Keira is a 39-year-old single mom with long black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She battles tooth and nail to get her daughter Zammi—taken from her at birth and now in foster care—returned to her. Unimaginable heartbreak ensued when a 2024 parenting assessment found Keira unable to provide for the needs of her children. This ruling upended her life. The assessment concluded that she lacked “sufficient parental competencies to care for the newborn independently,” a finding that has left her fighting for her family’s reunification.
Keira’s situation is not isolated. She is just one of dozens of Greenlandic families living on the Danish mainland facing these kinds of challenges. In 2014, her two older children were put into care. At the time both children, the nine-year-old and eight-month-old, had tested positive on an FKU. Her eldest child, Zoe, is 21 now. Although she returned to live with her mom at 18, she now lives on her own and stays in close contact with her mom.
Zammi’s placement in foster care has cut Keira’s time with her daughter down to one hour per week. Even with this limitation, Keira has every reason to be optimistic about Zammi’s eventual comeback. She recalls the moment Zammi was born, stating, “Right when she came out, I started counting the minutes,” signifying the bond and love she feels for her child.
The parenting assessments that Keira went through have raised troubling questions about their equity and impact. For one assessment, Keira was told to interact with a doll and shamed for failing to make sufficient eye contact. She reflects on the absurdity of the questions posed to her, which included “Who is Mother Teresa?” and “How long does it take for the sun’s rays to reach the Earth?”
Keira told us that the way she was treated throughout the assessment was dehumanizing. When she questioned the psychologist about the nature of the tests, she was told it was a measure “to see if you are civilised enough, if you can act like a human being.” Yet, when faced with questions about her plans, such statements have left her feeling misunderstood and marginalized.
Especially alongside her personal story, Keira has seen the challenges faced by families like hers at the national level. During a demonstration earlier this year in Nuuk, Greenland’s capital, protesters carried placards proclaiming, “Our children are watching!! Prejudices are contagious,” highlighting the systemic biases that families face in child welfare cases.
Keira’s story is one of courage and perseverance. She asserts, “I will not stop fighting for my children,” emphasizing the importance of her struggle not only for herself but for other families facing similar predicaments. She fears that losing custody would become a constant struggle for her kids. This fear motivates her commitment to overcoming the odds in her battle to win.
The emotional burden of possibly losing her daughter again hangs thickly around her neck. They can come for her in the hour,” she warns, underscoring the immediacy and capriciousness of social services’ actions. With framed photos of Zammi adorning the walls of her home and baby clothes still present, Keira holds onto hope.
