Former INS special agent framed in politically-motivated hit job turned defeat into the largest police defense non-profit in the US

For most of his career, Joseph Occhipinti, the man behind one of America’s largest police foundations, the National Police Defense Foundation, was not the one needing defense—he was the one delivering it. But in a startling twist of politics, power, and prosecution, the decorated federal agent who once helped take down cartel leaders and disrupt drug trafficking networks would become the first law enforcement officer in U.S. history to be federally charged with civil rights violations—despite no claims of brutality, racial bias, or corruption.

“I was successful. I made high-level arrests, seized record amounts of drugs, and worked directly with Rudy Giuliani when he was the U.S. Attorney,” he told Law Enforcement Today. “I never thought I’d become a target of my own government.”

His story begins in the gritty underworld of New York’s criminal corridors. At 21, he joined the U.S. Customs Service and quickly became known for his aggressive and effective investigations into organized crime, cargo theft, and smuggling. After transferring to the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS), he made a controversial move into a field many avoided: immigration-based organized crime.

“I focused on criminal aliens and became one of the leading experts in Dominican organized crime,” he explains. “Dominican gangs were the U.S. distributors in the United States for the Colombian cartels. That’s who I went after.”

What followed was a series of high-risk undercover operations. Working out of the Southern District of New York, he posed for years as a corrupt immigration officer, secretly gathering intelligence and evidence against powerful cartel figures. In one case, he was invited to the Dominican Republic to meet with drug lords—an invitation that could have ended his life.

“We couldn’t go through diplomatic channels because the investigation had uncovered that a top Dominican official was working with the cartel,” he says. “So I went in with no cover, just a CIA contact number in case things went south.”

They didn’t. Instead, his work led to what was, at the time, the largest cocaine seizure in New York’s history. He made the front page of The New York Times. By 35, he was promoted to chief of the city’s anti-smuggling unit. Over the course of his career, he earned 78 commendations, including three Attorney General Awards.

But then, politics entered the picture.

On October 18, 1988, two NYPD officers were murdered in separate incidents in Washington Heights—a neighborhood long dominated by Dominican drug syndicates. Occhipinti was asked to join a task force investigating the killings. Using his knowledge of the cartels and the unique powers of immigration enforcement, he helped flip key informants and ultimately solved both murders. The principal target? A cartel known as San Francisco de Macorís, a violent organization with deep roots in both the Dominican Republic and New York.

As the investigation continued, Occhipinti discovered that the cartel had begun buying up neighborhood bodegas—small corner stores used as fronts for criminal activity. In response, he organized a multi-agency effort called Project Bodega, aimed at exposing and dismantling the network.

“We interviewed store owners and got consent to search,” he explains. “They signed Spanish-translated forms. I speak Spanish fluently—there was no confusion about what they were agreeing to.”

The operation was a success. Numerous arrests were made. Contraband was seized. But with success came backlash.

Unbeknownst to him, the cartel had a political wing operating in the U.S., known as “The Federation.” Through donations and relationships with local elected officials—primarily in New York’s Democratic strongholds—the Federation wielded unexpected influence.

“They called a press conference on the steps of City Hall, accusing us of violating civil rights,” he says. “Next thing I knew, the mayor, David Dinkins, was calling for a federal investigation.”

Despite being cleared by internal affairs and despite the operation being sanctioned by federal authorities, the U.S. Attorney’s Office in the Southern District of New York took the unprecedented step of indicting him.

The charge? Conspiracy to violate civil rights.

“I had 30 to 40 agents and officers working with me. I wasn’t acting alone,” he says. “But I was the one who got indicted.”

It wasn’t just the charge—it was how the case was handled. Normally, civil rights investigations are conducted by the FBI. In this case, the FBI was never called. The entire probe was kept in-house by the very same district that had previously shut down his attempts to expose internal corruption.

“I brought evidence of misconduct by a former assistant U.S. attorney—sex and drug parties, favorable case outcomes for cartel members. I tried to go through channels. DOJ refused to approve an investigation. The FBI was ordered to stand down,” he says. “Then I get indicted? Come on.”

When he tried to go public, arranging to share his evidence with 60 Minutes, the U.S. Attorney’s Office issued a gag order.

“They didn’t want the truth out. They needed someone to take the fall. And I was the perfect scapegoat.”

Ultimately, the case became a landmark in the legal history of federal prosecutions—a case with no physical abuse, no bribes, no racism, and no rogue behavior. Just consent-based searches and high-impact law enforcement.

Occhipinti's situation was memorialized in a New York Post investigative piece that can be found here

After the trial and its fallout, he turned his energy toward founding the National Police Defense Foundation—an organization dedicated to supporting law enforcement officers unfairly targeted for doing their jobs.

“I’ve seen firsthand how politics can be used to destroy a good cop’s career,” he says. “We’re not just protecting police—we’re protecting the people who protect the public.”

Today, the Foundation is one of the largest of its kind in the country. But for its founder, the mission remains deeply personal.

“I don’t regret going after the cartels. I regret underestimating how far their reach went.

Occhipinti memorialized his nightmare in a best-selling book, "Framed! I Never Stood a Chance." 

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