On March 15, 2025, around 2:00 PM Eastern Time, United States military forces launched an assault on Houthi targets across Yemen. Typically, the American people learn of these military strikes from the Department of Defense or a White House Communications officer. This time, however, many Americans were alerted to the military move by a different source: The Atlantic’s Editor-in-Chief, Jeffrey Goldberg, who was inadvertently added to a group chat of senior government and defense officials. The chat, intended to coordinate the final logistics of Operation True Resolve—a campaign targeting critical Houthi-controlled infrastructure in northern Yemen—was, to many, shockingly casual; perhaps too casual. 

Instead of secure, tightly-controlled correspondence, the plans were divulged through strange strings of emoticons, gripes about inter-agency delays, memes, and—somewhat jarringly amidst the otherwise carefree conversation—war plans. Scattered between jokes and bureaucratic complaints were real, time-sensitive details about the imminent operation; details that Mr. Goldberg, despite having no military or governmental rank, was privy to. 

While National Security Advisor Mike Waltz has claimed responsibility for the mistaken inclusion of the journalist, much of the media scrutiny has fallen upon Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth. Mere months into a term already beset by controversy, Hegseth is under fire for sending several of the controversial messages; yet he continues to deny writing many of the words—and symbols—attributed to him. “[Goldberg is] a deceitful and highly discredited so-called journalist,” Hegseth said when asked about the breach, later calling Goldberg’s testimony a “hoax.” The Trump administration has echoed his refute of the Atlantic editor, with Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt describing Goldberg as a “sensationalist.” However, she conceded that Jeffrey Goldberg, whether truthful or not about the content of the messages, was included in the group chat. In a recent social media post on X (formerly Twitter), Leavitt confirmed that “the White House is looking into how Goldberg’s number was inadvertently added to the thread.” 

But while the content of the messages is worrying, the platform itself has triggered even greater alarm. The Signal app, a publicly-available encrypted messaging network, is not approved by the United States government for use by government officials. Democratic lawmakers have condemned the breach—in particular, Hegseth’s involvement in it—calling for a full investigation. On the other side of the aisle, however, most Republican allies of the Trump administration are defending or downplaying the group chat. Still, a small group of Republican congress members have expressed unease with the breach. “You don’t put classified information on unclassified devices like Signal,” said Nebraska Representative Don Bacon, “it’s just wrong.” 

In a related controversy, some former and current senior officials have pointed to his unorthodox practice of bringing his wife, Jennifer Hegseth, to high-level defense meetings, including those with foreign military officials. This habit, his critics argue, further weakens the appearance of international strength that Hegseth claims to prioritize. 

Following the breach, questions about Hegseth’s preparedness for the role—often taken on by a more seasoned soldier—have intensified. A former Fox News contributor and Army veteran,

Hegseth has significantly less military experience than his predecessor and is known primarily for his hot takes on television rather than for leadership qualities. His critics not only worry about his lack of experience, however, but also his focus on image, sometimes to the detriment of substance. Since being nominated to the role, Hegseth has emphasized a “return to lethality” as a primary initiative of the administration; but his recent actions have raised questions among those on both sides of the aisle: is it really about a return to lethality, or a return to looking “lethal”? 

Earlier this month, Department of Defense webpages were “purged” of diversity-focused language, resulting in the indiscriminate deletion of thousands of historically significant articles and images. According to Sean Parnell—Hegseth’s spokesperson—”mistakes were made,” and department resources are now being allocated to the republication of some of the files. Still, the error has added to critiques of Hegseth’s judgment and stewardship of the department. Although no classified documents were directly shared, the chat contained tactical timelines, references to restricted information, and informal updates on operational progress. The issue is not that the information was leaked to a journalist; the issue is that matters of national security were not more securely handled. 

In an era already burdened by suspicions about cybersecurity, competence, and transparency, this latest slip-up raises a serious concern: if war plans can be inadvertently delivered directly to a journalist’s inbox, what else is just a typo away from exposure?