The distinction is often lost in SPCAI’s advertisements, which suggest much more direct action. While it does run some programs itself, including a much-publicized effort to reunite US soldiers with the stray animals they befriended while on a deployment, it mostly serves to redirect the money it receives to other nonprofits through grants. Unlike shelters that directly care for rescued animals, SPCAI, which boasted a $21 million annual budget in its most recent tax filing, is more confusing, collecting money without making it overtly clear to funders that the organization is, at best, primarily a conduit. “And they are quickly running out of funds.” The appeal pledged that donations “will be rushed to groups in India that are keeping animals safe.” But anyone who’d spent time looking at the group’s financial records would find reason to be concerned with where their money would actually end up.ĭespite the nearly identical acronyms, SPCAI is not affiliated with the 155-year-old American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (the one you know from the Sarah McLachlan commercials) or your local animal shelter.

“They are operating with skeleton staffing because of reduced movement and rising numbers of COVID-19 cases,” the email warned. An SPCAI solicitation from this past May laid out the dire situation in India during a brutal surge of the pandemic. “Our global partnerships gave us unique insight into what was happening,” the charity’s then–executive director, Meredith Ayan, told one reporter last year.Īmid that PR blitz, the group capitalized on all the classic tropes of animal fundraising-solemn dogs with large, sad eyes, for instance-exploiting the enduring power of cute puppies to separate people from their dollars with pleas that urge donors to rescue “hungry and abandoned” pets. In an uncertain landscape for animal lovers-remember when people weren’t sure if their pets might spread the virus?-SPCAI’s leadership offered itself as a credible expert. Into the void stepped a New York–based charity, the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals International, for which the pandemic presented a useful-and lucrative-opportunity.ĬOVID has been a public relations boon for the organization, with its leaders quoted in the New York Times, in the Detroit News, and in a lengthy write-up by Forbes. In those early days before everyone you know had a “pandemic pet,” adoptions actually slowed as people adjusted to life in lockdown and many animal shelters were forced to close. When the coronavirus hit the United States last year, the pandemic sent a shockwave through the animal welfare community. Sign up for the free Mother Jones newsletter. Get a daily recap of the facts that matter.

Rufus dog