The attempted assassination of President Donald Trump in Butler, Pennsylvania, remains one of the most unsettling and unresolved episodes in modern American political history. Sixteen months later, the public still has no clear explanation for how a 20‑year‑old, Thomas Crooks, managed to climb onto a rooftop with an AR‑15‑style rifle, fire eight shots—one of which struck the president’s ear—and kill a rally attendee, all while multiple layers of federal security were in place.
That vacuum of clarity hasn’t just fueled speculation; it has created an atmosphere where even the most basic facts demand re‑examination.
The FBI’s early statements only deepened the confusion. Then‑Director Chris Wray initially testified that investigators found nothing in Crooks’ online activity indicating motive or ideology. A week later, Deputy Director Paul Abbate contradicted that claim, acknowledging antisemitic, anti‑immigration, and violent political themes. But even that disclosure now appears incomplete.
Thanks to an independent source who uncovered Crooks’ hidden digital footprint, a much more complex picture has emerged—one that raises questions the FBI has not addressed publicly. The newly discovered interactions show Crooks shifting dramatically from pro‑Trump rhetoric in 2019 to anti‑Trump hostility by early 2020. His YouTube record alone, spanning 737 public comments, charts a progression from calling Trump “the literal definition of Patriotism” to describing his supporters as a “cult” and embracing violent language about political conflict.
The material also shows Crooks discussing assassination, terrorism‑style attacks, and targeted violence—using his real name. Other users reportedly flagged him. His accounts remained active until the day after the Butler attack.
Yet none of this was included in the congressional report released at the end of 2024.
Complicating matters further, one PayPal account was operated under the alias “Rod Swanson”—the name of a former senior FBI agent. Swanson denies any connection and says he has never used PayPal, raising the possibility that Crooks appropriated the name on his own. The FBI has not clarified whether it investigated this anomaly.
There is more. Crooks’ online activity extended into fringe subcultures, identity exploration, and conversations with extremists—including a member of the Nordic Resistance Movement who later claimed to have spoken with U.S. and Russian intelligence. Shortly after that interaction, Crooks vanished from the internet entirely.
Whether the FBI or Secret Service ever interviewed Crooks—or flagged him—remains unknown. Both agencies declined to answer specific questions, and the Secret Service’s after‑action report is classified. Requests from congressional investigators, including Sen. Ron Johnson, have been met with delays or silence.
This lack of transparency is precisely what invites alternative theories. When agencies withhold information, inconsistencies harden into suspicion. Even practical questions—such as how Crooks’ financially struggling family secured a high‑cost Pittsburgh law firm—remain unaddressed.
President Trump has repeatedly called for full disclosure, and many Americans share his concern. A man was killed, two were seriously wounded, and a sitting president narrowly escaped an assassin’s bullet. The public deserves meaningful answers—not conflicting testimony, redactions, or stonewalling.
