A source separately provided WIRED with the registration list for Dialog’s 2026 retreat, which names 222 people and records what the list describes as each registrant’s membership status and attendee type, including “active member” and “guest.” The retreat is scheduled for August 12-16 at a venue near Dublin, Ireland.
The same data lays out a program of off-the-record sessions, including: “Money (Does?) Buy Happiness,” “Bring Back Nuclear,” “Navigating WWIII,” “Battlefield Technologies,” and “How’s Your Sex Life?” Other talks include “Build-a-Cult,” moderated by the founder of the Christian networking site Pray.com, and “Build-a-Party,” run by a former White House national security official.
Together, alongside the mundane fare of a typical thought leadership conference, the documents show an extraordinary convergence of power. The registration records list General Alexus Grynkewich, NATO’s supreme allied commander Europe and the head of US European Command, who took the post in July 2025 and is recorded on the leaked list as having attended Dialog gatherings since 2021. The website directory names sitting Trump administration officials, two US senators, six members of the Paypal Mafia, a former Middle East chief of intelligence, and a sitting ambassador to the United States, along with the founders and directors of many of the country’s largest surveillance, data-broker, and advertising-data companies.
Enough people have asked me about the Peter Thiel-Dialog story that I think it’s worth saying what it is, or at least what I saw it to be. So:
–Dialog is a conference. I went once in 2018 and once in 2022. No one ever asked me to keep it or my presence a secret.
–My understanding was Thiel was one of its founders but no longer involved by the time I went. I never saw or talked to him in connection with Dialog.
–Nor did I see the other names I’ve heard mentioned, like Ted Cruz or Elon Musk or Joseph Gordon-Levitt or Jared Kushner. Dialog was not sold to me as a bunch of big names, which is part of why I went. I don’t need to go to a conference to hear what Ted Cruz thinks.
–You could be a Dialog member, but I wasn’t. I don’t think joining got you much except guaranteed invitations to future Dialogs. There were occasional dinners and webinars, but I never went to one. I would not have described it as a secret or a society.
–The panels were largely self-organized, so people would propose panels and hold them. I went to one on being a working parent and another on whether crypto had any real use cases and another on how to accelerate scientific breakthroughs. You’d usually have 8 or 10 people in a room. It was all very TED-talk adjacent.
–In 2018, I found it very optimistic, with an idealistic hacker-ish vibe. In 2022, I found the conversations and vibe more curdled and resentful. I didn’t enjoy it, and I didn’t go back. (That did prove a pretty good signal of where tech’s politics were going though, maybe I should’ve paid more attention.)
–That said, Dialog was a pretty ideologically diverse crowd. I met some people there who were *extremely* far left and far right. I met some real eccentrics and weirdos. I appreciated that about it.
– I’m a journalist, I go to lots of things in the hopes of getting to know people, hearing new ideas, finding podcast guests, etc.
–Being at something does not mean I endorse it, or everyone at it, or everyone who organized or founded it. I try to go to things where I don’t share the politics and perspectives of the crowd, for obvious reasons.
–I am surprised how credulous some people have been on this story. You have to believe some weird things about the world to believe Julián Castro and Peter Thiel are somehow engaged in a common project. Secret societies, I imagine, need a lot of trust to function, but the people being named here do not trust each other and do not have aligned agendas.
So that’s what I saw at Dialog. I’ll just end by saying it’s a weird experience to have a conference you haven’t thought about for years become the center of a new conspiracy theory.
“Being at something does not mean I endorse it, or everyone at it, or everyone who organized or founded it.” That principle died in 2017. You 100% endorse it, everyone at it, and everyone who organized or founded it. That’s how things work now.
Two stories sit inside the Dialog leak, and the louder one is the weaker one.
The loud story is the secret society. Peter Thiel (b. 1967) founded a private club. The club hides its members. WIRED finds the roster sitting in the website’s own code and runs the names: a NATO commander, a Treasury secretary, two senators, the Palantir founders, the data brokers who sell to the government and the officials who buy. The framing writes itself. Cabal. Shadow government. Thiel’s face at the top.
That story falls apart on contact, and Ezra Klein (b. 1984) takes it apart. He attended in 2018 and again in 2022. He found self-organized panels in small rooms, a TED vibe, a crowd that ran from far left to far right. He never saw Thiel. He points at the obvious hole: Julián Castro and Peter Thiel do not share a project, and a secret society needs a trust its members do not have. He is right. The room holds men who despise each other. No cabal coordinates people who disagree about everything.
But Klein wins the easy argument and skips the hard one. He knocks down “common project” because “common project” is a cartoon. The case against a gathering like Dialog never rested on aligned agendas. It rests on proximity. Put a sitting Army secretary in a room with Joe Lonsdale (b. 1982), whose company’s software runs case management for ICE, and you need neither of them to plot. You need only the dinner, the introduction, the number saved in a personal phone. Influence in this country runs through overlapping rooms. No one has to issue an order. Klein, defending his own attendance, reaches for the version of the charge he can beat.
The quiet story has teeth, and WIRED states it once and moves on. None of the registrants used a government email address. The supreme allied commander Europe, listed as a member since 2021, signed up with a personal or corporate account. So did everyone else who holds public office. They placed their attendance outside the email systems that public-records law can reach.
That is the front-page fact. Not the WWIII panel, not “Build-a-Cult,” not the sex-life session. A general who answers to the public and a Treasury secretary (b. 1962) who writes the rules on financial data build private relationships with the regulated and the armed, and they arrange the contact so the paper trail never forms. Set the conspiracy talk aside. The accountability gap stands on its own, and it is worse for being ordinary. No one had to scheme. A personal email and a confidentiality rule do the work.
Here the hype and the debunk fail in the same direction. The secret-society frame inflates the story into a plot, which lets a reader dismiss the whole thing once the plot dissolves. The calm correction deflates it into networking, which lets the same reader file it under rich people talking shop. Both moves bury the records-law point. One buries it under too much, the other under too little. The middle ground, where the association is real and the conduct deserves a look and no cabal exists, is the ground nobody wants to hold, because it pays nothing and offends everyone.
Marc Andreessen (b. 1971) explains why that middle ground emptied out. Klein writes that being at something does not mean you endorse it. Andreessen answers that the principle died in 2017, that now you endorse all of it, everyone there and everyone who built it, and that this is how things work now. He says it as settled fact and leaves out his own part in settling it. The guilt-by-association rule he describes is a weapon, and his milieu has swung it as hard as anyone, against universities, against reporters, against firms that fired the wrong employee. Klein defends a norm the men in Klein’s own anecdote have stopped honoring. The leak shows what happens to that norm under pressure. It splits at once into cabal and nothing, because the position that says he went, and going is not endorsing, and the going still merits scrutiny, no longer has a home.
The detail that tells you what Dialog wants is the dating app. Reporters flagged it as creepy, and it is, but creepy undersells it. A conference books a hotel and disbands. Dialog logs membership status, records every retreat a man has attended, ranks its people, and asks whether they are looking for love. It runs dating.dialog.org and offers to keep matching them. A club does not build a marriage market unless it means to last past the weekend. Endogamy is how a class becomes a class. Old aristocracies arranged marriages to keep capital and blood inside the walls. Dialog has built the software version. The WWIII panel is theater. The matchmaking is the institution trying to reproduce itself.
Dialog ranks its members in private, then coaches the moderators to model short introductions that avoid status signaling in a room of senators and tycoons. The club sorts everyone by rank and then stages a room where rank does not exist. The performance is the tell. Men this powerful relax only where the ranking stays under the floor.
The strongest defense of all this is that powerful men have always gathered in private. Private talk lets a man test a heterodox idea without losing his job over it. A personal email for a personal conference is what anyone uses. None of that is sinister. The public interest does not require a transcript of every room.
The public interest requires one thing. When the men in the room hold public office and oversee the companies in the next chair, someone counts the chairs. The leak counted them by accident. That is the contribution, and it survives the collapse of the conspiracy theory that came packaged around it.
Not Born Yesterday: The Science of Who We Trust and What We Believe
My favorite reaction from Klein is this: “I am surprised how credulous some people have been on this story. You have to believe some weird things about the world to believe Julián Castro and Peter Thiel are somehow engaged in a common project. Secret societies, I imagine, need a lot of trust to function, but the people being named here do not trust each other and do not have aligned agendas.”
I am surprised by how credulous Klein is. The value of this story to his enemies does not lie in its truth.
Klein reaches for “credulous,” and the word does the opposite of what he wants. Hugo Mercier built a book against that reflex. Not Born Yesterday argues that men did not evolve to swallow what they hear. We evolved to test it. We weigh the source, weigh the argument, and resist any message that would cost us to believe. Mercier calls this open vigilance. The finding runs against centuries of hand-wringing about the gullible mob: persuasion is hard, propaganda mostly fails, and demagogues mostly tell people what they already want to hear. The mob is a tough sell.
So the spread of the Dialog cabal story marks no failure of vigilance. It marks vigilance running as designed. The men amplifying it already distrust Thiel, the tech right, and the elite press. The story fits what they hold. It arrives from sources they trust. It asks them to believe nothing that hurts them and much that flatters their side. A claim that clears all three filters travels. That is the system working, not breaking.
Klein treats the belief as a map and then calls the mapmakers fools. Mercier draws the line Klein skips. Vigilance tracks stakes. Where a wrong belief would cost a man his money, his safety, or his standing among people he needs, he checks it hard. Where the belief costs him nothing and pays in loyalty, he holds it loose and waves it. Few of the men sharing the Dialog story have rearranged their lives around a literal Thiel conspiracy. They have picked up a banner. The looseness Klein reads as credulity is the looseness of a belief held for show, and a belief held for show answers to its use, not to the evidence.
This is where the right’s handling of the story comes clear. The right does not need the cabal to be real. It needs the cabal to be usable. The story damages Klein, the left, and the elite outlets that vouch for one another, and it damages them whether or not Julián Castro and Peter Thiel share a plan. The worth of the narrative sits apart from its truth. A weapon does not have to be accurate. It has to land. Men who deploy a story for its payload have understood it well. Call that many things. Credulous is not among them.
Turn the word back on Klein and it explains his own move. “Credulous” is the comfortable read. It lets him answer a story that wounds him without crediting his opponents with knowing what they do. A man would rather his enemies be foolish than hostile and competent. Mercier’s account predicts the harder version. The people running the Dialog story stay vigilant about their own interests, stay clear about the story’s worth to their side, and stay indifferent to the literal question Klein keeps correcting. They are not confused about Thiel and Castro. They never needed the two men aligned. Klein answers a claim no one had to believe.
That is why his correction will not travel as far as the thing it corrects. He keeps proving the cabal is not real. The story never ran on its reality. It runs on its use, and its use survives every fact he supplies. He brings evidence to a fight that was never about evidence, and he calls the other side gullible for fighting the fight they are in.
