Migration Journalism Award
A Conversation with Award Winner Gabriela Galvin on Stigma and Storytelling
In her award-winning report, Gabriela Galvin explores the impact of Denmark’s “Ghetto Laws” on three women’s lives. In this interview, the US journalist shares the story behind the story—and why inclusive journalism matters.
What first drew you to the topic of non-Western immigrants in Denmark — and how did you discover the stories of Fatema, Marua, and Farida?
As a foreigner in Denmark, I had a very warm and smooth experience settling in. The country made it incredibly easy for me to move there and get set up, and I felt fortunate to be so welcomed — despite not speaking the language fluently and arriving with no prior ties. But as I began to learn more about Danish politics and social issues, I came across the “Ghetto Laws” and was struck by the contrast.
Here I was, a newcomer from a wealthy Western country, receiving every benefit of the doubt — while people born and raised in Denmark, often citizens, were facing a very different reality simply because they lived in neighborhoods labeled as “ghettos” which is a government classification that hinges on having enough residents of “non-Western” descent, as well as things like income, education and criminal levels.
"That stark discrepancy between my experience and theirs made me want to dig deeper."
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I spoke with many people during my research — through mothers’ groups, schools, daycares, and community centers. Only a few agreed to be named and featured in the story, but the many conversations I had helped me develop a much richer understanding of the issue. I ultimately focused on Fatema, Marua, and Farida because they were from so-called ghettos in different parts of the country and felt comfortable sharing their experiences publicly.
Do you have a personal connection to the themes of migration, identity, or belonging that shaped your approach to this story?
I'm originally from the US and first moved to Denmark in 2022. Like many Americans, I have a family history of migration — my grandparents came to the US from Chile in the late 1960s, and my partner’s family is from Ukraine.
As a journalist, I often report at the intersection of health, social issues, and politics. In the past, I’ve covered migration through a health lens, looking at access to care and challenges faced by undocumented people. With this story, I was particularly interested in the implications of the “Ghetto Laws” on families and child well-being. That’s where my background in health reporting and interest in migration naturally aligned.
How did you first come across Denmark’s “Ghetto Laws,” and what sparked your interest in them?
The first time I heard about the laws was in a conversation with a Danish friend. I had just discovered a supermarket that carried products from all over the world — things I hadn’t been able to find anywhere else in Denmark — and I was really excited about it. But my friend said, “Oh, that’s actually in a ghetto — the dangerous part of the city.” I was shocked to hear the term “ghetto” used so casually to describe what seemed like a normal neighborhood.
"I was shocked to hear the term “ghetto” used so casually to describe what seemed like a normal neighborhood."
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That moment got me curious, and I started looking into it more. I met more people who were living in these areas and got a better sense of how the concept of a “Danish ghetto” was shaping people’s experiences — not just socially, but materially.
Having your neighborhood labeled as a “ghetto” — or “parallel society” since a government rebrand in 2021 — can mean being evicted from your home, facing higher penalties for crimes committed in the area, and being required to send your child to daycare so they learn Danish “traditions, norms and values,” such as democracy and Christmas. Most Danes do send their kids to daycare around age 1, but these families are the only ones facing a mandate — as well as a 30% limit on the number of kids from their neighborhoods who can enroll in their local daycares.
I discovered there are real consequences. People have lost their right to the public benefits all new parents get, which can have a serious financial toll. Others are forced to travel all over town to find a daycare that doesn’t already have “too many” kids like theirs.
"But for many, it’s the stigma — the feeling that they don’t truly belong in Danish society — that has the deepest impact."
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Your article focuses on the experiences of children and families — what long-term effects do you think these laws have on the youngest generation?
For children growing up hearing that they are not Danish throughout their lives, that message really wears on them over time. People have different experiences with this — for some, it might be easier to brush off, but for others, it becomes a deeper wound.
Most so-called ghettos are actually very communal, tight-knit neighborhoods. People are proud of where they’re from. They dislike the label because of the negative associations, but they love their communities. That goes for people with both Danish and other ancestries.
But when restrictions are placed on these neighborhoods — like housing redevelopments, daycare rules, or higher penalties for crimes there — people who have more resources might start looking for ways to leave.
Launched in 2023 by the European Press Prize and the Robert Bosch Stiftung, the Migration Journalism Award honors exceptional reporting on migration. It supports journalism that captures both the human stories and the wider political, economic, and cultural dimensions of migration — supporting nuanced public discourse based on empathy and complexity.
Your story was published in New Lines Magazine, a respected American outlet. What was your goal with this story?
I wanted to run the story in an international outlet because there’s already a lot of discussion about these laws happening within Denmark and in Danish media. I felt I could contribute something new by putting it into an international context. While the story is mainly about the direct impact of these laws on families in Denmark, there’s a broader question it raises: Who gets to be Danish — and who gets to become Danish? How does the state decide that? It’s a question that’s being asked in Denmark, but also in other countries — including Germany. It takes a different shape in each place, but I think the underlying issue is widely relatable.
How did Danish media and the wider public respond to your story? And what kind of feedback did you receive from the communities you wrote about?
The feedback I received personally was very positive. People from the communities the story focused on told me they felt it was a fair and nuanced representation of their perspectives and the challenges they face — and that meant a lot to me. These communities are not homogenous, and it was really important to me to show that. Sometimes people get portrayed in a one-dimensional way, and I wanted to make sure readers saw that these are people with agency and a range of opinions.
"The story also sparked some heated discussion, which I appreciated. People landed on different sides of the debate about whether they support these laws or not, and I was glad it pushed people to think more deeply about this issue both within Denmark and beyond."
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If you could change one thing about how European media covers migration today, what would it be?
That’s a tricky question because migration stories are told in such different ways across various outlets and national contexts. But what I really think we need is stronger pipelines for journalists from immigrant backgrounds — so they can play a bigger role in shaping how these stories are told. We need a more diverse pool of journalists reporting on all topics, including migration.