What price inclusion when academic conferences remain child-free zones?  

Academia can be a hostile place for new parents and caregivers at the best of times, a point I’ve made here before. As a single mum, I am more than used to turning down opportunities that would, before I had a daughter, have pushed my career upwards. On multiple occasions, I have had to say no to keynote invitations or miss important events due to a lack of support or flexibility from conference organisers, as well as the challenge of finding suitable and affordable childcare.

I nevertheless consider myself something of a professional super mamma. I am usually meticulously organised and am a dab hand at grappling with the logistical, administrative and financial challenges of travelling and presenting with a three-year-old in tow. I was, however, caught off-guard recently when I attended a conference only a few minutes from my home in Birmingham, the entire ethos of which focused on the empowerment of women researchers and the need for diversity across the sector.

On the first day, my daughter – who attends a nearby nursery – was supposed to spend the evening with a babysitter so that I could attend the networking event and dinner, but that fell through at the last minute. Without giving this too much thought, I approached the conference organisers that afternoon and, after explaining my predicament, asked if my daughter could come with me instead.

This was not an unusual request. My daughter and I have travelled together on numerous occasions to academic conferences in the UK and overseas. We have always had an amazing time and been made to feel very welcome. Yet rather than help me or suggest alternatives, on this occasion the people in charge expressed no sympathy or flexibility, insisting that if I wanted to attend their fancy £90 dinner, I would have to do it child-free.

Naively, I hoped that I would still be able to reason with them. So I packed a lunchbox, filled a bag with crayons and toys, picked up my daughter from nursery and arrived early at the evening venue.

When I got there, I made it clear that my daughter would not get in the way, that she could share my seat and would not be eating the conference dinner. To compromise even further, I asked if we might instead be allowed to stay for the earlier networking session. Again, I was told this was not possible. Then we were asked to leave.

Upset about what was transpiring, I hastily posted on social media: “I’m at a conference today. The organisers just told me that I can’t bring my daughter to the networking session or the dinner tonight. I couldn’t get a babysitter. This is one of those times, as a single parent, that you really miss out. It felt like a gut punch.”

The reactions to this post came in their thousands and they were deeply polarised. Some people were tremendously supportive of me, arguing that we need to start normalising the presence of children in the workplace. Many called for conferences to include childcare provisions, such as playrooms, nannies and breastfeeding spaces, and they suggested that funding bodies provide financial support for attendees with children. They also highlighted the joy of having babies and young children at such events, arguing that it can be a great way to spark up a conversation with a stranger.

Other comments were far more disparaging. I was called unprofessional, inconsiderate, entitled and selfish. I was reminded that it was unrealistic to want a child and an academic career, especially as a single mum. There was criticism of parents allowing children into spaces with alcohol. But, most importantly, many thought that children are, quite simply, a nuisance: professional corporate settings intended for networking and socialising are no place for under-18s, I was told.

During the pandemic, hope emerged that hybrid working and online conferences would foster inclusion, particularly for those of us with childcare and caring responsibilities. Now that we have returned to male-dominated in-person white majority spaces, posh dinners and boozy social gatherings, perhaps it is time to take a look around and think about those of us who are not in the room, missing out.

Precisely where are the mums and dads, the single and solo parents, the non-heteronormative and the blended families? Who are the colleagues caring for elderly parents or infirm relatives? What about the early-career and first-gen researchers struggling financially, our colleagues on fixed-term and casualised contracts or those of us battling with hidden mental health issues?

This is a time of considerable precarity and immense instability for the people still clinging on and trying to remain relevant in UK academia. Many of us, particularly women, can find ourselves at a clear disadvantage when it comes to having our voices heard. It’s not a good feeling. Nor is it a good look for the sector.

It’s not enough to talk about the inclusion of women and diversity in academia. If we’re not willing to embed these principles within the very fabric of the work we do and the spaces we occupy, then what exactly is the point? Why are we even bothering to talk about any of this at all?

Eve Hayes De Kalaf is a training fellow in history and the humanities at the School of Advanced Study, University of London. She is also an anti-casualisation officer for the University and College Union.