20 Time March 1/March 8, 2021
TheView E s s ay
NATION
The call that I always
have to answer
By Reuben Jonathan Miller
“Let me ask you this,” he said, as he al-
ways did before making his requests.
I was always relieved to hear his
voice, but I was always in the middle
of something. That time I was writing.
The previous time, I was in a faculty
meeting. The time before that, I was
on a date. No matter if I was sleeping
or playing with my kids, when the call
came, I had to answer.
Any boxer will tell you that the
punch you don’t see coming is the one
that puts you down. The collect call you
didn’t expect. The court date you didn’t
have the gas money to attend. The con-
versations with your children about why
their uncle was in prison. The $2.95 pro-
cessing fee that overdrew your account.
The six $34 overdraft fees. The unex-
pected embarrassment as you sit at your
desk, entering an order for 30 packages
of ramen noodles. What it feels like
when Michigan Packages runs out of the
flavor of noodles he wanted. It’s these
little things, the daily disruptions, that
manage to put you down.
More than a million families live this
way. Sending money they can’t afford.
Making court dates they don’t have
time for. Driving five hours only to be
turned away, because the facility is on“Hello. THis is a collecT call from... [some voice
that sounded like my brother’s], a prisoner at the Michigan
Department of Corrections. If you feel you are being victim-
ized or extorted by this prisoner, call customer service at
[some number rattled off too quickly for me to catch].” The
digital woman gave more instructions: “To accept this call,
press zero. To refuse it, press one. To prevent calls from this
facility, press six.”
Why was Jeremiah calling collect? I’d added money to his
account, or at least that’s what I thought. “Sh-t!” I hissed out
loud, but not quite loud enough for my young son to notice.
I fumbled through papers and moved books to find my wallet
under a coffee mug.
In Michigan, people in prison make calls using prepaid ac-
counts. Those calls in 2016 cost 21¢ per minute plus a $2.95
processing fee. I spent $80 per month on my brother’s calls.
Why was he calling collect? Did he forget his passcode? Had
I paid JPay again instead of ConnectNetwork, which also han-
dles “inmate trust funds” for your loved one to buy soap and
ramen noodles.
We still used JPay to send emails. They were the cheaper
option. I recall that for 25¢ a page and 20¢ an image, you
could send a five-page letter. Add $1 for a holiday e-greeting
card, an email could cost $3. Return stamps cost an additional
25¢ per page. Jeremiah sent updates and asked about my fam-
ily. At the end, he would make requests. He’d ask me to look
up job-training programs or to send screenshots from his
Facebook page. He’d ask for books and magazine subscrip-
tions. He’d always need money for something. Gym shoes.
A television set. An AM/FM radio. Each item cost twice as
much from the commissary as it costs in the free world.
I sent Jeremiah $250 for his first Christmas inside, to
buy boots and a television set. We didn’t know then that the
MDOC takes half of everything over $50 in a 30-day period to
cover legal debts. Jeremiah owed thousands of dollars: $600
for the checked-out public defender who met with him once
for 20 minutes on the day of his plea deal, $1,611 for “court
costs,” $400 for an extradition fee and $68 for the “state
minimum costs” to record his felony record. The cash that re-
mained from his Christmas gift left enough to buy boots or
a TV, but not both.
I was breathing hard now, my chest tightening. I couldn’t
remember if you pressed # after your debit-card number or
wait to enter your security code. Sh-t, I thought. The digital
lady was making me start over again.
What must it have been like for Jeremiah, standing at the
phone on his unit? Was there silence? Did he hear me entering
digits? After spending too long in my head, the call connected.
“What’s up, Ruby Scoober? What you doing?” Jeremiah
asked. We caught up quickly. He told me a funny story about
the men he lived with, and asked about my wife and kids.
LIFE AFTER PRISON19,419
state, territory and
federal employment
restrictions1 ,0 3 3
state, territory and
federal housing
restrictions3,954
state, territory
and federal
civic-participation
restrictionsILLUSTRATION BY TAYLOR CALLERY FOR TIME