Prison canteen prices are on the rise, despite 20-year stagnation in wages

​By Alexandria Staubach
 
The price of goods sold to individuals incarcerated in Wisconsin prisons is rising, yet the nominal pay earned by the incarcerated remains unchanged and is effectively decreasing.
 
Wisconsin Department of Corrections contracts obtained by Wisconsin Justice Initiative through an open records request show that a sole provider, Union Supply Group, Inc., of California, has held an exclusive contract since 2019 to sell goods to those in Wisconsin prisons. While state law places time limits on sole source providers, and Union Supply’s term limit expired in May 2024, the DOC sought and received a six-month extension from the governor, meaning the contract should terminate on Nov. 30.
 
Although WJI does not know what sales total in the six-month period, the soon-to-expire contract extension is capped at $12 million in goods sold inside.

Other documents obtained by WJI show that the DOC takes a 10% cut of all sales to the incarcerated.
 
WJI obtained a list of prison canteen prices from 2020 through 2024 for all DOC facilities plus three Department of Health Services facilities. The price sheets show that while some essential goods (such as feminine hygiene products) remain stable over time, many other items have increased in price. A 10-pack of instant oatmeal cost $2.14 in 2020 but is $3.57 in 2024. Summer sausage is up 42 cents over 2020’s price, and 4.5 ounces of chicken cost $1.33 more this year.
 
In an interview with WJI, Marshall Jones, who is serving a sentence in a DOC facility, discussed the rising prices. Jones used ramen noodles as an example. At the beginning of his incarceration in 2004, Jones could buy a packet of ramen for 11 cents, but the price has steadily climbed. Now, 20 years later, it costs 60 cents.
 
Jones also said the food served in prison is not enough to subsist—that he’d “be in trouble” if he had to rely only on DOC meals, which he says are high in carbohydrates and deficient in nutrients and protein. A meal can be as simple as two pieces of toast, six ounces of hot or cold cereal, and milk, Jones said.
 
DOC provides less than the bare essentials, Jones said. Everyone gets three meals, tissues, state-issued clothing, tennis shoes, bedding, a tiny bar of soap, and a tiny tube of toothpaste, plus a single stamped envelope every two weeks.
 
Everything else is on the incarcerated person’s dime, including laundry and detergent. DOC recently implemented a laundry service, which Jones pays for with a laundry card that costs $2.50 for five washes.
 
Extra expenses are not limited to supplemental food. A single naproxen (generic Advil) costs 26 cents, and a single tampon is 33 cents.
 
Pricing also suggests racial bias. Makeup is available for purchase, but 1 ounce of Cover Girl foundation in “ivory” is $6.65, while 1 ounce in “deep chocolate” is $8.33.
 
With individuals paying for everything from their own laundry to supplemental food, seemingly small increases in prices can make a huge difference in the quality of their already austere life.
 
Yet, while prices are up, wages are down. Hourly rates are measured in cents, not dollars, and 20 years of stagnated wages, together with price increases, cause significant harm.
 
Since Jones’ sentence began in 2004, the number of high paying jobs has decreased through reclassification. The highest paying jobs have often been reclassified as lower paying ones.
 
Jobs are rated on a tiered system, Jones said. People who are “unassigned,” meaning they do not work or go to school, get a universal basic income of $0.05 per hour, per work day. Someone working on a degree is paid $0.12 per hour. Rates increase up to Tier 5, which pays $0.42 an hour. Tier 5 jobs generally require extra security clearance and might be more public facing.
 
DOC has full discretion over rates of pay for work within its institutions, while the Bureau of Correctional Enterprises controls pay for those employed by the Prison Industries Board.
 
Jones reports that BCE jobs can pay up to a dollar an hour, but the positions are few and far between (consistent with BCE’s annual reporting reviewed by WJI). In 2023, BCE employed only 384 workers, while the total prison population surpassed 22,000 individuals.
 
On its website, BCE says its mission “is to enhance public safety by providing jobs and training to help persons in our care develop marketable skills and gain work experience in financially viable businesses.” However, one of its most prevalent programs provides manual labor in agriculture. BCE runs a dairy and three farms with more than 2,000 acres of land.
 
BCE employees can be paid incentives in addition to hourly wages, but incentives “may not be set at a rate that would cause a deficit on operations,” according to analysis by the Legislative Reference Bureau.
 
Notably, per the BCE’s 2023 annual report, the organization made $34.6 million in sales while paying only $684,870 in wages for 677,148 hours worked by the incarcerated.
 
Jones has been incarcerated for more than 21 years. In that time, he has held all manner of jobs, including those in the top tier. “It used to be that a guy could survive off a wage,” Jones said. “Not anymore, a person can’t manage unless they have outside support.”
 
Two factors drive this change, Jones said, with the first being those rising prices and the second being deductions by the institution for fines and fees, which are given priority for payment. Deductions for those can total as much as 60% of an individual’s earnings if they still owe court costs and restitution.
 
Then there’s a set-aside for the release account. A release account is the money DOC deducts and holds for the incarcerated person to use upon release. Individuals must contribute to this account until it maxes out at $5,500.
 
Jones completed his restitution payments in 2017, but 10% still comes off the top of his check for his release account. He told WJI that he’s almost set aside the full release account amount—but he questions why, as he’s serving a life sentence.