The Real Signal of Signalgate

I’m not going to get into yet another semantic argument about the difference between “war plans” and “attack plans” or the distinction between “state secret” and “classified,” or the incredibly convoluted theories of how Jeffrey Goldberg incepted his phone number into the national security adviser’s phone with his eldritch powers. 

Nor am I going to dwell on the hypocrisy of Republicans and conservatives who have spent 20 years raining sanctimonious—and justified!—scorn on Democrats for not taking the rules of classified material seriously. This is a real sacrifice for me, because I am a veteran of the Golden Age of such dunking. I’m not talking about Hillary Clinton’s home-brewed server. Those were good times. I’m referring to that joyous moment, that feeling of pure pundit rapture comparable to waking up to a pony by the Christmas tree, when it was revealed that former National Security Adviser Sandy Berger (AKA “Sandy Burglar”) had stuffed his socks and pants with classified material. Such were thejoys.