For millions of Americans in the throes of a mental health crisis, three numbers have become a vital bridge between despair and survival: 988. The national Suicide and Crisis Lifeline has evolved into a critical piece of the country’s public health infrastructure, providing immediate, human-centered support to those in their darkest moments.
However, for Cadence Van Beek, a college student and mental health advocate who once relied on the service during a sophomore-year crisis, the lifeline feels less like a permanent safety net and more like a fragile promise. During her own experience, a counselor provided the patience and grace she desperately needed, de-escalating her crisis and connecting her with local resources in Jackson County.
“It didn’t feel rushed,” Van Beek recalls. “She took her time with me, and she was very kind—just a kind soul.”
Today, Van Beek is one of thousands sounding the alarm: while the 988 service has proven its efficacy in saving lives, its future in Wisconsin remains caught in a precarious cycle of insufficient funding and political gridlock.
The Life-Saving Impact: A Data-Driven Success
The effectiveness of the 988 lifeline is not merely anecdotal; it is backed by compelling data. Since its national launch in July 2022, the service has handled over 345,000 calls and texts in Wisconsin alone. A recent landmark study published in JAMA revealed that in the first two and a half years of the service’s operation, suicide rates among individuals aged 15 to 34 were 11% lower than statistical projections—a reduction equivalent to nearly 4,400 lives saved.
Despite these tangible outcomes, the infrastructure supporting these calls is straining under the weight of its own success. Wisconsin currently trails the majority of the nation in the percentage of calls answered within state lines. While states like Illinois and Minnesota have moved to secure dedicated funding, Wisconsin continues to rely on a patchwork of federal grants and intermittent state budget allocations, leaving the system vulnerable to the whims of legislative cycles.
A Chronology of Advocacy and Inaction
The push for a sustainable funding model for 988 has been a slow-moving battle. Since 2009, Wisconsinites have been accustomed to paying a modest monthly telecommunications fee—currently 75 cents—to support the 911 emergency system. Advocates, including the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) Wisconsin chapter, have argued for years that 988 deserves a similar dedicated funding stream.
In May 2026, the movement gained a public face when Van Beek visited the state Capitol in Madison. Working with the Wisconsin Office of Children’s Mental Health, she presented a research-backed proposal to lawmakers: fund 988 like 911.
The political reality, however, has been less responsive. In the 2025-27 state biennial budget, Governor Tony Evers recommended a $12.2 million appropriation for the lifeline. Lawmakers ultimately approved only $7 million. Furthermore, a bill authored by state Rep. Ben Franklin (R-De Pere) and state Sen. Jesse James (R-Thorp) sought to mandate state grants for the lifeline but notably failed to include a funding mechanism. The bill failed to pass the Senate and was never brought to a vote in the Assembly, leaving advocates frustrated by the lack of fiscal teeth behind the legislation.
Operational Realities: The Strain on Family Services
The burden of executing this mission falls on Family Services of Northeast Wisconsin, which operates the state’s 988 line. Tana Koss, Senior Vice President of the organization, notes that the demand for the service has consistently outperformed even the most optimistic projections.
“Wisconsin has blown all numbers out of the water,” Koss says. “The demand from Wisconsinites for this service has surpassed every model of projection that was available to us.”
The operational friction is evident in the call-handling statistics. In July 2026, Wisconsin received over 11,200 calls, yet could only manage to answer roughly 9,000 of them in-state. When local counselors are unavailable, calls are routed to a national backup center. While these centers are capable, they lack the localized knowledge of Wisconsin-specific mental health resources and can lead to longer wait times—a critical factor when every second can influence a caller’s decision to disengage.
“The longer a person waits on the line, the more likely they are to disengage,” Koss explains. “The sooner in that process you can have the staff available, the more likely you are to engage that caller.”
Despite the challenges, the service has seen incremental improvements, with the in-state answer rate climbing from 74% in January to 81% in July. However, reaching the goal of a 90% in-state answer rate—a benchmark achieved by neighboring states with more stable funding—remains elusive.
The Political and Ethical Implications
The debate over 988 has become an unexpected point of contention in state politics. Brandy Tollefson, a De Pere School Board member and Democratic challenger for state office, views the issue through a personal lens. Having lost a stepbrother to suicide, she argues that the current, non-partisan nature of the crisis requires a more robust legislative commitment.
“I fully support working with any Democrat or Republican who wants to get this permanently funded,” Tollefson says. She remains critical of previous legislative attempts, noting that they often lacked the necessary appropriations to ensure long-term stability.
Meanwhile, the conversation is expanding to include the role of technology in mental health. As reports emerge of generative AI chatbots failing to provide adequate support to users in distress, legislators in other states, such as Illinois, are proposing fines on AI companies that fail to route users with suicidal ideation to services like 988. These potential fines could serve as a unique revenue stream for crisis funds.
Megan Zimmerman, outreach program director at NAMI Fox Valley, emphasizes the importance of human intervention over algorithmic assistance. “I always really encourage people to instead think about 988… because then you’re getting a real live human being,” she says.
Zimmerman also works to combat the persistent stigma that 988 is a precursor to involuntary hospitalization. She notes that in Wisconsin, law enforcement or emergency services are involved in only 0.4% of cases. The overwhelming majority—99.6%—are resolved through conversation, coping strategies, and resource connection.
Toward a Sustainable Future
For young people like Van Beek, who is now pursuing a degree in psychology at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater, the 988 lifeline is a modern necessity. The introduction of a 24/7 text and chat feature in 2024 has been a game-changer for a generation that often finds phone-based communication overwhelming.
“Gen Z in general, we’ve always been behind a screen,” Van Beek notes. “988 gives youth the option to text it… talking or maybe even going in person can be overwhelming for youth.”
As the 2028 fiscal horizon approaches, the threat of a $6.195 million deficit looms over the service. Family Services continues to recruit and train counselors, but the administrative burden of operating on a cycle of "hope and wait" regarding federal grants is unsustainable.
The consensus among advocates is clear: the state of Wisconsin must move beyond the biennial budget cycle and treat 988 with the same permanence and financial security as the emergency services that preceded it. Whether through a dedicated telecommunications fee, a permanent trust fund, or a combination of policy shifts, the goal remains the same.
“I’m not personally attached to any route,” Koss says, reflecting on the path forward. “I think the request that I would have and advocate for is sustainability over the long haul because what we’re projecting is this growth hasn’t stopped.”
For now, the lifeline continues to hum with activity, connecting thousands of Wisconsinites to the help they need. But the question remains: will the state provide the foundation necessary to ensure that the voice on the other end of the line is always there? For the next person in crisis, the answer is more than a policy debate—it is a matter of life and death.
This story was produced as part of the NEW (Northeast Wisconsin) News Lab, a consortium of five news outlets.
