When I entered Tennessee’s prison system in 1992, the pay for most jobs ranged from 17 cents an hour for unskilled labor to 50 cents an hour for skilled labor. When I returned to prison with a new conviction in 2022, those rates remained unchanged.

Then, in June 2025, the state prison system implemented our first pay raise in at least 33 years. Pay across several job categories was boosted, from 17 cents an hour to 24 cents an hour; 25 cents to 32 cents; 34 cents to 42 cents; 42 cents to 50 cents; and 50 cents to 59 cents. These represented wage hikes of 18% to 41%.

Still, our wages have not kept pace with inflation. The effects of meager pay are felt inside our prison and outside our prison by loved ones who financially support us. 

“This insignificant pay raise, which is long overdue, does little, if nothing, to help,” said Abdullah Nafi Muhammed, who’s employed as a recreation equipment custodian, and saw his pay rise from 34 cents to 42 cents an hour.

Over decades of stagnant pay, commissary prices for items ranging from honey buns to toothpaste have steadily increased with inflation. In the early 1990s, ramen soups — a staple on shelves in prison cells — were 17 cents each. They’re now about 40 cents, more than double the old price.

According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics’ CPI inflation calculator, $1 in 1992 is now worth $2.30. Using inflation as a guide, the lowest pay at our state prisons should have been raised to 39 cents an hour, not 24 cents an hour. And the highest pay rate should have been raised to $1.15 instead of 59 cents.

“The cost of living in prison — fees, commissary prices, phone calls, tablet services — exceeds the meager increase they are giving us,” said a man in my unit who goes by the nickname Midas.

To add insult to fiscal injury, previously prisoners could receive two annual raises in each skill level before maxing out their hourly rate. Now, jobs will no longer be ranked by skill level; rather, they’ll each have a specified pay grade with a fixed wage. This means we can no longer earn raises.

With pay this paltry, why even work?

For some, a job offers a chance to leave their cell. Others take pride in their work regardless of low wages. 

But many — myself included — work so we don’t face a disciplinary charge for “failure to participate.” This charge is a Class A offense in Tennessee, the highest level, along with homicide, rape and escape. Landing a Class A offense can result in solitary confinement or a loss of good-time credits, which can help you leave prison early.

Missing work is categorized as a serious offense because prisons can’t operate without our labor. Here, we cook food, do laundry, cut grass, clean floors and perform maintenance.

Working is also one way we can reduce the financial burden on our loved ones. But the new pay rates have not alleviated that hardship. My pay has risen from 17 cents an hour to 24 cents an hour. Even with the raise, I have to work two hours to afford a single pack of ramen, or almost three days to afford a jar of peanut butter. 

I detest asking my family for funds, and try to keep those requests limited to emergencies or special circumstances.

Cory Cotham, who’s employed as a yard laborer for 59 cents an hour, feels similarly. 

“Commissary prices are so high that they’re out of reach for many inmates,” Cotham said. “They either have to do without, or it’s a burden on their families.”