The Atlantic’s editor-in-chief, Jeffrey Goldberg, dropped a bombshell that sent shockwaves through Washington and beyond.
In an article titled “I Was Accidentally Added to a Trump Administration Signal Chat About War Plans,” Goldberg revealed that he had been inadvertently included in a private Signal group chat where senior Trump administration officials—including Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth, Vice President JD Vance, and National Security Adviser Michael Waltz—discussed plans for U.S. airstrikes against Houthi rebels in Yemen.
The strikes, executed on March 15, targeted Iran-backed militants, and Goldberg claimed to have had hours of advance notice via the chat, witnessing sensitive discussions about targets, timing, and weaponry. What has since been dubbed “Signal Gate” has sparked outrage, calls for resignations, and a fierce debate over national security protocols. Yet, amid the finger-pointing at administration officials, one key figure has largely escaped scrutiny: Jeffrey Goldberg himself.
The reporter’s actions in this saga raise serious ethical questions that deserve far more attention than they’ve received.
The incident began when Waltz, who created the chat, mistakenly added Goldberg’s number—apparently confusing it with that of an intended participant.
Most reputable journalists would have identified the error and notified the members of the chat he was there immediately. Instead, he chose a campaign of unintended spying on America’s top leaders.
The chat, labeled “Houthi PC small group” (likely shorthand for Principals Committee), included top-tier officials like CIA Director John Ratcliffe, Director of National Intelligence Tulsi Gabbard, and Secretary of State Marco Rubio. Over several days, they coordinated what Goldberg described as “war plans,” with Hegseth allegedly providing specifics about the impending strikes. The White House has since acknowledged the chat’s authenticity but insists no classified information was shared—a claim disputed by Goldberg and national security experts like former CIA Director Leon Panetta, who called the details “highly classified.”
Democrats have decried the use of Signal, a commercial encrypted app, as reckless, while the administration has dismissed the leak as a minor “glitch.” Waltz has taken responsibility for the error, and Trump has stood by his team, downplaying the incident’s severity.
But let’s turn the lens on Goldberg.
By his own account, he believed he was privy to top-secret information from the moment he joined the chat on March 13. He didn’t immediately alert the group or remove himself upon realizing the gravity of the discussion. Instead, he stayed silent, observing the exchanges unfold.
Goldberg wrote that he initially doubted the chat’s legitimacy, suspecting it might be a hoax or misinformation campaign.
Yet, even as his skepticism lingered, he took screenshots and documented the conversation—actions that suggest he recognized its potential significance. When the Yemen strikes occurred on March 15, confirming the chat’s authenticity, he didn’t hesitate to publish his findings, releasing excerpts to the public on March 24. In doing so, he thrust what he believed to be confidential national security information into the open, potentially compromising operational security and escalating an already volatile situation.
Let’s review. He published a chat thread by top-ranking government officials, believing it was ‘classified’ information about U.S. war plans to attack another country.
He published that perceived classified information. Let’s look at the law.
“Title 18 U.S. Code 798 says, “(a) Whoever knowingly and willfully communicates, furnishes, transmits, or otherwise makes available to an unauthorized person, or publishes, or uses in any manner prejudicial to the safety or interest of the United States or for the benefit of any foreign government to the detriment of the United States any classified information-
(1) concerning the nature, preparation, or use of any code, cipher, or cryptographic system of the United States or any foreign government; or
(2) concerning the design, construction, use, maintenance, or repair of any device, apparatus, or appliance used or prepared or planned for use by the United States or any foreign government for cryptographic or communication intelligence purposes; or
(3) concerning the communication intelligence activities of the United States or any foreign government; or
(4) obtained by the processes of communication intelligence from the communications of any foreign government, knowing the same to have been obtained by such processes-
Shall be fined under this title or imprisoned not more than ten years, or both.”
This wasn’t a case of a whistleblower exposing government malfeasance for the public good.
Goldberg wasn’t uncovering corruption or illegal activity; he was capitalizing on an administrative error.
Believing he was sitting on top-secret material, he chose not to notify authorities or the chat participants—who might have mitigated the breach—but instead copied the suspected classified data and ran with it. His decision to publish, even after withholding some details (like the identity of a CIA operative), prioritizes journalistic sensationalism over national security. If, as he claims, the information was sensitive enough to endanger troops or intelligence operations, why not exercise restraint? Why not consult legal or ethical experts before hitting “publish”? The rush to break the story smacks of opportunism, not responsibility.
The administration’s use of Signal for such discussions is undeniably sloppy—experts like former Defense Secretary Chuck Hagel have called it a violation of basic security protocols.
Pentagon regulations prohibit third-party apps like Signal for processing nonpublic information, and the chat’s auto-delete settings may have breached federal records laws.
Waltz, Hegseth, and others bear significant blame for this lapse, and their accountability must be addressed. But Goldberg’s role isn’t incidental; it’s pivotal. He wasn’t a passive bystander but an active participant in amplifying the breach. Had he exited the chat upon realizing its nature, or reported it discreetly, the fallout might have been contained. Instead, his actions turned a mistake into a full-blown scandal, fueling partisan attacks and international scrutiny—Canada’s Prime Minister Mark Carney has already called it a “serious issue” for the Five Eyes alliance.
Some defend Goldberg, arguing he had a duty to inform the public about government incompetence.
He could have done so without publishing a text chat he believed to be confidential or top secret war plans.
Posts on X echo this sentiment, with users suggesting he’s being unfairly scapegoated for the administration’s blunder. But this overlooks a critical distinction: journalists aren’t above ethical boundaries.
If Goldberg genuinely believed he held top-secret information, releasing it without regard for consequences—especially during an active military operation—crosses a line from watchdog to provocateur.
Lower-ranking military personnel have faced prison for less under the Espionage Act, yet Goldberg faces no apparent repercussions beyond praise from his peers.