“What are you going to do with your check?” asked Ellis C. We were sitting on a bench in the dayroom waiting for laundry exchange to be called. 

I groaned. It was 3 a.m. I had zero interest in talking about Donald Trump’s latest fantasy of sending Americans $2,000 dividends because of the alleged “Trillions of Dollars” the country is “taking in” through tariffs, as the president announced on Truth Social in November. Plus, I was trying to read my library book before we had to get to work.

Instead, I smiled and asked, “What check?” 

“President Trump is giving all taxpayers $2,000,” Ellis said. 

I groaned again. “You have been in prison 32 years,” I said. “Clearly you’re not a taxpayer.”

It’s not uncommon for people in prison to see something on TV and mistakenly assume it will also apply in here. A mere whiff of free money and people begin fantasizing. They begin to salivate on theoretical drugs, ice cream, music, movies and other things they might buy with the money. 

For the more realistic among us, it’s exasperating to hear people fantasize in this way. But it’s also sad. It says something about just how deprived people in prison are. For example, it’s not uncommon to find people hiding in their cells on “store day.” Because they have no money to buy food, they resent seeing others with their huge bags of purchases.

Ellis must have heard the talk of Trump’s idea on TV or read about it on the Associated Press app, which we can access through our tablets. In the weeks since, budget experts have thrown cold water on Trump’s plan, suggesting that the math doesn’t add up.  

Even if checks were sent to Americans, I told Ellis I highly doubted prisoners would receive them. I reminded him of the COVID-era stimulus checks, and the legal saga that transpired then. It’s true we ultimately received them, but not without a fight. It had never been Trump’s intention to get prisoners paid. 

As Prison Policy Initiative wrote in 2021, “The IRS made an ill-advised (not to mention unauthorized) attempt to exclude incarcerated people, but this policy was slapped down by the federal courts.” 

This time, I told Ellis, even if this did end up being real, I’m sure they would find a way to exclude us. 

Ellis looked sad. “I hope you’re wrong.” Then he walked away. Ellis doesn’t have much. He spends what little money he has on phone calls to his sister. When I see him eat ramen soup, he typically only eats half, saving the rest for later. 

I got back to my library book. A few hours later, Lamont Z., one of our peers in the section where we live, also brought up the Trump dividend checks. He asked me what I had read about them on the AP app.

I told him there had been very few actual details reported. I went to the LexisNexis app on my tablet and pulled up the federal district court decision that found the Internal Revenue Service had violated the Administrative Procedures Act by denying incarcerated people the COVID stimulus checks. I wanted to remind him that the reason we ended up receiving checks last time wasn’t because of a benevolent federal government.

Plus, I told Lamont, the math doesn’t make sense: “Experts say tariffs might bring in $300 billion. Checks for every American would cost $600 billion.”

After lunch, the news was still showing President Trump saying he wanted to give Americans $2,000. I had just sat down at a table in the dayroom with Thomas G., Hector D. and Joshua F. I pointed at the TV and asked the group for their thoughts. 

“It would be nice, but I don’t see it happening,” said Thomas, refreshingly. “Trump just cut back on tariffs on coffee and other goods. That means even less money will go towards checks.”

Joshua chimed in: “I want my check. I’ll buy lots of food and have [cell-made] tacos every day. I’ll stay here and not have to walk to chow.” 

Most people resent having to walk to chow hall. For one, the filthy trays and unappetizing scraps don’t inspire much. Plus, there’s no consistent schedule, so you never know when it will be served. If you eat lunch every day at noon, then you don’t have to worry about the schedule. 

“You’ll buy food, but what about all the smokers?” asked Thomas. “They’ll blow all $2,000 to get high. Last time, many people in the world were mad [reading] stories of inmates getting high with their COVID checks.”

I mostly agreed with Thomas. From my perspective, the COVID checks paid for drugs (60%), junk food (20%) and the rest for actual good. I heard many people say they were able to buy craft shop supplies, and use those to expand their businesses selling their wares. 

And no shame to people who bought junk food. Many people in prison have been without anything for a long time, and even being able to afford cookies and chips meant something to them. Other people were able to purchase radios, hot pots, typewriters and legal books, and other supplies to fight their cases in court.

Hector brought some more perspective to the conversation. “Elon Musk and his DOGE department slashed federal spending,” he said. “Trump continues to cut all kinds of programs because there is ‘no money.’ Where is the money for checks coming from if tariffs won’t cover the cost?”

Uninformed inmates keep hoping for a check. Those of us who know better have zero hope of receiving $2,000 checks. I don’t even allow my mind to think about what I would do with a check. Prison has extinguished that kind of hope.

Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.