Rubio Demands Reckoning as Afghan Migrant Kills Guard, Vetting Questions Explode

Paul Riverbank, 12/5/2025Two startling Washington cases expose the imperfect science of vetting and investigation, as even deep scrutiny can't always foresee threats. These incidents reignite debate over how the U.S. can best balance openness, security, and fairness amid ever-shifting risks.

First, there’s Rahmanullah Lakanwal—a name far from household until the headlines turned grim. After Kabul’s collapse in 2021, his path brought him from a war-torn city to the streets outside the White House, passing not one but two layers of vetting along the way. By all public accounts, no reason to raise an eyebrow: his record was spotless, his past marked by some cooperation with American intelligence in Afghanistan, even. And yet, it came to this—two National Guard members ambushed, one killed, the other clinging to life. Lakanwal’s shout, “Allahu Akbar,” echoed across Lafayette Square before he pulled the trigger. Now, investigators are left with more questions than answers about what, or who, shaped his descent.

Secretary of State Marco Rubio, facing a camera’s glare, summarized the officials’ dilemma plainly: “You can vet what people have done in the past. You can’t vet what people might do in the future.” The phrase landed with a thud—reminding us how limited, ultimately, background checks really are. Homeland Security’s Kristi Noem took it further, speculating that Lakanwal was radicalized here, not abroad, and that connections within his adopted community might have played a role. For now, motives remain murky. Tangles of financial pressure and threads of possible mental health concerns don’t make a clear tapestry. Even claims about threats to his family overseas, which surfaced in The Daily Beast, hang unconfirmed, adding fog to an already blurred picture.

Then there’s Brian Cole Jr., a face nearly invisible in the shuffle of news, but now attached to a federal manhunt that spanned nearly five years. He never drew attention—no noisy Twitter feed or Facebook posts, nothing to suggest a penchant for mayhem. Living quietly with his mother in Virginia, Cole turned out to be the man suspected of planting pipe bombs near party headquarters on January 6. When the FBI finally moved in, they found more bomb-making materials in his home—a discovery equal parts relief and regret for how long it took to get there.

Jeanine Pirro, the U.S. Attorney, seemed to echo that frustration. She described Cole as low-key, almost invisible in the crowd, embarking on bomb-making prep as far back as 2019. With his arrest, a different sort of argument broke out: why did it take so long? Pirro credited a revived investigative push under President Trump, while Senator Mark Warner cast doubt on this narrative, pointing out that FBI resources had been siphoned from countering espionage and cyber threats toward immigration enforcement—possibly delaying Cole’s arrest. On the other side stood Rep. Tim Burchett and others, insisting the current administration had its own share of stumbles, with plenty of unsolved cases still in the files.

FBI Deputy Director Dan Bongino summed up the differing philosophies bluntly, declaring, “This is what it’s like when you work for a president who tells you to get the bad guys and to stop focusing on other extraneous things not related to law enforcement.” It's the kind of remark likely to keep political commentators busy for weeks—another twist in the never-ending debate over law enforcement priorities.

What both cases reveal, really, is the constant tension underpinning American openness. No amount of paperwork, screening, or agency manpower can guarantee every threat is intercepted. As Rubio observed, someone can arrive free of suspicion and still, months or years later, become a risk. For lawmakers, agencies, and voters alike, the urgent task isn’t just to debate policy or assign blame—it’s to approach these fraught questions with open eyes and honest recognition that certainty is a luxury rarely afforded in the world of security.

The challenge now is less about finding a perfect system than admitting there isn’t one—balancing the desire to protect, the need for compassion, and the reality that sometimes, despite the best efforts, people and plans fall through the cracks. In this city, and across the country, those difficult judgments aren’t likely to get any easier soon.

Few weeks in Washington have laid bare just how slippery the question of security can be. For every protocol, for every background check, it seems there’s another case that reveals the holes in the net. Two stories, different as night and day, have collided to remind us of the unpredictable turns lives can take after touching down on American soil.First, there’s Rahmanullah Lakanwal—a name far from household until the headlines turned grim. After Kabul’s collapse in 2021, his path brought him from a war-torn city to the streets outside the White House, passing not one but two layers of vetting along the way. By all public accounts, no reason to raise an eyebrow: his record was spotless, his past marked by some cooperation with American intelligence in Afghanistan, even. And yet, it came to this—two National Guard members ambushed, one killed, the other clinging to life. Lakanwal’s shout, “Allahu Akbar,” echoed across Lafayette Square before he pulled the trigger. Now, investigators are left with more questions than answers about what, or who, shaped his descent.Secretary of State Marco Rubio, facing a camera’s glare, summarized the officials’ dilemma plainly: “You can vet what people have done in the past. You can’t vet what people might do in the future.” The phrase landed with a thud—reminding us how limited, ultimately, background checks really are. Homeland Security’s Kristi Noem took it further, speculating that Lakanwal was radicalized here, not abroad, and that connections within his adopted community might have played a role. For now, motives remain murky. Tangles of financial pressure and threads of possible mental health concerns don’t make a clear tapestry. Even claims about threats to his family overseas, which surfaced in The Daily Beast, hang unconfirmed, adding fog to an already blurred picture.Then there’s Brian Cole Jr., a face nearly invisible in the shuffle of news, but now attached to a federal manhunt that spanned nearly five years. He never drew attention—no noisy Twitter feed or Facebook posts, nothing to suggest a penchant for mayhem. Living quietly with his mother in Virginia, Cole turned out to be the man suspected of planting pipe bombs near party headquarters on January 6. When the FBI finally moved in, they found more bomb-making materials in his home—a discovery equal parts relief and regret for how long it took to get there.Jeanine Pirro, the U.S. Attorney, seemed to echo that frustration. She described Cole as low-key, almost invisible in the crowd, embarking on bomb-making prep as far back as 2019. With his arrest, a different sort of argument broke out: why did it take so long? Pirro credited a revived investigative push under President Trump, while Senator Mark Warner cast doubt on this narrative, pointing out that FBI resources had been siphoned from countering espionage and cyber threats toward immigration enforcement—possibly delaying Cole’s arrest. On the other side stood Rep. Tim Burchett and others, insisting the current administration had its own share of stumbles, with plenty of unsolved cases still in the files.FBI Deputy Director Dan Bongino summed up the differing philosophies bluntly, declaring, “This is what it’s like when you work for a president who tells you to get the bad guys and to stop focusing on other extraneous things not related to law enforcement.” It's the kind of remark likely to keep political commentators busy for weeks—another twist in the never-ending debate over law enforcement priorities.What both cases reveal, really, is the constant tension underpinning American openness. No amount of paperwork, screening, or agency manpower can guarantee every threat is intercepted. As Rubio observed, someone can arrive free of suspicion and still, months or years later, become a risk. For lawmakers, agencies, and voters alike, the urgent task isn’t just to debate policy or assign blame—it’s to approach these fraught questions with open eyes and honest recognition that certainty is a luxury rarely afforded in the world of security.The challenge now is less about finding a perfect system than admitting there isn’t one—balancing the desire to protect, the need for compassion, and the reality that sometimes, despite the best efforts, people and plans fall through the cracks. In this city, and across the country, those difficult judgments aren’t likely to get any easier soon.