For almost two weeks, an esoteric debate has raged on X, formerly Twitter: Can users concerned about privacy and security trust the Signal messaging app, or is the Telegram platform a better alternative? X’s chatbot, Grok AI, described the current moment as “Telegram v Signal: a crypto clash.”
Signal is an end-to-end messaging app for individuals and small groups. Telegram offers broadcast and messaging channels, but it doesn’t end-to-end encrypted by default. Over the years, debates about their relative merits have arisen, albeit largely within the confines of online spaces inhabited by cybersecurity, cryptography, privacy, and policy geeks. This time, the conversation attracted more attention — Elon Musk’s 183 million followers — because of X’s most famous ability: mutating isolated facts into viral conspiracy theories for the entertainment of frenzied crowds. As a private player, I received a ringside seat for the feud.
On April 9, Uri Berliner, a longtime former editor at NPR, wrote an essay in the conservative Free Press publication arguing that NPR has increasingly chosen to serve a very small portion of America’s left. Debates over NPR’s alleged left-leaning leanings and calls by conservatives to defund it are also not new. This time, however, Berliner’s viral article came a few weeks after the inauguration of NPR’s new CEO, Kathryn Maher. Conservative activists started digging.
Turns out, Maher has some mean tweets. “Bad” is subjective, of course – they might be more accurately described as progressive tweets. Their slant has made them a goldmine for people angered by the Berliner story, and the alchemy of influencers, algorithms, and online mobs quickly turned Maher into the most unfortunate online figure: the protagonist of X.
Right-wing activist and propaganda guru Chris Ruffo is leading the crusade, shifting the narrative from social media to right-wing media to the New York Times and back again. The online mob called for Maher to be fired immediately.
However, NPR and its board did not give up.
Any effective smear campaign takes a grain of truth and then covers it with layers of innuendo like an oyster shelling a mother-of-pearl. For the target, distinguishing between truth and falsehood imposes a difficult choice: silence or a cascade of attempted explanations as accusations unfold and the rafters move.
But Ruffo and other right-wing players—perhaps frustrated that they couldn’t cash in on a quick public firing—moved the rafters from the terrain of reality and into the fevered quagmire of conspiracy. They discovered a 2016 tweet by a Tunisian activist that implied Maher, who worked in the country, was undercover for the CIA. Although she denied it and her accuser did not appear to comment again on the matter, Ruffo released a blog post on April 24 claiming she was a “regime change agent” who had launched “color revolutions” in North Africa and brought them to America. In this new narrative, Maher was not fair biased progressive; she was part of the deep state.
Ruffo’s post relied heavily on a particular defamation tactic: the transitive property of bad people that links people and institutions in a chain of guilt by association. The power of defamation lies in innuendo, expecting the reader to connect the dots without explicit accusations that could trigger defamation lawsuits.
What does this have to do with Signal and Telegram?
Maher is on the board of the Signal Foundation. Through the transitive property of bad guys, everything Maher is associated with is now suspect as well. So, on May 6—with Maher not yet fired from NPR—another Ruffo blog post appeared, the rafters shifted, and the conspiracy theory deepened. The question appeared in the opening frame: “Has the integrity of the encrypted messaging app been compromised by its board chairman?” Another list of innuendo followed: Signal had a grant from the Open Technology Fund, which is sponsored by the US government. Signal’s president, who had tapped Maher for the board, was also a progressive, left-winger who had previously been an equity bully at Google.
I got an unexpected preview of this layer of hints earlier in the campaign, when a prominent entrepreneur, angry about the matter, had me tweet about whether Signal had been compromised: three years ago, I joined the board of an open-source cryptocurrency foundation aimed at powering payments on Signal. This does not include personal involvement with Signal or Maher. But I have been researching how narratives are spread online, which has made me the victim of several right-wing smear campaigns. I was useful as a Bad Guy with alleged ties to the target. The entrepreneur never specified exactly what I could do on Signal. It was enough that they told me I was participating.
While the lack of specifics in these accusations should be a red flag, it instead gives strength to the whole enterprise. Fueled by nothing more than a few vague tweets from influencers, the manufacturing revolution of Signal’s compromised character ricocheted into the X without any evidence.
Understandably, ordinary people who share the claims find Ruffo’s vilification convincing: they believe him, they don’t like Maher, and the technicalities are complicated. But one tech-savvy guy — X CEO Elon Musk — not only saw the insinuations, but added his own on May 6: “There are known vulnerabilities in Signal that are not being addressed. It seems strange…” He also offered no evidence. However, accounts in his replies began to wonder about Telegram. Was it a better anti-wake alternative? Jack Dorsey, who is tech-savvy enough to know better, also reinforced the claims.
Community notes and journalists took it upon themselves to check Musk’s facts. Signal’s CEO responded by pointing out that Signal’s code is open source and carefully studied from the security and privacy community. Maher, even if he was the wicked, woke, deep-state regime change he was portrayed to be, couldn’t compromise the app if he tried. Musk’s claim has little, if any, factual basis, but he has the power to make dubious claims a topic of discussion for millions.
So a viral conspiracy theory took hold again and others used it for their own purposes. Telegram CEO Pavel Durov cited Dorsey’s involvement in the Rufo article in a post promoting Telegram as “the only popular method of communication that is verifiably private.” Cryptography professors, security researchers and technical journalists written topics clarifying the risks of using Telegram for secure communications and warning against Telegram’s attempt to lure Signal activists.
The initial argument about bias at NPR now seems almost quaint. Second-order productions seem so far-fetched that it is not worth bothering to refute them. Yet, due to the hyper-partisan vitriol of today’s fractured reality, they have real consequences.
There is a reputational cost to those caught up in conspiracy theories who find it almost impossible to convince converts that they have been misled. But in the case of Telegram vs. Signal: a crypto clash, there’s also risk for activists, especially outside the US, who might switch to the less secure alternative because they’ve been misled by prominent tech heroes. Undermining trust in companies and institutions, mostly to score points against an enemy, has never been easier.
So what can we do? First, support the targets of malicious attacks. Institutions must learn to understand how these efforts work, and instead of remaining silent, they must speak up immediately. More broadly, however, media literacy efforts should focus on explaining how these campaigns work, highlighting the recurring rhetorical tricks, tropes, and lack of evidence. Helping others understand and recognize the mechanics of smear campaigns will ultimately make them less effective.
