Stamford Advocate

He wore a wire, risked his life to expose who was in the KKK

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JACKSONVIL­LE, Fla. — For nearly 10 years, Joseph Moore lived a secret double life.

At times the U.S. Army veteran donned a white robe and hood as a hit man for the Ku Klux Klan. He attended clandestin­e meetings and participat­ed in cross burnings. He even helped plan the murder of a Black man.

However, Moore wore something else during his years in the klan — a wire for the FBI. He recorded his conversati­ons with his fellow klansmen, and shared what he learned with federal agents trying to crack down on white supremacis­ts in Florida law enforcemen­t.

One minor mistake, one tell, he believed, meant a certain, violent death.

“I had to realize that this man would shoot me in the face in a heartbeat,” Moore said in a deep, slow drawl, rememberin­g a particular­ly scary meeting in 2015. But it was true of many of his days.

The married father of four helped the federal government foil at least two murder plots, according to court records. He was also an active informant when the FBI exposed klan members working as law enforcemen­t officers in Florida at the city, county and state levels.

Today, he and his family live under new names. Apart from testifying in court, the 50-year-old has never discussed his undercover work in the KKK publicly. But he reached out to a reporter after The Associated Press published a series of stories about white supremacis­ts working in Florida’s prisons that were based, in part, on records and recordings detailing his work with the FBI.

“The FBI wanted me to gather as much informatio­n about these individual­s and confirm their identities,” Moore said of law enforcemen­t officers who were involved with the klan.

“From where I sat … it is more prevalent and consequent­ial than any of them are willing to admit.”

The FBI first asked Moore to infiltrate a klan group in rural north Florida in 2007.

Moore said he came across dozens of police officers, prison guards, sheriff deputies and other law enforcemen­t officers who were involved with the klan and outlaw motorcycle clubs.

He alerted the feds to a plot to murder a Hispanic truck driver, he said. Then he pointed the FBI toward a deputy with the Alachua County Sheriff ’s Office who was a member of the same group. The FBI also identified a member of the klan cell working for the Fruitland Park, Florida, police department.

His years as an informant occurred during a critical time for the nation’s domestic terrorism efforts. In 2006, the FBI had circulated an intelligen­ce assessment about the klan and other groups trying to infiltrate law enforcemen­t ranks. The assessment said some in law enforcemen­t were volunteeri­ng “profession­al resources to white supremacis­t causes with which they sympathize.”

The FBI did not answer a series of questions sent by the AP about Moore’s work.

Moore said he joined the klan only after the government approached him. As a U.S. Army-trained sniper, he said he felt that if his country asked him to protect the public from domestic terrorists, he had a duty .

Moore said he never shared the klan’s racist views and never used racial slurs while under cover. On FBI recordings reviewed by the AP, he was never heard using racial slurs like his former klan brothers.

But he also acknowledg­es that successful undercover

“If you’re not credible, if you’re not engaged on all levels, you don’t get to go home to your family.” Joseph Moore, former undercover informant for the FBI

work required him to change into a wholly different person.

“I laid out a character that had been overseas. That had received medals in combat,“Moore said. “That had special operations experience — more experience than I had. But someone that they would feel confident would be a useful asset to the organizati­on at a much higher level.”

It worked, and Moore was given high level access.

“If you’re not credible, if you’re not engaged on all levels, you don’t get to go home to your family,” he said.

It also required Moore to lie to his wife. Eventually she became suspicious and he cracked. He told her and her parents what he was doing.

When the FBI discovered that his wife knew, they ended the relationsh­ip with the agency.

But in 2013, the agency was back, asking him to infiltrate a different Florida klan chapter.

Within a year of becoming “naturalize­d,” he’d become a Grand Knight Hawk of the “klavern” based in rural north central Florida. He was in charge of security, and the go-to guy for violence.

It was at a cross-burning ceremony in December 2014 that Charles Newcomb, the “Exalted Cyclops” of the chapter, pulled him aside to discuss a scheme to kill a Black man. Warren Williams was a former inmate who’d gotten into a fight with one of their klan brothers. The klansmen wanted Williams dead.

Moore alerted the FBI. He then recorded discussion­s of the murder plot that would lead to criminal conviction­s for three klansmen.

Moore said the three former prison guards implicated in the murder plot operated among a group of other officer-klan members at the Reception and Medical Center in Lake Butler, Florida, a prison where new inmates are processed. He said the officers he knew were actively recruiting at the prison.

Florida’s Department of Correction­s disputes that.

“Every day more than 18,000 correction­al officers throughout the state work as public servants, committed to the safety of Florida’s communitie­s. They should not be defamed by the isolated actions of three individual­s who committed abhorrent and illegal acts several years prior,” the department said in an emailed statement.

Spokeswoma­n Michelle Glady has told AP the agency found no evidence of a wider membership by extremist white supremacis­t groups, or a systemic problem. She said every allegation of wrongdoing is investigat­ed by the department’s inspector general.

“That statement by the

state is not accurate,” said Moore, who asserts he saw evidence of a more pervasive problem.

After Moore testified in that case, his FBI work ended because he’d been publicly identified.

“I was on track to uncover more activity in law enforcemen­t, but the immediate threat to the public with the murder plot was a priority,” Moore said.

He went public now because he does not want his work, and those of other confidenti­al informants who put their lives on the line to help expose domestic extremists, to have been in vain.

He wants correction­s and law enforcemen­t leaders to root out white supremacis­ts and other violent extremists.

“If you want to know why people don’t trust the police, it’s because they have a relative or friend that they witness being targeted by an extremist who happens to have a badge and a gun. And I know as a fact that this has occurred. I stopped a murder plot of law enforcemen­t officers,” said Moore.

 ?? Robert Bumsted / Associated Press ?? Joseph Moore stands in the driveway of his home in Jacksonvil­le, Fla., earlier this month. Moore worked for nearly 10 years as an undercover informant for the FBI, infiltrati­ng the Ku Klux Klan in Florida, foiling at least two murder plots, according to investigat­ors, and investigat­ing ties between law enforcemen­t and the white supremacis­t organizati­on. His role required Moore to lie — to his wife, to her parents, to everyone. Nobody could know what he was doing. But eventually Moore’s wife became suspicious of his activities, and he cracked. He told her and her parents what he was doing.
Robert Bumsted / Associated Press Joseph Moore stands in the driveway of his home in Jacksonvil­le, Fla., earlier this month. Moore worked for nearly 10 years as an undercover informant for the FBI, infiltrati­ng the Ku Klux Klan in Florida, foiling at least two murder plots, according to investigat­ors, and investigat­ing ties between law enforcemen­t and the white supremacis­t organizati­on. His role required Moore to lie — to his wife, to her parents, to everyone. Nobody could know what he was doing. But eventually Moore’s wife became suspicious of his activities, and he cracked. He told her and her parents what he was doing.

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