House Erupts Over National Guard Murders: Dems Accused of Downplaying Terror

Paul Riverbank, 12/12/2025House erupts over National Guard murders, sparking fierce blame and debate on national security.

The moment the committee’s top Democrat, Mississippi’s Rep. Bennie Thompson, referred to the fatal shooting as an “unfortunate accident,” the mood soured. It was a phrase that seemed to catch more than one person off guard—none more so than Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem. Her eyes narrowed; her voice, clipped. “You think that was an unfortunate accident?” she shot back, making no effort to conceal her outrage. “It was a terrorist attack. He shot our National Guardsmen in the head.” The formality of a hearing gave way, for a few seconds, to something raw and deeply personal.

On either side of Noem sat Joe Kent of the National Counterterrorism Center and Michael Glasheen from the FBI’s National Security Branch. The pair, fielding rapid-fire questions, soon found the focus shifting to Rahmanullah Lakanwal—a 29-year-old Afghan brought stateside in 2021, under Operation Allies Welcome. Lakanwal, it turned out, had pulled the trigger that day, ending the lives of 20-year-old Sarah Beckstrom and 24-year-old Andrew Wolfe. There’s a certain brutal clarity when names and ages are attached to headlines, and for a beat, it was only the names that filled the room.

What followed was less an orderly inquiry than an act of political whiplash. Thompson redirected conversation toward the Trump administration, demanding to know who had signed off on Lakanwal’s entry. Noem didn’t flinch. “The asylum claim was approved based on information provided by the Biden administration, which... had initially allowed him into the country.” She was cut off, but the implication lingered.

By that point tempers were unmistakably frayed. Joe Kent cut in, connecting Lakanwal’s clearance to his prior service as a soldier in Afghanistan—a vetting process, he said, that fell short. “That vetting standard was used by the Biden administration as a ruse to bring him here... That’s on Joe Biden.” There was no mistaking his intent.

Rep. Ogles, evidently fed up, reminded the committee that they were talking about “a murder that took place in D.C., not an ‘unfortunate incident.’” If Ogles’ language bent protocol, so be it—his frustration, maybe, captured the feeling among the soldiers’ grieving families better than the niceties of congressional language.

Beneath all of this, though, the committee’s divisions ran deep. Noem and Kent argued that a softer approach to border security had grave costs, citing not just this incident but a broader unease over unknown threats. Kent offered an unsettling estimate—thousands of “known and suspected terrorists” could have entered the country in the turbulence of recent years, while the unknown figure, he admitted, is likely worse.

Rep. Thompson tried to shift the focus. He accused Noem of laying blame at President Biden’s feet, countering that these vetting protocols had long and tangled bureaucratic roots. It was, in a sense, a microcosm of the familiar Washington blame game—present and past administrations lobbing responsibility like a political hand grenade.

All the while, inside that overheated committee room, words—“unfortunate accident,” “terrorist attack”—hung in the air, echoing in the bewildered silence that followed each exchange. For the families and service members listening from the sidelines, little comfort could be found in the bickering. The question of how to avert such tragedies in the future slipped further from reach with every rhetorical jab.

If anything stands out from the day, it’s how language can stoke anger as surely as accountability can slip through the cracks. National security policy, at least for now, remains hostage to a divided Washington—one that has yet to find common ground on the most basic question: how to keep tragedy at bay, without losing sight of what’s already been lost.

The House Homeland Security Committee, this week, wasn't so much a room as a charged atmosphere—real tension shimmering just beneath the fluorescent lights. Lawmakers came prepared for a routine inquiry over the loss of two National Guard members last month in Washington, D.C., but it quickly turned into something else entirely. There was grief in the air, but also, unmistakably, a rising note of blame.The moment the committee’s top Democrat, Mississippi’s Rep. Bennie Thompson, referred to the fatal shooting as an “unfortunate accident,” the mood soured. It was a phrase that seemed to catch more than one person off guard—none more so than Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem. Her eyes narrowed; her voice, clipped. “You think that was an unfortunate accident?” she shot back, making no effort to conceal her outrage. “It was a terrorist attack. He shot our National Guardsmen in the head.” The formality of a hearing gave way, for a few seconds, to something raw and deeply personal.On either side of Noem sat Joe Kent of the National Counterterrorism Center and Michael Glasheen from the FBI’s National Security Branch. The pair, fielding rapid-fire questions, soon found the focus shifting to Rahmanullah Lakanwal—a 29-year-old Afghan brought stateside in 2021, under Operation Allies Welcome. Lakanwal, it turned out, had pulled the trigger that day, ending the lives of 20-year-old Sarah Beckstrom and 24-year-old Andrew Wolfe. There’s a certain brutal clarity when names and ages are attached to headlines, and for a beat, it was only the names that filled the room.What followed was less an orderly inquiry than an act of political whiplash. Thompson redirected conversation toward the Trump administration, demanding to know who had signed off on Lakanwal’s entry. Noem didn’t flinch. “The asylum claim was approved based on information provided by the Biden administration, which... had initially allowed him into the country.” She was cut off, but the implication lingered.By that point tempers were unmistakably frayed. Joe Kent cut in, connecting Lakanwal’s clearance to his prior service as a soldier in Afghanistan—a vetting process, he said, that fell short. “That vetting standard was used by the Biden administration as a ruse to bring him here... That’s on Joe Biden.” There was no mistaking his intent.Rep. Ogles, evidently fed up, reminded the committee that they were talking about “a murder that took place in D.C., not an ‘unfortunate incident.’” If Ogles’ language bent protocol, so be it—his frustration, maybe, captured the feeling among the soldiers’ grieving families better than the niceties of congressional language.Beneath all of this, though, the committee’s divisions ran deep. Noem and Kent argued that a softer approach to border security had grave costs, citing not just this incident but a broader unease over unknown threats. Kent offered an unsettling estimate—thousands of “known and suspected terrorists” could have entered the country in the turbulence of recent years, while the unknown figure, he admitted, is likely worse.Rep. Thompson tried to shift the focus. He accused Noem of laying blame at President Biden’s feet, countering that these vetting protocols had long and tangled bureaucratic roots. It was, in a sense, a microcosm of the familiar Washington blame game—present and past administrations lobbing responsibility like a political hand grenade.All the while, inside that overheated committee room, words—“unfortunate accident,” “terrorist attack”—hung in the air, echoing in the bewildered silence that followed each exchange. For the families and service members listening from the sidelines, little comfort could be found in the bickering. The question of how to avert such tragedies in the future slipped further from reach with every rhetorical jab.If anything stands out from the day, it’s how language can stoke anger as surely as accountability can slip through the cracks. National security policy, at least for now, remains hostage to a divided Washington—one that has yet to find common ground on the most basic question: how to keep tragedy at bay, without losing sight of what’s already been lost.