Jerome Dillard, executive director of Ex-Incarcerated People Organizing (EXPO) (left) holds book discussion with author and activist Bianca Tylek (right). (Photo by Isiah Holmes/Wisconsin Examiner)

“We’re talking about a major, major industry in our society today,” activist and writer Bianca Tylek told a group of about 20 people who packed a room at Madison’s Lake City Books Monday night. At the Q&A and book signing event, hosted by Ex-Incarcerated People Organizing (EXPO), Tylek — described as a leading expert in the prison industry — discussed her new book The Prison Industry: How It Works and Who Profits, offering her insights into what she called a $80-90 billion industry in America. 

“This is just a massive industry of folks who are using the correctional system to essentially extract either wealth or resources either from public coffers, or from low-income … communities that are directly impacted by incarceration,” said Tylek, who also founded and leads the non-profit organization Worth Rises, which works to confront and reform the prison industry. Tylek’s book delves into multiple aspects of the prison industry from food distribution to telecommunications and examines privatization, who profits and the lives of the people who are directly affected. 

The discussion was moderated by Jerome Dillard, EXPO’s executive director, who sat beside Tylek asking  questions. Dillard called Tylek “my daughter in the movement,” and spoke of his admiration for her work and her spirit in fighting for change within the prison system. 

Dillard described attending an event in Appleton last week with Tylek where he was invited to receive an award, “not knowing what we were going into,” and realizing it was a Wisconsin Correctional Association conference. 

“I just couldn’t believe all the industries that were there with tables, and tabling the event with new devices and all this,” said Dillard. “I left there really broken and heavy. These conferences opened my eyes to how big this industry is … that individuals are capitalizing on human misery.” Conference tables displayed new kinds of spit masks and shock gloves to prospective correctional customers, some of whom made joking comments about using the devices on the job. “It just blew me away, you know, that she’s bragging about punishing and torturing people in their care,” said Dillard, recalling a woman who made such remarks. 

Tylek said that there are over 1,400 manufacturers of correctional and policing equipment nationwide. “Every single state has a correctional conference,” said Tylek. “Every single state has a sheriff’s association,” as well as conferences and associations dedicated to jails, parole and other aspects of the correctional system. Tylek recalled attending the American Correctional Association conference, one of the largest in the nation, where she saw an exhibit hall “with hundreds of corporations” with their own exhibit tables. 

“And not just tables,” Tylek told the crowd. “Probably the wildest thing I saw was one company drive a full bus into the convention center, where staff from correctional institutions could step onto the bus and play with all the equipment and trinkets that they were selling. And they gave out free raffle tickets and all these things, and probably the grossest thing that I experienced was all the tickets to private events. And I made my way up to a private event for Securus.” Tylek said that the company is one of the nation’s two largest prison telecommunication companies, and was one of the largest sponsors of the conference that year. “And they had a happy hour that involved a full open bar,” said Tylek, “a full swing dance performance, everyone just having the most joyous time of all. All while on the walls there were the kiosks, the tablets, the phone devices that you could go and speak to a Securus representative while you have your cocktail. And all of this built on about 2 million people who are sitting in a cage somewhere who will never see this, who don’t get to enjoy these luxuries in any of this. It’s heartbreaking, and it’s repulsive, I think, more than anything.”

Later, Tylek elaborated more on how companies use things like gifts and luxury vacations to grow their relationships with correctional and law enforcement leaders. “At conferences, you would get these private event tickets,” she said. At one such event, she recalled, attendees were given hand-rolled cigars. “That’s just the legal stuff that looks gross,” said Tylek. There are also “questionably legal” practices, such as offering “training cruises” in the Caribbean for prison and sheriff staff in brochures distributed during contract bidding processes. 

On the dark end of the spectrum is bribery, such as the case of a Mississippi prison commissioner who was involved in a bribery and kickback scheme with private prison companies. Tylek highlighted how in Mississippi, a prison commissioner went on to work for a private prison company as a lobbyist. Similar revolving doors exist between the prison industry, especially private prisons, Homeland Security and immigration agencies, said Tylek.

Tylek described the rise of  the prison industry as a relatively new phenomenon in America. Prior to the abolition of slavery, she said, the prison population was predominantly white, and only shifted to being predominantly Black in the decades after abolition — a move  to “re-confine and re-enslave” Black people. Prison populations continued to grow into the 1970s and 80s, leading into the War on Drugs. “Really around the 1980s is when you start to see industry recognize a potential opportunity,” said Tylek. 

That’s the  era during which most of the private prison companies featured in her book began to emerge. Private prison industry representatives helped craft some of the nation’s most punitive laws such as three-strikes laws, truth in sentencing and mandatory minimums, which helped grow the prison population. “Those three pieces of model legislation were drafted by the prison industry, and specifically by private prison executives,” said Tylek. 

The consequences have been devastating for individuals and families, and also ripple out into society. “The impact of the prison industry bleeds far beyond prison walls,” Tylek said. Among those ripple effects are the cost borne by families that put money on the books for incarcerated loved ones to have food and hygiene supplies or simply to communicate, incarcerated people who work long hours for 14 cents an hour on average, missed child support payments from incarcerated parents and victims who don’t receive restitution. In addition, many small towns which once saw prisons as economic saviors now see them as burdens. 

“In the end, all of us are impacted,” said Tylek. “When we exploit people who are incarcerated, or we have a system that wants to put more people behind bars and for longer because a few stand to benefit, then socially we are all harmed by that.” 

Yet a space ripe with so many problems also invites solutions. In several states, Tylek has been involved in movements to make phone calls to incarcerated people free and in more than one of those places, that effort succeeded. “Something that everyone can understand is what’s the importance of a phone call home,” Tylek told her bookstore audience. Families of incarcerated people often face significant financial challenges, including debt, income loss and unemployment. 

In 2017, Tylek began to focus on the prison telecommunications industry. “We led the first successful campaign to make communication completely free in a jail system,” said Tylek. That was in New York, and affected the infamous Rikers Island jail. From 2019 to 2023, Tylek’s organization Worth Rises pushed for free jail calls in San Francisco, San Diego, Los Angeles, Massachusetts, free prison calls in Connecticut, California, Colorado, Minnesota. Free prison calls were enshrined in the CARES Act as a result of that work. “We’ve been able to save families $600 million to date,” Tylek said, “and generate over 3 billion additional call minutes between people who are incarcerated and their loved ones.”

Dillard recalled celebrating some of those victories with Tylek, but the fight continues. “We’re in a dozen more states trying to fight for the exact same legislation to make communication free in our prisons and jails,” said Tylek. “The outcomes that we get are life-changing. In Connecticut we saw phone volume increase by over 120% overnight. In New York just recently, first data’s coming back and we are north of 40% increases in calling.” Some of that difference is also due to inconsistent call rates across different states, with incarcerated people being charged 2.8 cents per minute in New York versus people in Connecticut who were paying 32.5 cents per minute. 

“No matter where it happens, the change is substantial,” said Tylek. “These are real people with real lives. We have talked to families whose autistic child stopped speaking when her father went to prison. And when phone calls became free and he could call home again she started speaking again, her child development changed, she started engaging more in school, and now she’s flourishing, all off a simple phone call.”

Those kinds of victories can be replicated elsewhere. A campaign was launched earlier this year to make jail calls free in Racine County, and La Crosse became the first Wisconsin county to provide free jail calls earlier this year. 

“What I love about the examples in Wisconsin is that we had nothing to do with them,” Tylek said, drawing laughter from the audience in Madison. “My biggest goal has been for this movement to take itself.”