Gladys Cooper is not incarcerated, at least not physically. Her brother, Allen Phillips, is serving a sentence of life without parole in an Alabama prison. But, Cooper said, “Sometimes I feel like I’m in prison more than [he is].” 

To have a loved one in prison is to worry constantly. Cooper worries about her brother’s basic needs, whether he has enough warm clothes and enough to eat, whether he’s safe from violence. 

Cooper is not alone. Families of incarcerated people everywhere suffer a great deal when their loved one goes to prison. The best way to ease that fear is through phone calls and emails. But even simple communication is becoming a source of concern.

In 2024, the Federal Communications Commission issued rules that brought relief to the families of incarcerated people across the country by lowering the caps on phone and video calling rates. The maximum cost for in-state prison phone calls was lowered from 14 cents per minute to 6 cents per minute. The FCC estimated the changes would save people hundreds of millions of dollars.

Then the FCC reversed course. In the summer of 2025, after a few months of phasing in the new price limits, the agency eliminated the caps. The rates for phone calls rose from 5 cents a minute to 8 cents a minute. Under these new rules, what was once an 80-cent 15-minute phone call is now $1.30.

Messaging rates went up, too. The old system allowed 4,000 characters for 15 cents; now it’s 2,000 for the same price — a 50% reduction in value by doubling the cost per character.

Before the rate increase, my family and I were able to budget an extra phone call every couple of weeks or make emergency calls as needed. My mother is on a fixed income and has health issues. She doesn’t have much discretionary spending. Now we are only able to do one Saturday phone call a week — and if there is an emergency we may have to wait until our next call to discuss it. 

Austin Bonner, a young man just a few years into a life-without-parole sentence, said he has to forgo phone calls because his loved ones don’t always have enough money.

“The cost is very discouraging,” he said.

These circumstances might make a family feel like they’re abandoning their loved one. The choice between paying bills or helping your incarcerated family member can be devastating.

Cooper sends her brother $140 a month, with $100 going toward purchases from commissary, the prison general store. This money helps Phillips buy better food than is served in our cafeteria, or chow hall. The other $40 he spends on phone calls. 

But the price increase has meant he now calls his sister less. Making their connection even tougher, Cooper lives in Florida. To make what the phone provider considers a long-distance call, Allen has to pay an extra 40%. They’ve had to adjust the length of their calls to save money.

“Me and Gladys call regularly but don’t always use the whole 15 minutes,” Phillips said. “We just make sure each other is all right.”