Maryland Governor Wes Moore sat across from CNN's Kasie Hunt on Wednesday and did something politicians do when the facts aren't on their side: he changed the subject.
The Daily Mail reported that Hunt asked Moore directly about a Washington Free Beacon report challenging his oft-repeated claim that the Ku Klux Klan forced his family out of the United States and into exile in Jamaica in the 1920s.
The Free Beacon's reporting, published February 4 by reporter Andrew Kerr, cited church records that appear to show Moore's great-grandfather, Rev. Josiah Johnson Thomas, publicly accepted a transfer to a church in Jamaica to replace a pastor who had passed away unexpectedly.
Not a flight from terror. A professional appointment. Hunt laid the question out plainly:
"They say that the story is - they report - they look at church records, they say the story is not true, that the Ku Klux Klan did not force your family to leave, your family left voluntarily."
Moore's response was not to address the records. It was to redirect:
"They should really ask the Ku Klux Klan about what their activities were during the 1920s."
Hunt had initially raised the matter two minutes earlier. She pressed again, asking whether the church records showing a voluntary departure were wrong. Moore dismissed the Free Beacon entirely, calling it "a right-wing blog" and insisting there was no truth to its reporting.
"There is no truth to what a right-wing blog writes about me. No. There is not. Because I know my family's history."
What Moore calls a smear from a "right-wing blog" is actually documented church history. The Free Beacon's report cited records that appear to indicate an ordinary professional transfer, not a desperate escape from racial violence. A Virginia Commonwealth University map referenced in the reporting suggested there was no KKK chapter operating in Pineville, South Carolina, the family's hometown, at the time of the departure.
Moore has built this narrative into the architecture of his public identity. The story of ancestors fleeing the Klan, forced into exile, is not some minor biographical footnote. It is a centerpiece. He has told it repeatedly. It carries weight in the political marketplace because it is designed to.
And when confronted with documentary evidence that contradicts it, the 47-year-old governor offered no counter-evidence. No competing records. No family documents. Just an appeal to the general horrors of the 1920s South and a dismissal of the outlet that did the reporting.
That is not a rebuttal. That is a deflection.
Moore pivoted to his grandfather, James Joshua Thomas, who was described as a toddler at the time of the 1920s departure. The governor spoke with evident emotion:
"He still returned to this country. He became the first black minister in the history of the Dutch Reform Church. He died while I was in Afghanistan, fighting for this country. And he had a deep Jamaican accent his entire life. And he's maybe the most patriotic man I've ever met."
None of that is in dispute. No one has questioned his grandfather's service, his faith, or his patriotism. The question is narrower and more specific: Did the KKK force the family to leave, or did Rev. Thomas accept a church posting in Jamaica?
Moore told Fox News on Thursday that he stood by his story, adding that the scrutiny was "hurtful" and "offensive." The Free Beacon has stood by its reporting.
There is a pattern in American politics where personal biography becomes political currency, and the temptation to embellish or dramatize that biography grows in proportion to its usefulness. We've seen it before. The details get sharper, the villains clearer, the stakes higher with each retelling.
And when someone pulls the thread, the response is almost always the same: attack the questioner, invoke broader historical suffering, and hope the emotion drowns out the evidence.
Moore denied rumors of a 2028 presidential run back in September. Whether or not those denials hold, his national profile has been rising since he was sworn in as governor in 2023.
A story about ancestors exiled by the Klan is not just a family memory in that context. It is a political asset, carefully deployed, and it demands the same scrutiny that any candidate's biographical claims receive.
Hunt, to her credit, did not let Moore skate on generalities. She pointed to the specific church records. She asked the specific question. Moore chose not to answer it specifically. That choice tells its own story.
When a politician says "ask the Klan," what he really means is: don't ask me.
