Dustin Moskovitz, the Facebook co-founder worth north of $11 billion, has quietly funneled $480 million through activist organizations waging war on American meat and egg production. Four hundred and eighty million dollars aimed at making your grocery bill heavier, your breakfast smaller, and your choices fewer.
You might expect with an agenda like that Moskovitz is a vegetarian, trying to make meat so expensive everyone becomes adopts a plant-based diet like him. Except Moskovitz eats meat.
Moskovitz and his wife Cari Tuna have used their philanthropic vehicle — Open Philanthropy, recently rebranded as Coefficient Giving — to become what industry watchdogs call the world's biggest funder of farm animal welfare activism. Not animal welfare in the sense of making sure cattle have clean water. Animal welfare in the sense of dismantling the entire livestock industry from the inside out.
The operation is sprawling. Coefficient Giving has directed more than $4 billion in total grants across its various programs, with the $480 million anti-meat portfolio funding groups like the Good Food Institute, which lobbies for regulatory frameworks favoring lab-grown and plant-based substitutes over traditional agriculture. They've poured undisclosed sums into Impossible Foods to, in their own words, "accelerate the development of multiple food categories" based on plants. They've funded campus research labs, international advocacy nonprofits, and policy shops all pushing the same message: real meat is the enemy.
Meanwhile, egg prices that spiked past $5 a dozen earlier this year haven't come back down to where they were. Ground beef hovers near $6 a pound in most of the country. Every American who pushes a cart through a grocery store feels the squeeze — and groups bankrolled by Moskovitz's half-billion-dollar war chest are actively campaigning to make it worse. Their explicit goal, stated on Coefficient Giving's own website, is to "reform or bring an end to animal agriculture."
Not reform it. End it.
The defense from the philanthropic class is predictable. They frame it as compassion. They frame it as climate science. They frame it as the moral arc of history bending toward soy protein. What they don't frame it as is what it actually is: billionaires using their wealth to restructure the American food supply according to their personal preferences, while exempting themselves from the consequences.
That's the part that stings. Moskovitz isn't a vegan crusader living his convictions. He's a guy who eats meat and spends $480 million telling you that you shouldn't. The New York Post investigation makes this plain — he hasn't adopted the lifestyle his money is trying to impose on 330 million Americans. He's funding the restrictions. He's just not living under them.
This is a pattern we've seen before. The private-jet environmentalist. The walled-compound open-borders advocate. The armed-security gun-control donor. The formula is always the same: spend enough money to change the rules for everyone else, then live by your own.
Moskovitz made his fortune because Mark Zuckerberg needed a roommate at Harvard who could code. That's the origin story. And now that fortune — built on a social media platform that most Americans use to share pictures of their grandchildren — is being weaponized against the cattle rancher in Nebraska, the egg farmer in Iowa, and the single mom in Ohio trying to put together a $12 dinner.
The NC Pork Council has flagged Open Philanthropy's farm animal welfare program for years, noting that its stated mission is to bring an end to animal agriculture — not improve it, not modernize it, not make it more humane. End it. When an organization with $480 million says it wants to end your industry, that's not philanthropy. That's a hostile takeover with a tax deduction.
Four hundred and eighty million dollars to fight meat. Zero dietary changes at home. That's not a movement. That's a hobby for people who've never had to check a price tag at the grocery store.