Hi again, it’s your children on the outside. Your kin.

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We wrote a letter in About Time last year, a letter of love and understanding. A lot has happened in since then. We took your cries all the way to federal parliament. We spoke to politicians and shared your stories. We spoke the truth in places of power, in rooms that usually refuse to see us.

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Life kept moving too. You know who finally broke up with that guy we’ve been telling her to? It took long enough! And sissy has just had a baby, a little girl. We call her “the prodigy” (get it?!). She’s perfect and already running the show.

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There have been birthdays, small wins and, as always, big feelings. The usual mix of everything.

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Last time we wrote to you, we spoke about your strength and the way you hold everything together in a system designed to pull it apart. We spoke about the quiet ways you show up every day that don’t get headlines, and the pressure of providing care across distance, time limits and restrictions, as if you’re three people in one body.

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When we said we would do what we could to ease that pressure, even just a little, we meant it. We still do.

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But if we’re being real with you, we haven’t written in so long because it feels like we’re coming back with empty promises. And honestly, that’s been hard to sit with.

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We know it’s not our fault, and that the weight of this system isn’t ours to carry. But here on the outside, it still feels like our responsibility to push, and to push harder. But lately, it feels like we’re hitting the same wall over and over again.

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It’s closed doors, silence from Ministers’ offices, and those familiar scripted responses from Commissioners that says a lot without saying anything at all. You know the drill. That feeling when something is being pushed aside, and the lack of communication makes it harder to know where to move next.

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One of the biggest things we’ve been fighting for is simple. So simple it almost feels ridiculous that it’s a fight at all. We want to make phone calls free inside. That’s it. No complicated policy overhaul or abstract reform, just the ability for you to speak to us, and us to you. Everyone agrees with it, at least on paper.

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We’ve sat in meetings where people nod along and say, “of course, connection is important.” They talk about how it contributes to rehabilitation, to family ties and breaking cycles. They use all the right words. But when it comes time to move beyond principle, it stalls.

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It suddenly becomes complicated. A contract issue. A process issue. It’s perplexing how a $40 million contract with Telstra can carry so much weight, while more than $6 billion in annual taxpayer funding doesn’t seem to hold the same urgency.

To be fair, they haven’t done nothing. Towards the end of last year, they reduced the cost of landline calls by around 30 cents.

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We sat with that for a while, trying to figure out how to feel. Because yes, it is technically movement, but it’s also hard not to see it for what it is: a partial fix to a much bigger problem. I mean, do people even use landlines like that anymore? Maybe that’s very Gen Z of me to say…

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It still feels like the people making these decisions don’t fully get it. A call is never just a call. It’s a hug carried through words. More than anything, it’s a mother hearing her child’s voice and knowing they’re still there, and a child holding onto something steady in the middle of everything that isn’t. When that call comes with a cost, it becomes something you have to think about. Something you limit and sometimes, something you go without.

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We’ve heard and lived the stories. From calls being cut short when the credit runs out, to kids waiting by the phone, not knowing if today is the day it will ring. No one should have to make those choices.

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So we kept going.

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We built something bigger than just us, a coalition of organisations, advocates, community members, people who have lived this and people who refuse to accept it. There are now over 20 organisations involved, alongside hundreds of supporters from the broader community, all standing behind the same demand.

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It’s called the ‘Freedom on the Line’ campaign.

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It’s been more than just media releases and meetings. We’ve consistently reached out to the Minister and the Commissioner, sharing letters from community and making sure there is space for storytelling. We keep showing up, again and again, even when the response is slow or non-existent. At its core, it’s about keeping that line open.

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We’ve taken it into so many rooms, policy discussions, inquiries, and national conferences, making sure connection is no longer treated as something that can be commodified. We’ve said your names in different ways, so they can’t pretend they don’t know.

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And still, we find ourselves in this in-between space. We won’t pretend otherwise, because you deserve honesty. But what we can say, with certainty, is that we haven’t stopped. We’re more organised than we were, and we keep reminding ourselves that that matters.

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So this Mother’s Day, please know we’re still here, and still holding you in mind. Always. You are always in our thoughts and in our hearts. We bring you with us into every meeting, every call, and every late-night moment where we’re trying to figure out what comes next.

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We wish we were writing with bigger news. But until then, we’ll keep going. And maybe next time we speak, there won’t be a price tag attached to it.

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Chat soon! In love, in fight and in kinship,

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Yung Prodigy