Kelly* yearns to call her “beautiful” 19-year-old daughter to laugh, cry and “just listen to her thoughts, complaints and boyfriend problems”.
Kelly is incarcerated at a Victorian prison and is determined to turn her life around while behind bars — and maintaining her family relationships is crucial to that rehabilitation.
“I want to tell her I miss her face and I love her to the moon and back,” Kelly said.
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She also wants to be able to call her elderly mother to check up on her, and tell her she loves her and can’t wait to cuddle her.
Like many prisoners, Kelly says she lost everything going to jail and cannot afford to lose her daughter and mother too.
But her prison wage and costly call expenses mean she can only afford to call one of them, once a week for a maximum of 12 minutes.
Legal and community groups wrote to the Victorian government this year calling for telephone calls from prisons to be made free because the current cost had isolated families, including children, and that would “damage people’s prospects for successful reintegration”.
In the United States, prisons in four states have made calls free after a human rights group found prisoners were in debt because of calls and visits.
They also highlighted “exorbitant” call expenses were punishing the families of prisoners, who often come from low socio-economic backgrounds.
“I deserve love, acceptance, family support, and the right to communicate with my family who are fighting to help me succeed in moving forward away from drugs and crime,” Kelly said.
“I shouldn’t be stopped from seeking their love and help because I don’t have money to pay exorbitant call costs.
“Phone calls should not be used as a means to make money from us.”
Restricted from love and help
Kelly shared her story, in her own words, through the newly released national prison newspaper, About Time, which is flourishing across six state and territory facilities.
She works 30 hours a week as a sewing machinist at the Dame Phyllis Frost Centre, where she has been locked up for the past two years.
That earns her $1.56 an hour or $46.80 a week — 20 per cent of which goes into a compulsory savings account to prepare her for release.
A minimum security prison mobile phone call in Victoria costs $6.84 for a maximum 12-minute call, or 57 cents per minute.
While there are free Zoom calls, Kelly’s mother is illiterate and needs help to access online resources.
Kelly said if she makes more than one phone call a week, she won’t have enough money for toiletries and stamps — which she also must buy with her own wages.
Not being able to maintain family ties would reduce her chances of turning her life around, she said.
“Most women I talk with make those hard reconnection calls to people they have hurt while in prison,” she said.
“It is possible to stop women from reoffending. This can be done by prisoners repairing those connections with family and children.
“It gives a fighting chance and a purpose to change.”
In an interim report, Yoorrook Justice Commission — Victoria’s truth-telling inquiry for First Nations people — recommended prison calls be free because Indigenous prisoners were making calls almost daily, fearing family would pass away while they were in prison.
Kelly said her research found all state and territory prisons charge different rates for phone calls, despite using the same provider, Comsec TR, and she questioned why Victorian prison calls are more expensive.
Prisoner rehabilitation organisation Vacro has been campaigning for the Victorian government to make prison calls free.
Senior policy and advocacy advisor Abigail Lewis said when prisoners maintain family connections, they have greater chances of rehabilitation and breaking a cycle of crime — which would benefit the wider community.
She also pointed out people on remand, who haven’t yet entered a plea or been convicted of a crime, are also disadvantaged by the cost of calls.
“We hear about people who are incarcerated not being able to buy soap that week because they choose to call their child, or having to choose between calling a child and elderly mother, making these impossible decisions,” Lewis said.
“Strong family relationships help people leaving prison and their families to create new beginnings and thrive in their communities.”
Families can transfer money to enable prisoners to afford calls, but this puts additional burden on families who may already be struggling with living expenses.
“Either the person who is incarcerated or their family on the outside is having to give up other essentials in order to stay in touch with their family member,” Lewis said.
The Victorian Department of Justice and Community Safety said it encouraged people in custody to maintain ties with family while in custody.
It attributed the high cost of calls in prison to security requirements, such as the ability to record and monitor telephone calls to support the safety and security of correctional centres and the community.
Newspaper flourishing in digital age
About Time published its own investigation into prison phone calls, with prison rights groups calling for them to be free of charge to support prisoner rehabilitation.
Victorian Correction Minister Enver Erdogan said his office was working through options to reduce the costs of prison phone calls, and will “have more to say on this soon”.
About Time is printing 13,000 hard copies each month for prisons in Victoria, NSW, South Australia, Queensland, Tasmania and ACT with a futher online readership of 12,000.
The paper includes letters to the editor from prisoners and people working in corrections, news on Australia’s criminal justice system, as well as useful advice for inmates.
Managing director and publisher Joseph Friedman followed the lead of similar UK newspaper, Inside Time.
He launched About Time in July 2024 with a team of volunteers who are backed by the support of legal and prison rights groups.
“(Prisoners) said it gives them a sense of hope and solidarity, helps them express themselves, provides information they find valuable and gives them a source of entertainment,” Friedman said.
“If this paper helps reintergrate incarerated people, then its good for everyone, including people who have suffered because of the actions of these people.”
Lewis said Vacro has supported About Time because of its potential to help prisoners reintegrate into society.
“We’ve heard such great feedback from people on both sides of the prison walls,” she said.
“I wouldn’t say a newspaper is a privilege, I’d say access to the news is right we all have and, more than that, it’s benefit is when we are all informed about each other, our communities are stronger.”
Kelly said she hopes people reading her story consider prisoners as humans who made mistakes, not “monsters”.
“Some of us are here for finally standing up to our abuser. Some of us are here for traffic accidents gone wrong,” she wrote.
“Some women are here because they couldn’t afford groceries for their kids and stole. Some women are here as they have been taken advantage of.
“We are still women, mothers, daughters, aunties, and sisters.
“We all deserve to be loved, and respected and have unlimited contact with our family and children.“
* Full name withheld