United States government group chat leaks

Based on Wikipedia: United States government group chat leaks

On a Saturday afternoon in March 2025, as American F-18 fighter jets screamed toward Yemen and Tomahawk cruise missiles arced across the Red Sea, the journalist Jeffrey Goldberg sat at home reading his phone. He was watching, in real time, the top national security officials of the United States coordinate a military strike—because someone had accidentally added him to their group chat.

This is the story of what became known as Signalgate: how a simple case of saving a phone number under the wrong contact name led to one of the most bizarre security breaches in American political history.

The Accidental Invitation

Signal is an encrypted messaging application that became popular after revelations in 2024 that Chinese hackers had compromised major American telecommunications networks. The app encrypts messages so thoroughly that even Signal's own operators cannot read them. It collects almost no data about its users. Messages can be set to vanish automatically after a set period.

These features make Signal excellent for privacy. They also make it completely inappropriate for official government communications, which are required by law to be preserved for historical records. The United States government explicitly discourages its use for official business.

None of this stopped National Security Advisor Michael Waltz from creating a Signal group chat on March 11, 2025, to coordinate an imminent military operation against the Houthis in Yemen.

The Houthis are a rebel movement that controls much of Yemen, including its capital, Sanaa. Since the Gaza war began, they had been attacking international shipping in the Red Sea and launching strikes at Israel, positioning themselves as actors in the broader regional conflict. The Trump administration, which had taken office in January 2025, was planning a significant escalation of airstrikes against Houthi positions—an operation they dubbed "Rough Rider," after President Theodore Roosevelt's famous cavalry unit from the Spanish-American War.

Waltz assembled an extraordinary roster for his planning chat. Vice President JD Vance. Secretary of State Marco Rubio. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth. The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, John Ratcliffe. The Director of National Intelligence, Tulsi Gabbard. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent. White House Chief of Staff Susie Wiles. Deputy Chief of Staff Stephen Miller. Special Envoy to the Middle East Steve Witkoff. And more—eighteen senior officials in all, plus one CIA officer whose name would later be withheld for security reasons.

And then there was the nineteenth member: Jeffrey Goldberg, editor-in-chief of The Atlantic magazine and moderator of the PBS program Washington Week. He had been added by mistake.

How a Phone Number Ended Up in the Wrong Place

The explanation for how this happened is almost comically mundane.

Back in October 2024, during the presidential campaign, Goldberg had emailed the Trump campaign requesting comment for a story about Trump's attitude toward wounded service members. The campaign forwarded that email to Brian Hughes, who was then a Trump spokesperson. Hughes copied the entire email—including Goldberg's signature block with his phone number—into a text message that he sent to Waltz.

Waltz never called Goldberg. But at some point, his iPhone suggested adding the unknown number to an existing contact. This is a common feature: when your phone detects a number that seems related to someone you know, it offers to save it. Somehow, Waltz saved Goldberg's number under Brian Hughes's contact card.

After the election, Hughes became the spokesperson for the National Security Council. When Waltz created the Yemen planning group chat in March and tried to add Hughes to coordinate communications, his phone pulled up the contact labeled "Brian Hughes"—which now had Goldberg's number attached to it.

The invitation went to a journalist instead of a spokesman.

Watching a War Unfold

Goldberg accepted the chat invitation on March 13. The group was labeled "Houthi PC small group"—PC presumably standing for "Principals Committee," the formal name for senior national security meetings. His presence was visible to other members under the handle "JG," but no one seemed to notice or question who he was.

For the next several days, Goldberg watched in silence as some of the most powerful people in the American government planned military operations.

The initial messages dealt with staffing—which deputy would represent which department. But the conversation quickly moved to substantive matters. On March 13, just after midnight Moscow time, someone in the chat mentioned the name of an active undercover CIA intelligence officer. This was the same night that Steve Witkoff was in Moscow meeting with Russian President Vladimir Putin; according to one Russian political commentator, their meeting lasted until 1:30 in the morning.

Whether Witkoff had his Signal-enabled device with him during those late-night negotiations with Putin is unknown. But the juxtaposition was striking: American officials were sharing the identity of a covert CIA operative in a group chat while one of their members sat across from the Russian president.

The Vice President's Doubts

On March 14, the discussion turned to the timing of the military operation. The conversation revealed something rarely seen by outsiders: genuine policy disagreement at the highest levels of government.

Vice President Vance expressed reservations. He worried that the strikes were inconsistent with the administration's messaging about Europe and could trigger a spike in oil prices. He suggested delaying the operation by a month to allow for better public messaging and to see where the economy stood.

I am not sure the president is aware how inconsistent this is with his message on Europe right now. There's a further risk that we see a moderate to severe spike in oil prices. I am willing to support the consensus of the team and keep these concerns to myself. But there is a strong argument for delaying this a month, doing the messaging work on why this matters, seeing where the economy is, etc.

Defense Secretary Hegseth pushed back, arguing that delay carried its own risks—including the possibility of leaks that would make the administration look indecisive.

The irony of this argument would become apparent later.

The discussion also revealed the administration's attitude toward European allies. Vance wrote, "I just hate bailing Europe out again." Hegseth responded with agreement about what he called "European free-loading," calling it "PATHETIC," while acknowledging that only the United States had the military capability to conduct these operations.

Stephen Miller effectively ended the debate by announcing that the president had given a "green light" but wanted assurances that European nations would contribute financially to securing the shipping lanes.

The Day of the Strike

On March 15, at 11:44 in the morning Eastern time, Pete Hegseth sent a message that would later become the centerpiece of the scandal.

The message contained detailed operational information about the imminent strikes. It specified the types of aircraft being used: F-18 fighter jets. The drones: MQ-9 Reapers. The missiles: Tomahawks. It gave launch times. It gave the time when the F-18s would reach their targets. It gave the time when the bombs would land.

According to Hegseth's message, strikes were set to begin around 1:45 in the afternoon Eastern time.

About ten minutes after that scheduled start time, Goldberg checked social media and saw reports of explosions in Sanaa, the Yemeni capital. The strikes were happening exactly as described in the chat.

After the operation concluded, the group exchanged congratulations. Waltz called it an "amazing job." Rubio congratulated "Pete and your team!!" Witkoff sent a message consisting entirely of emojis: two praying hands, a flexed bicep, and two American flags. Waltz contributed his own emoji response: a fist, an American flag, and a fire symbol.

Throughout all of this, Goldberg remained silent. Eventually, he removed himself from the chat. When users leave a Signal group, the other members receive an automatic notification. No one reached out to ask who "JG" was or why he had been in the chat. No one inquired about his departure.

The Story Breaks

Nine days later, on March 24, 2025, Goldberg published his account in The Atlantic. His article included a partially redacted transcript of the group chat.

The reaction was immediate and chaotic. Brian Hughes, the National Security Council spokesman—the same person whose contact information had been confused with Goldberg's—verified that the chat was authentic. But other administration officials disputed Goldberg's characterization of the redacted portions, claiming they did not contain classified information.

The next day, The Atlantic published the complete transcript, omitting only the name of the CIA operative. The full text confirmed that the exchange included specific timing of military strikes and real-time deployment reports.

The Legal and Political Fallout

The scandal raised a cascade of legal and procedural concerns.

Security experts noted that coordinating military operations over Signal—regardless of how the journalist got added—potentially violated the Espionage Act. Signal is not an approved government platform for sharing classified information. The detailed operational data Hegseth shared—aircraft types, weapons systems, precise timing—is exactly the kind of information that military operational security protocols are designed to protect.

There were also questions about federal records laws. Government officials are required to preserve communications about official business for historical and legal purposes. The Signal group had reportedly been configured by Waltz to automatically delete messages after one or four weeks. If these were official communications about a military operation—which they clearly were—automatic deletion would violate preservation requirements.

And then there was the simple fact that a journalist had been added to the group. Sharing sensitive operational details with someone who lacks security clearance is, under most circumstances, illegal.

On March 25, the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence held its annual hearing on worldwide threats. Directors Ratcliffe and Gabbard—both members of the leaked chat—were questioned about the incident. Republican Senators Mike Rounds of South Dakota and Todd Young of Indiana indicated they would pursue additional questions in the classified portion of the hearing. The next day, the House intelligence committee held similar discussions.

On April 3, the Pentagon launched a formal internal investigation at the request of the Senate Armed Services Committee.

The Hypocrisy Problem

For many observers, the most striking aspect of the scandal was not the security breach itself but who had committed it.

Several members of the Signal chat had built their political careers partly on criticizing Hillary Clinton for her use of a private email server during her time as Secretary of State. That controversy—which dominated the 2016 presidential campaign—centered on accusations that Clinton had mishandled classified information by using personal technology for government business.

In 2016, Donald Trump had accused Clinton of trying to "bypass government security," claiming she "sent and received classified information on an insecure server, putting the safety of the American people under threat."

That same year, Pete Hegseth—now the Defense Secretary sharing strike timing in a group chat—warned that America's allies would be "worried that our leaders may be exposing them because of their gross negligence or their recklessness in handling information."

Stephen Miller said in 2022 that "foreign adversaries could easily hack classified ops & intel in real time" because of Clinton's use of "unsecured" communications.

Mike Waltz—the man who accidentally added a journalist to the planning chat—had criticized Clinton for being able to "delete 33,000 government emails on a private server."

The irony extended beyond past statements. Just one day before Hegseth shared the strike details, Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard had declared: "Any unauthorized release of classified information is a violation of the law and will be treated as such."

John Ratcliffe, the CIA director who had named an active covert officer in the chat, stated in 2019: "Mishandling classified information is still a violation of the Espionage Act."

A Second Chat Emerges

As reporters dug deeper, the story grew more complicated.

The Wall Street Journal reported that Waltz had been hosting Signal group chats with Cabinet members on various topics—this was not an isolated incident but apparently a regular practice. His team routinely created group chats to coordinate official work.

More troubling, investigators discovered that Hegseth had shared details about missile strikes in Yemen to a second Signal group chat. The members of this group were not government officials. They were his wife, his brother, and his personal lawyer.

This raised an entirely new set of questions. If the Defense Secretary was routinely sharing operational military details with family members and private attorneys, what other information might have been disclosed? And to whom?

The Larger Context

The Pentagon had actually issued guidance about Signal just three days after the chat was created. On March 18, a department-wide memo warned that while third-party messaging apps like Signal were permitted for certain accountability exercises, they were "NOT approved to process or store nonpublic unclassified information."

Note the careful wording: the Pentagon wasn't even talking about classified information at that point, just "nonpublic unclassified" material—a category far less sensitive than operational details about active military strikes. The memo was essentially reminding people not to use Signal for anything beyond basic coordination. What Hegseth shared three days earlier went far beyond anything the policy contemplated.

Former National Security Agency personnel pointed out another vulnerability. Linking Signal to a desktop computer—which CIA Director Ratcliffe appeared to have done, based on the chat metadata—is one of the application's biggest security risks. The encryption is strong, but if someone gains access to your computer, they can read everything.

What We Talk About When We Talk About Security

There's a tendency to discuss information security as an abstract concern, a matter of protocols and procedures. Signalgate made it viscerally concrete.

When Hegseth typed out the launch times for F-18 aircraft and Tomahawk missiles, he was creating a record that could, in the wrong hands, get American service members killed. Military operational security exists because adversaries actively try to intercept these communications. Knowing when and where American aircraft will be allows enemies to prepare defenses, set traps, or evacuate high-value targets.

When Ratcliffe named a covert CIA officer in the chat, he potentially exposed that person to identification by hostile intelligence services. Covert officers operate under carefully constructed cover identities; their safety depends on their true roles remaining secret.

When Witkoff received these messages while meeting with Vladimir Putin—if he did have his device with him—he was carrying American secrets into a room with one of America's primary adversaries. Russian intelligence services are among the most sophisticated in the world; the idea that they might have found ways to access communications on devices brought into the Kremlin is not paranoid speculation but professional concern.

The automatic deletion settings compounded the problem. Even if the chat's contents never reached hostile actors, the decision to configure messages for automatic deletion meant that official records of a military operation would vanish. Future historians, congressional investigators, and legal proceedings would have no access to how these decisions were actually made.

The Emoji-Strewn Aftermath

Perhaps the most jarring element of the whole affair was the tone of the communications themselves.

These were the most senior national security officials in the United States government, planning and executing military strikes that would kill people in a foreign country. The medium they chose was a consumer messaging app. The mode of communication included strings of emojis—fist bumps, flexed biceps, fire symbols, praying hands.

After the strikes concluded and people in Yemen lay dead, the response was "amazing job" and congratulatory exclamation points.

This is not to say that military operations should be conducted with performative solemnity. People who do difficult jobs often develop their own ways of processing stress. But the casualness of the exchange—the sense that bombing another country was being coordinated with the same breezy informality as planning a birthday party—raised questions about the seriousness with which these officials approached their responsibilities.

An Unfinished Story

As of when these events became public, investigations were ongoing. The Pentagon's internal review would presumably examine not just what happened but whether similar breaches had occurred in other contexts. Congressional committees were pursuing their own inquiries.

No officials had resigned or been fired specifically over the incident. No criminal charges had been filed. The Trump administration largely treated the matter as an embarrassment rather than a crisis—an unfortunate error rather than a systemic failure.

But the questions the scandal raised extended far beyond this single group chat. If the National Security Advisor routinely coordinated official business through disappearing messages on a consumer app, what other discussions had vanished? If the Defense Secretary shared operational details with his family, what did they know about other military actions? If a journalist could sit unnoticed in a principals' committee chat for days, who else might have access that no one had detected?

The incident became known as Signalgate—another addition to the long American tradition of appending "-gate" to scandals, a reference to the Watergate break-in that brought down President Nixon more than fifty years earlier. Whether it would have similar consequences, or fade into the long list of controversies that briefly dominated headlines before being displaced by the next crisis, remained to be seen.

What was certain was that for four days in March 2025, a journalist had watched America's national security apparatus from the inside—not through leaked documents or anonymous sources, but through direct access to the actual conversations where decisions were made and wars were waged. He had seen the arguments, the emoji celebrations, the casual contempt for allies, and the precise operational details of military strikes.

All because someone saved a phone number under the wrong name.