My name is Anna, and I'm writing this because there are moments in life where you need to hear the voice of someone you love—and the cost of that call should never stand between you and that moment.

My brother has spent multiple years cycling through Arizona's prison system. He's a repeat offender, which means the odds are stacked against him every time he gets another chance. But this time feels different. He's in a good headspace. He's engaged, he's hopeful, and he's doing the work on himself. The one thing keeping him grounded, keeping him focused on staying on that better path, is our ability to talk regularly. I'm his only immediate family.

But I have to tell you why these calls matter so deeply to me—why they matter more than just day-to-day connection.

The Calls We Should Never Have to Make

In 2018, my mother passed away. I had to find a way to tell my brother while he was incarcerated, locked away in a cell, completely alone. I had to navigate the prison system's bureaucracy just to get him to a phone. That call—the one where I told him our mother was gone—should have been free. It should have been immediate. It should have been his right as a human being to hear his sister's voice in that moment of unbearable grief.

But we paid for it.

Last night, I had to do it again. My brother's father—someone he still cared about, someone he was trying to rebuild a relationship with—was on life support. The decision had been made to let him go. I called the prison. I waited. I explained the situation to the control room. They took him to a chaplain so he could call me back.

By the time he reached a phone, he already knew. He hadn't heard it from me. He'd heard it through prison staff—people who aren't necessarily those he wanted to share his grief with, people he doesn't have the relationship with to truly process loss. When the chaplain finally got him the phone, when he was able to call me back to talk about his father, to grieve, to process with someone who actually knows him and loves him—we were charged for that call.

In the moment when my brother needed to hear his sister's voice most, when he needed to know he wasn't entirely alone in his pain, Arizona's prison system extracted a cost. Not just a financial cost. An emotional one. He had to learn of his father's death from institutional figures, and then he had to pay for the privilege of processing that loss with his family.

The Cost of Connection in Crisis

In 2025, the Federal Communications Commission voted to increase phone call rates in Arizona prisons from $0.06 per minute to $0.11 per minute—an 83% increase.[1] For families already stretched thin, already sacrificing to keep someone they love connected to the outside world, this isn't a minor inconvenience. This is a barrier. This is a choice between calling my brother and paying rent. Between hearing his voice and buying groceries.

But it's more than that. It's the difference between hearing devastating news from your sister's voice versus hearing it through prison staff. It's the difference between being able to call someone you love on the day their world collapses and having to wait, having to plan, having to figure out how you'll afford to grieve together.

Research is unambiguous: incarcerated people who maintain consistent contact with family members are significantly more likely to successfully reintegrate upon release and are substantially less likely to reoffend. Every time we can't afford a call, every time the silence stretches longer, we're removing one of the most powerful tools we have to help someone stay on the right path.

And on the days when crisis strikes—when someone dies, when someone needs their family most—we're charging them for their humanity.

What Arizona Should Already Know

Arizona has shown leadership in recognizing the importance of successful reentry. This year, Arizona joined the Reentry 2030 initiative, pledging to increase workforce certifications, employment, and pre-release health care access for people after release from jail or prison.[2] This commitment acknowledges what research has proven: supporting people during and after incarceration reduces recidivism and strengthens our communities.

But there's a fundamental contradiction in this approach. Arizona is investing resources in employment training, health care access, and workforce development—all critical to successful reentry. Yet the state continues to allow phone call costs that actively undermine family bonds, the very relationships that research shows are central to successful reintegration.

Other states have already moved forward. New York, California, and Minnesota offer free phone calls for prisoners.[1] They didn't do this because they had extra money or fewer budget constraints. They did it because they recognized a basic truth: family connection is not a luxury. It's a public safety investment. It's a human right.

California Has Shown the Way

California implemented the Keep Families Connected Act of 2022, requiring state prisons to provide free phone calls to incarcerated individuals. California's leadership recognized what I learned the hard way—that when someone needs to hear their sister's voice, when someone needs to be told devastating news by someone who loves them, that moment cannot have a price tag attached to it.

If California can do this, Arizona can too.

What's at Stake

For my brother, these calls mean he hears encouragement when he's struggling. On ordinary days, they mean he's connected to someone who believes in him. On the days when the world falls apart, they mean he doesn't have to face it completely alone.

For Arizona, this is an opportunity to align its Reentry 2030 commitment with actual policy. You cannot invest millions in post-release services while simultaneously pricing families out of the one communication tool that helps people prepare for release in the first place. You cannot claim to support families while charging them for the privilege of telling their loved one that someone died.

The people I know—friends with siblings, parents, loved ones behind bars—are all paying for the right to stay connected. They're all making impossible choices. And every single one of them has had moments where they needed to hear a voice and couldn't afford it.

I've had two of those moments. I shouldn't need to count how many more might come.

I'm Asking for Your Help

I'm calling on anyone who understands that family matters—that connection matters—to sign this petition asking Arizona to implement free phone calls for incarcerated individuals, modeled after California's successful policy.

Arizona has the resources. Arizona has the commitment to reentry. What we need now is the will to remove the barriers that prevent families from staying connected, especially in the moments when connection matters most.

On ordinary days, free phone calls would mean my brother stays grounded. On the days when crisis strikes, they would mean he's not charged to hear his sister's voice when his world is falling apart.

That matters. It matters more than I can adequately express.

Please sign this petition. Please help us bring California's policy to Arizona. Please help us keep the lines of communication open—literally and figuratively.

[1] Wanda Bertram, "Bowing to pressure from jails and companies, FCC raises phone rate caps," October 30, 2025, updated November 7, 2025.

[2] Council of State Governments Justice Center, "2025 in Review: Justice Data and Solutions for State and Local," November 24, 2025.