FBI Targets Catholic Mom—Senate Unveils Shocking Post-Jan. 6 Overreach

Paul Riverbank, 1/7/2026FBI dragnet ensnares innocent citizens post-Jan. 6; Senate exposes overreach, urges reform.

It started from a single, anonymous tip. A former friend accused Christine of being at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021. There was, as time would tell, nothing concrete in it. Facial recognition scans drew blanks; her phone’s geolocation showed she’d been nowhere near Washington, D.C. that day. Nevertheless, the shadow of suspicion hung overhead for almost two years. The Crowders’ home—ordinary, even unremarkable on the outside—became the subject of unannounced surveillance. More than once, the family noted unfamiliar cars lingering down the block.

Mark Crowder, Christine’s husband, is not only familiar with government scrutiny; he’s a federal air marshal. It was in that capacity, poring over official records, that he discovered his wife marked as a “domestic terrorist.” “You read about these things, or dismiss them as administrative mishaps—until your own family lands on a watchlist,” he said, dismayed and a little incredulous as he spoke before a Senate committee.

Federal authorities took the tip and ran with it. Social media records were subpoenaed. Every time Christine booked a flight for a teacher’s conference, she found herself pulled aside, subjected to searching questions by TSA staff—an experience that, each time, set fellow travelers whispering in line.

Eventually, the investigation ran its course—no evidence, no charges. Christine was somewhere else on January 6, as the records had shown all along. The FBI quietly closed its file last summer. But as committee records reveal, Crowder’s case wasn’t an isolated one—it was symptomatic of a much broader dragnet.

The “Quiet Skies” program, quietly operated by the TSA, targeted travelers if they happened to be in Washington D.C. on the day of the riot—even if just in transit. Whole categories of Americans found themselves flagged for “enhanced screening,” irrespective of any concrete suspicion. The program ran up a tab of $200 million annually, but, Department of Homeland Security officials conceded, never produced a single interception of a terrorist plot.

The Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee, led by Sen. Rand Paul, laid out the consequence: real people, swept into years-long probes, based on criteria that veered strangely far from legitimate threats. Among those ensnared was even Tulsi Gabbard, the one-time presidential candidate, who attracted attention simply for her criticism of the Biden administration. Another program flagged certain Catholic congregations as hotbeds of “radicalization.” The notion fell apart under scrutiny, and was abandoned, but only after mounting criticism from across the political spectrum.

Lawmakers, particularly Republicans, demanded answers: How did intelligence priorities veer so far off course that a teacher from Texas and a sitting member of Congress were targets, not because of credible evidence, but because of proximity, happenstance, or expressed dissent? “This isn’t just about misplaced priorities,” observed Kash Patel, the current FBI director, “It’s about a system that, for a time, simply lost sight of proportionality.”

In Christine Crowder’s case, the conclusion brings an uneasy sense of relief. She is, on paper at least, exonerated—a mother and educator again, not a suspect. But her ordeal reverberates as a cautionary tale. The Senate committee’s documentation points to thousands caught up in similar, sweeping reviews after January 6, most of them guilty of little more than being in the wrong city at the wrong time.

With Quiet Skies now shuttered and internal reforms promised, the government insists it has learned its lesson. Yet lawmakers are warning that the temptation to “overreach in the name of safety” can re-emerge, especially when bureaucracy’s faceless mechanisms hew closer to suspicion than proof. “We have a duty,” Rand Paul concluded, “to make sure the tools designed to keep us safe aren’t twisted into instruments of suspicion for everyday citizens.”

Christine’s story leaves behind uncomfortable questions. In an era where government programs can reach quietly into the lives of millions, oversight and transparency may prove the only real guardrails against the slow, creeping expansion of watchlists—and the isolation that comes with being wrongly named.

When Christine Crowder first heard her name whispered in connection with the Capitol riot, it barely registered—just a story bouncing among distant acquaintances. She was a kindergarten teacher in Lubbock, Texas, more accustomed to fingerpaints than federal agents. But the rumor carried further than anyone expected. Long before she realized it, her name was embedded in government databases—and not the sort reserved for law-abiding citizens.It started from a single, anonymous tip. A former friend accused Christine of being at the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021. There was, as time would tell, nothing concrete in it. Facial recognition scans drew blanks; her phone’s geolocation showed she’d been nowhere near Washington, D.C. that day. Nevertheless, the shadow of suspicion hung overhead for almost two years. The Crowders’ home—ordinary, even unremarkable on the outside—became the subject of unannounced surveillance. More than once, the family noted unfamiliar cars lingering down the block.Mark Crowder, Christine’s husband, is not only familiar with government scrutiny; he’s a federal air marshal. It was in that capacity, poring over official records, that he discovered his wife marked as a “domestic terrorist.” “You read about these things, or dismiss them as administrative mishaps—until your own family lands on a watchlist,” he said, dismayed and a little incredulous as he spoke before a Senate committee.Federal authorities took the tip and ran with it. Social media records were subpoenaed. Every time Christine booked a flight for a teacher’s conference, she found herself pulled aside, subjected to searching questions by TSA staff—an experience that, each time, set fellow travelers whispering in line.Eventually, the investigation ran its course—no evidence, no charges. Christine was somewhere else on January 6, as the records had shown all along. The FBI quietly closed its file last summer. But as committee records reveal, Crowder’s case wasn’t an isolated one—it was symptomatic of a much broader dragnet.The “Quiet Skies” program, quietly operated by the TSA, targeted travelers if they happened to be in Washington D.C. on the day of the riot—even if just in transit. Whole categories of Americans found themselves flagged for “enhanced screening,” irrespective of any concrete suspicion. The program ran up a tab of $200 million annually, but, Department of Homeland Security officials conceded, never produced a single interception of a terrorist plot.The Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee, led by Sen. Rand Paul, laid out the consequence: real people, swept into years-long probes, based on criteria that veered strangely far from legitimate threats. Among those ensnared was even Tulsi Gabbard, the one-time presidential candidate, who attracted attention simply for her criticism of the Biden administration. Another program flagged certain Catholic congregations as hotbeds of “radicalization.” The notion fell apart under scrutiny, and was abandoned, but only after mounting criticism from across the political spectrum.Lawmakers, particularly Republicans, demanded answers: How did intelligence priorities veer so far off course that a teacher from Texas and a sitting member of Congress were targets, not because of credible evidence, but because of proximity, happenstance, or expressed dissent? “This isn’t just about misplaced priorities,” observed Kash Patel, the current FBI director, “It’s about a system that, for a time, simply lost sight of proportionality.”In Christine Crowder’s case, the conclusion brings an uneasy sense of relief. She is, on paper at least, exonerated—a mother and educator again, not a suspect. But her ordeal reverberates as a cautionary tale. The Senate committee’s documentation points to thousands caught up in similar, sweeping reviews after January 6, most of them guilty of little more than being in the wrong city at the wrong time.With Quiet Skies now shuttered and internal reforms promised, the government insists it has learned its lesson. Yet lawmakers are warning that the temptation to “overreach in the name of safety” can re-emerge, especially when bureaucracy’s faceless mechanisms hew closer to suspicion than proof. “We have a duty,” Rand Paul concluded, “to make sure the tools designed to keep us safe aren’t twisted into instruments of suspicion for everyday citizens.”Christine’s story leaves behind uncomfortable questions. In an era where government programs can reach quietly into the lives of millions, oversight and transparency may prove the only real guardrails against the slow, creeping expansion of watchlists—and the isolation that comes with being wrongly named.