In the quiet corridors of Copenhagen’s humanitarian sector, a slow, uneasy shift is unfolding. The desks remain occupied, the strategies still written, the funding applications still submitted. Yet beneath the surface, there’s a growing sense of dissonance—a recognition, often unspoken, that something fundamental is breaking down. Danish international NGOs, once a quiet powerhouse in global aid, now stand on the edge of chaos. Not because of a single crisis, but because of a structural reckoning long overdue.
For decades, Danish INGOs have played a vital, often underappreciated role in the global humanitarian and development landscape. Their influence has been built on a foundation of modesty, integrity, and a steadfast commitment to rights-based principles. From displacement camps to advocacy halls, from protection and human rights programs to education, livelihoods, and water and sanitation initiatives, Danish international NGOs have left their mark across regions, countries and sectors. Yet this presence has been sustained by an architecture that no longer aligns with the world it seeks to serve and don’t fit for the future.
Why the financial model is no longer fit for purpose
The global funding landscape has shifted—decisively, and perhaps irreversibly. The United States, once a cornerstone donor through USAID, has pivoted. This shift is not subtle: it marks a clear move away from large humanitarian subgrants to European intermediaries, and toward bilateral trade agreements, direct partnerships, and strategic alliances that reflect a new geopolitical calculus. The pipelines that once quietly sustained Danish NGOs are narrowing, and there is little evidence they will reopen. This is not a temporary belt-tightening—it is a structural realignment of global aid priorities.
This 2025 financial pressure is not limited to USAID. It is echoed across other major institutional donors, including the UK’s Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO), United Nations agencies, and even Denmark’s own DANIDA (Danish International Development Agency). DANIDA remains a respected player in long-term development and governance support, with a global reputation for integrity, fairness, and principled engagement. But it is not, and has never been, an emergency response funder. It lacks both the operational mechanisms and the strategic mandate to sustain large-scale humanitarian action. It is simply not designed to fill the widening gap.
What’s more, the overall pool of Official Development Assistance (ODA) is stagnating or declining across many OECD countries, as domestic political pressures, economic uncertainty, and rising nationalist sentiment shape public spending. This means that the competition for limited funding is intensifying, with donors increasingly favoring their own national interests, prioritizing partnerships that serve foreign policy objectives, or shifting toward “value for money” approaches that demand lean, fast, and demonstrably impactful operations.
Emerging donors—whether in the Gulf, in Asia, or among regional philanthropic actors—bring their own expectations: speed, visibility, impact, and the ability to deliver at scale. These donors operate on different timelines and priorities, valuing agility over consensus, results over process. Here lies a profound mismatch: the Danish international NGO model, built on caution, layered decision-making, and a consensus-driven culture, is not wired for this environment. The question is not whether Danish NGOs can simply compete for these funds. It is whether they are structurally equipped to even try—whether their governance models, cost structures, and risk tolerance are aligned with the pace and expectations of this new funding reality.
The localization dilemma
This is not simply a story of budget lines and funding. It is a deeper question of power—of who defines the problem, who controls the purse strings, who sets the pace. For years, Danish international NGOs have framed localization as a moral imperative: shifting decision-making, funding, and leadership to those closest to the crisis. The rhetoric is clear, and the intentions are often genuine. Localization is named in strategies, highlighted in reports, and featured in global convenings. Yet the reality tells a different story.
The vast majority of funding continues to flow through Northern organizations, while local actors—the ones living the consequences of crisis—are too often cast as implementers rather than true partners. Decision-making authority remains concentrated in Copenhagen boardrooms, not in the communities navigating conflict, disaster, or displacement. Risk is still assessed at headquarters, not in the volatile environments where the stakes are immediate and real.
The problem is not that Danish international NGOs don’t want to localize. Many do, and many have tried. The problem is that the current governance structures—designed to sustain large structure, manage risk from afar, and prioritize compliance over proximity—are fundamentally misaligned with the future they claim to pursue.
Localization is not the core issue. The real challenge is the lack of a clear, shared vision for the future. Without a bold rethinking of purpose, structure, and leadership, efforts to localize risk becoming token gestures—well-meaning, but ultimately reinforcing the very dynamics they seek to change. Adding more committees, more task forces, or more compliance layers will not resolve the underlying problem. This is not an operational adjustment. It is a structural misfit.
The cost of HQ and regional complexity
There’s another tension growing beneath the surface: the sheer size and cost of the current model. Danish NGOs have long operated from expensive headquarters in Copenhagen, while also maintaining regional offices (also expensive) in hubs like Nairobi, Bangkok, Amman, or Dakar. The logic once made sense—spread leadership, manage complexity, stay close to the field. But the financial reality has changed. The question is not just about cutting costs; it’s about purpose. What role does an HQ in Denmark serve in a world where decisions are supposed to be closer to the crisis? What is the function of regional offices when new partnerships demand agility, not layers of management?
Right now, the answers are unclear. The sector is stuck between models—too heavy to move fast, too expensive to sustain, and too cautious to reimagine itself. Without clarity and structural change, the international NGOs’ system risks buckling under its own weight.
The technology tension: fast tools, slow systems
Technology offers promise—AI, automation, Power Apps, and digital agents are reshaping what’s possible. But are Danish NGOs moving fast enough? Do they act, or do they wait for regulation? And will the same tools that streamline HQ processes in Copenhagen actually work for frontline staff in crisis zones and remote areas? The answers remain unclear. A technological transformation is underway, but it’s caught in the tension between bold innovation and the realities of operating in fragile, disconnected environments.
The limits of strategy: A system stretched too thin
Strategies for the majority of International NGOs are written, visions are set—but in the face of shrinking funding, structural misalignment, and a rapidly changing world, many of these ambitions are overreach. The Danish INGOs’ system is struggling to keep up. And the cracks are not just financial—they are human. High turnover at headquarters and in country offices is eroding institutional memory, draining energy, and leaving frontline teams overstretched. New strategies often fail to account for the practical realities of delivery on the ground, widening the gap between intent and execution. Without clear priorities and bold choices, strategy risks becoming an exercise in ambition without impact.
What future are we building for?
What remains striking in all of this is the absence of a clear, shared vision for the future. Danish NGOs are caught between a legacy model that no longer fits and a future they have yet to define. The sector is drifting—sustaining structures designed for yesterday’s challenges, while struggling to articulate what relevance looks like tomorrow. There is a risk that this slow, silent drift becomes the story: a system that doesn’t fail all at once, but quietly erodes—through turnover, through misaligned strategies, through structures too heavy to adapt, and through a collective hesitation to confront the hardest truths.
The question is no longer whether change is needed, but whether the sector has the courage—and the clarity—to act before the opportunity slips away.
*Ali Al-Mokdad is a manager in the humanitarian sector and columnist of The Copenhagen Post.
