Biden’s Double Standard: FACE Act Crackdown on Pro-Lifers, Silence on Church Attacks

Paul Riverbank, 1/21/2026Biden’s revived FACE Act and Minnesota’s voting rules spark new debates over equal law enforcement and electoral integrity—raising urgent questions about fairness, partisanship, and public trust at the core of U.S. democracy.

But what seemed settled quickly has a habit of unravelling in American politics. For years, the FACE Act drifted quietly—sometimes invoked, mostly ignored. Then the Biden White House arrived, and the Justice Department dialed up enforcement. Suddenly, charges under FACE began stacking up, with pro-life demonstrators often in the crosshairs. This didn’t go unnoticed; talk radio hosts and advocacy groups started using the word “targeted”—never a comforting term—to describe what was happening.

If you followed what happened to Mark Houck, you’ll recall the vibrations that case sent through the country. Houck, known for praying outside clinics with his son, tangled with an escort on a Pennsylvania sidewalk. Whatever tempers flared, local authorities shrugged, figuring it wasn’t a federal case. But months ticked by, and the knock on Houck’s door wasn’t subtle—FBI agents in full gear. The charges could have spelled over a decade in prison, plus a crippling fine, but a jury didn’t bite; Houck walked free. The scene, as described by neighbors, had the air of a neighborhood interrupted—the kind of law enforcement moment that leaves a lasting mark.

Recently, in an echo that feels almost scripted, the focus turned—this time, not a clinic but a church in Minneapolis. During a Sunday service, protestors stormed in, with shouts ricocheting off the chapel walls. The pastor, labeled by critics as too close to local ICE operations, became a flashpoint. Some conservative voices, Paul Chappell among them, argued if FACE protects clinics, it should do the same for worshippers. Their words, bracing and direct, got picked up on cable news: “Christians everywhere should demand that the Department of Justice arrest those who participated.”

Oddly, the demand for fair play on FACE enforcement now cuts across familiar partisan lines. Not so long ago, Democrats pressed the DOJ to bring FACE prosecutions after clinic disturbances, emphasizing women’s safety. These days, calls for “equal justice,” as one moderate put it, ring out from both corners, even if the targets change.

Of course, this Minneapolis episode is part of a larger, fraught picture. State officials, pressed on public safety, are weathering storms from multiple directions. The city’s law enforcement—already under scrutiny—was back in the news with “Operation Metro Surge.” Border Patrol’s Greg Bovino detailed the operation’s haul at a news conference, each crime statistic feeling like a brick lobbed at Governor Tim Walz and Mayor Jacob Frey. “Public safety in Minneapolis is not negotiable,” Bovino declared, visibly frustrated. His case: when laws aren’t enforced, it’s not just about criminals walking free—it’s the sense that order itself might be slipping.

And if that wasn’t enough, Minnesota’s approach to voting has become another pressure point. The state's “vouching” rule—where one registered voter can testify for up to eight others—baffles visitors from stricter states. No ID required, no proof of citizenship. Add to the mix: driver’s licenses issued to undocumented immigrants look identical to everyone else’s. Critics, like Jason Snead from the Honest Elections Project, don’t mince words. “A noncitizen who wants to vote doesn’t even need someone to vouch for them!” he quipped during a recent radio interview. The Heritage Foundation ranks Minnesota near the top for documented voter fraud cases—though, as is often the case, the data is hotly disputed.

As a cure, some point to the so-called SAVE Act, pushed by Senator Mike Lee. Its premise is simple on the surface: require everyone to show proof of citizenship to register for federal elections. Noncitizen voting is already (theoretically) banned, but proponents say the current system is too porous. Snead, citing his group’s polling, insists: “Americans don’t want noncitizens voting. Only 9 percent think it should be allowed.” Yet critics, especially among Senate Democrats, warn that such a step could discourage legal voters and add confusion—perhaps even chaos—at the polls.

All of this brings us to an observation that feels at once obvious and necessary: the rules aren’t just about legal texts and policy memos. They live and breathe in the spaces where national law and local practice overlap, sometimes uncomfortably. When trust wobbles—when people suspect the application of justice hinges on who’s running the show—it’s the backbone of democracy that begins to bend.

The FACE Act, once an emblem of bipartisan resolve, has become a lens through which old and new divides are refracted. In Minnesota, the clash of laws, street protests, and voting rules tells a larger story: people want their rights protected, but not at the expense of fair play. The deeper question lingers, unresolved: Can democratic systems hold if citizens believe the rules are too easily bent—or ignored—by those in power?

It’s not every day that a law from three decades ago elbows its way back into the national conversation, but here we are: the FACE Act, a relic from 1994, is suddenly center stage. When then-Senator Ted Kennedy shepherded it through Congress—Bill Clinton signed it with much fanfare—the message was clear. “This is about cutting out violence and intimidation,” Clinton intoned, almost as if to reassure history itself. The law promised to shield folks seeking reproductive health services or heading to their houses of worship from threats and harassment. At the time, that sounded pretty measured—and bipartisan.But what seemed settled quickly has a habit of unravelling in American politics. For years, the FACE Act drifted quietly—sometimes invoked, mostly ignored. Then the Biden White House arrived, and the Justice Department dialed up enforcement. Suddenly, charges under FACE began stacking up, with pro-life demonstrators often in the crosshairs. This didn’t go unnoticed; talk radio hosts and advocacy groups started using the word “targeted”—never a comforting term—to describe what was happening.If you followed what happened to Mark Houck, you’ll recall the vibrations that case sent through the country. Houck, known for praying outside clinics with his son, tangled with an escort on a Pennsylvania sidewalk. Whatever tempers flared, local authorities shrugged, figuring it wasn’t a federal case. But months ticked by, and the knock on Houck’s door wasn’t subtle—FBI agents in full gear. The charges could have spelled over a decade in prison, plus a crippling fine, but a jury didn’t bite; Houck walked free. The scene, as described by neighbors, had the air of a neighborhood interrupted—the kind of law enforcement moment that leaves a lasting mark.Recently, in an echo that feels almost scripted, the focus turned—this time, not a clinic but a church in Minneapolis. During a Sunday service, protestors stormed in, with shouts ricocheting off the chapel walls. The pastor, labeled by critics as too close to local ICE operations, became a flashpoint. Some conservative voices, Paul Chappell among them, argued if FACE protects clinics, it should do the same for worshippers. Their words, bracing and direct, got picked up on cable news: “Christians everywhere should demand that the Department of Justice arrest those who participated.”Oddly, the demand for fair play on FACE enforcement now cuts across familiar partisan lines. Not so long ago, Democrats pressed the DOJ to bring FACE prosecutions after clinic disturbances, emphasizing women’s safety. These days, calls for “equal justice,” as one moderate put it, ring out from both corners, even if the targets change.Of course, this Minneapolis episode is part of a larger, fraught picture. State officials, pressed on public safety, are weathering storms from multiple directions. The city’s law enforcement—already under scrutiny—was back in the news with “Operation Metro Surge.” Border Patrol’s Greg Bovino detailed the operation’s haul at a news conference, each crime statistic feeling like a brick lobbed at Governor Tim Walz and Mayor Jacob Frey. “Public safety in Minneapolis is not negotiable,” Bovino declared, visibly frustrated. His case: when laws aren’t enforced, it’s not just about criminals walking free—it’s the sense that order itself might be slipping.And if that wasn’t enough, Minnesota’s approach to voting has become another pressure point. The state's “vouching” rule—where one registered voter can testify for up to eight others—baffles visitors from stricter states. No ID required, no proof of citizenship. Add to the mix: driver’s licenses issued to undocumented immigrants look identical to everyone else’s. Critics, like Jason Snead from the Honest Elections Project, don’t mince words. “A noncitizen who wants to vote doesn’t even need someone to vouch for them!” he quipped during a recent radio interview. The Heritage Foundation ranks Minnesota near the top for documented voter fraud cases—though, as is often the case, the data is hotly disputed.As a cure, some point to the so-called SAVE Act, pushed by Senator Mike Lee. Its premise is simple on the surface: require everyone to show proof of citizenship to register for federal elections. Noncitizen voting is already (theoretically) banned, but proponents say the current system is too porous. Snead, citing his group’s polling, insists: “Americans don’t want noncitizens voting. Only 9 percent think it should be allowed.” Yet critics, especially among Senate Democrats, warn that such a step could discourage legal voters and add confusion—perhaps even chaos—at the polls.All of this brings us to an observation that feels at once obvious and necessary: the rules aren’t just about legal texts and policy memos. They live and breathe in the spaces where national law and local practice overlap, sometimes uncomfortably. When trust wobbles—when people suspect the application of justice hinges on who’s running the show—it’s the backbone of democracy that begins to bend.The FACE Act, once an emblem of bipartisan resolve, has become a lens through which old and new divides are refracted. In Minnesota, the clash of laws, street protests, and voting rules tells a larger story: people want their rights protected, but not at the expense of fair play. The deeper question lingers, unresolved: Can democratic systems hold if citizens believe the rules are too easily bent—or ignored—by those in power?