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Ex-Cons Create 'Instagram For Prisons,' and Wardens Are Fine With That (bloomberg.com)
Bloomberg's Olivia Carville writes about three apps that are offering a cheaper way for families to connect with incarcerated loved ones. Here's an excerpt from her report: Pigeonly and its ilk have hit on a communication model -- a necessarily inelegant one -- that meets inmates' desire for a more tangible connection while serving the social-media habits of their loved ones. One of the apps, Flikshop, has been affectionately dubbed the "Instagram for prisons." It's an imperfect metaphor perhaps, but the app is the closest thing to the social network in prison, and Flikshop postcards are pinned up on cell walls across the U.S. Beyond giving prisoners an easier, cheaper and more fulfilling way to communicate, the men who started these apps also want to make inmates less likely to re-offend because they see there's a life to be lived on the outside. Decades of research show that recidivism rates fall when prisoners are in regular contact with family. Criminal justice advocacy groups and rehabilitation non-profits have already started using the apps to make the prison population aware of their services.
Frederick Hutson, 34, started Pigeonly, Inc. in 2013, fresh from a five-year stint in federal prison for drug trafficking. "I saw first-hand how difficult and expensive it was to stay in touch," Hutson says. "I also saw how much of an impact that made on the person behind bars. I would see the guys that had the financial means to stay in touch and when they left prison I would hear that they were doing well, but those who didn't have the support network on the outside -- I'd see them coming back in." Pigeonly -- named for the pigeon post services of wartime fame -- wants to become a bridge between those who live in a digital world and those who are imprisoned in an analog one. Customers subscribe to the app for a monthly fee, ranging from $7.99 to $19.99, in order to send photos and messages and have access to cheaper online phone rates. Pigeonly has 20 full-time staff, half of whom were previously incarcerated themselves. Every day, they send up to 4,000 mail orders into county, state and federal penitentiaries across the country.
Frederick Hutson, 34, started Pigeonly, Inc. in 2013, fresh from a five-year stint in federal prison for drug trafficking. "I saw first-hand how difficult and expensive it was to stay in touch," Hutson says. "I also saw how much of an impact that made on the person behind bars. I would see the guys that had the financial means to stay in touch and when they left prison I would hear that they were doing well, but those who didn't have the support network on the outside -- I'd see them coming back in." Pigeonly -- named for the pigeon post services of wartime fame -- wants to become a bridge between those who live in a digital world and those who are imprisoned in an analog one. Customers subscribe to the app for a monthly fee, ranging from $7.99 to $19.99, in order to send photos and messages and have access to cheaper online phone rates. Pigeonly has 20 full-time staff, half of whom were previously incarcerated themselves. Every day, they send up to 4,000 mail orders into county, state and federal penitentiaries across the country.
I had a number of family members in jail that were sent to facilities around the US. I had looked into Pigeonly because of their telephone service rates. Calling inmates is ridiculous - either on their books or calling collect - it's a ransom to call long-distance. What I ended up doing instead was signing up for 3 different google voice numbers in the area codes of the prisons my family were all in and had them call me at the local numbers. While still a lot more than a traditional call, it was astronomically cheaper than long-distance, and cheaper than the plans offered by Pigeonly.
The federal prisons system has email access, and was the cheapest way for all of us to stay in touch. Snail-mail was bad. Sorting and scanning at the prisons is kind of a crap shoot. Sometimes letters wouldn't arrive until 4-6 weeks after we'd sent them. Sometimes they'd show up in 3 days. I think a few showed up 3-4 months latter. The intake office rejects all kinds of letters for arbitrary reasons. They sent back a picture we included with a letter, that my 3 year old had drawn for her uncle. Their note said it was returned because it was an "unsigned card".
My mom's prison had access to video chat. $20 for 15 minutes I think. We tried it 2 times. The latency and lag was really bad. Kind of felt like I was video chatting on an old 320x240 from the early 00s. The apps didn't have any kind of noise canceling / mute function with the mic so unless we chatted on headphones you start an infinite feedback loop. I tried once on computer and once on an iPhone. Because we were only doing it some my mom could see her grandkid, and this 3 year old wasn't into headphones we gave up the video chatting too.
Good on him for helping out people not savvy enough to setup VOIP lines in local area codes and making letter writing easier. Keeping up with people in prison is hard and expensive.
Also known as "justice" or "fairness."
Many prisoners and their advocates believe they should be able to inflict costs, up to the taking of a victim's life, and incur no cost for it. However, as we compensate farmer for his costs, by paying him for his produce, rather than simply taking the fruits of his labor without compensation, many believe that an offender who maliciously harms others for some personal benefit should somehow compensate the victim.
Unfortunately, the costs incurred on the victim are often quite large, and the offender cannot pay in money. In the case of a stolen life, there is no more victim to compensate. Thus, out of a sense of shared sacrifice and fairness, a cost is imposed on the offender commensurate to the cost he imposed on the victim. If the cost can also deter/prevent the offender from harming others in the future, that is good for people who come into contact with the offender.