"Chew glass and swallow it."

Ryan Warren said this during what he called an "expectations meeting."

Kati Baker sat there silently while he did so.

This was his expectation: suffer in silence. Take harm. Internalize it. That is what he expected from people under his supervision. That is the kind of manager you have running Honeyman State Park.

That language is abuse. And when you record abuse, some abusers respond with more abuse.

They tell you you'll never get the benefit of the doubt. 

They tell you to just leave if you're uncomfortable.

They mock your sexuality while the supervisor who started everything sits there endorsing it.

They elicit empathy and extract personal disclosures, then weaponize them to support dishonest narratives.

They coordinate surveillance—sending an unidentified man to question you while everyone is conveniently away and they know you'll be isolated.

They lie about why he was there.

"Chew glass and swallow it."

I recorded that meeting. Every word. Allison Watson called to tell me I had been "acting as an agent of the state"—reframing my documentation as a violation, not protection. She told me explicitly: you shouldn't have recorded that.

That was intimidation. That was abuse of authority.

That was the moment you could have been an institution with integrity. Instead you chose intimidation and retaliation against someone who had already shown you he documents everything.

You dismissed me using a homeless man's journal as pretext, then expelled me for naming the harm publicly. Allison Watson put the reason in writing: my "public comments about staff."

That was retaliation.

That was an exceptionally bold admission that you intended to punish me by openly violating my constitutional rights.

That was your message to others: "we mean it when we say chew glass and swallow it."

When I continued to pursue accountability, your deputy director sent a letter attempting to control who I could contact, threatening Department of Justice involvement if I filed legal action.

That was intimidation.

This is the pattern: When I document abuse, you respond with intimidation. When intimidation fails, you retaliate. When retaliation doesn't silence me, you try more intimidation.

Let me define abuse for you:

Abuse is using power to harm someone, then using that same power to prevent them from naming what happened.

Abuse is betrayal—building trust specifically to extract information you can reframe and exploit.

Abuse is coordination—when multiple people with authority work together to isolate, pressure, and silence.

Abuse is surveillance—monitoring and assessing someone covertly based on false characterizations, then lying about it.

Abuse is retaliation—punishing someone for documenting harm.

Abuse is intimidation—trying to control someone's speech, their access, their ability to seek accountability.

Abuse is gaslighting—reframing documentation as "emotional processing," reframing retaliation as "policy," reframing your ongoing violation of my rights as somehow my responsibility to quietly accept.

You have done all of this.

Your silence doesn't erase it. Your silence is part of it.

Every day you refuse to acknowledge what Ryan Warren said, what Kati Baker set in motion and stewarded, what Logan Bliss betrayed, what Allison Watson did, what your deputy director attempted nearly a year later—you are continuing the abuse.

327 days of constitutional violation.

Day zero on the statue of limitations clock while this remains ongoing.

No real acknowledgement.

No investigation.

No accountability.

That tells anyone paying attention exactly what you value.

You value people who chew glass and swallow it.

You value people who feed glass to unpaid laborers and retaliate when they refuse to swallow it.

Robert Samuel White