adds an additional one cent per minute.
Florida Cares said they've tried to talk to lawmakers and the DOC because there's verbiage in the contract that says it can be amended. They also take issue with the $5 million payment the DOC gets every year from the profits made by ViaPath, along with other perks, called "value added services.”
"When you start off a contract stating that 'we are seeking to make it easier for families to stay in communication. We want to align the rates similarly to what the free world essentially would be paying,' and then you do exactly the opposite in your contract, I can only guess, you know, you're just interested in your own bottom line. Your own profits,” McCourt said.
Florida Cares says it doesn't have to be this way, and it isn't in other states that have contracts with the same company.
"You have some states that are getting, that are receiving free calls. And you have states that are receiving, you know, three, four cents a minute is manageable,” McCourt said.
But this issue isn't just about the money. Founder of Florida Cares, Denise Rock, said it's about connection.
“Studies show that people that stay connected while incarcerated with people on the outside, they're less likely to return to prison, once they're released. They're also less likely to get in trouble while they are in prison,” Rock said.
Woodall says when her sister gets to talk to Ava and her other two daughters it feels like "oxygen.”
Ava's mother is serving a 15-year sentence. She'll miss seeing her three girls grow up and the big moments in their young lives. That’s why every phone call and every minute means so much to Ava.
"I don't think people understand what it truly is to be without your mom. But know that your mom is here and wants to be here, (but) cannot be here," Schuster said.
"But you can't afford to go see her and you can't afford to talk to her,” Woodall said.