Earlier this month, Leiden University decided to end its decade-long partnership and withdraw funding from its on-site daycare, De Kattekop. Taken amid broader budget cuts, the decision came as a surprise to both parents and staff, who now face uncertainty in an already precarious, market-driven childcare landscape — one from which De Kattekop had long stood apart.
Founded in the 1980s by feminist university staff, De Kattekop was created to address structural barriers faced by working parents, particularly women employed by the university. Operating as a small, non-profit organisation, it has continued to provide affordable childcare to teaching staff and students, a safe environment for children, and an accessible on-site space for nursing parents working nearby. In a sector increasingly shaped by market logics since the 2005 Childcare Act, De Kattekop has remained an exception — one recognised well beyond the university itself. It has repeatedly been ranked the top daycare in South Holland and second nationally: something a university might reasonably take pride in.
Universities depend on far more than lecture halls and laboratories to function. Alongside visible infrastructure lies a set of material conditions that allow staff and students to participate fully in academic life. Affordable, high-quality, and proximate childcare is one of them. When parents cannot rely on stable childcare, teaching schedules become fragile, research time is compressed, and participation in departmental life becomes uneven. These effects are not individual inconveniences; they shape the everyday functioning of the university.
In public communication, the decision has been framed as having no impact on education or research, with the suggestion that childcare “remains available” and that De Kattekop serves only a relatively small group. This framing overlooks how childcare provision actually works. De Kattekop is full and regularly turns families away. It offers 56 places per day — not 56 families in total — and in practice accommodates over 80 families, Dutch and international alike, by distributing places across the week. Parents are frequently offered four days of care instead of the five they need in order to include more families.
Like most responsibly run childcare centres, De Kattekop operates at around 90 percent of capacity. This is not a sign of underuse, but a condition of quality. Maintaining a buffer allows childcare centres to absorb illness, fluctuating schedules, and new families without compromising safety or care standards. Capacity limits should therefore not be mistaken for lack of demand, nor should alternative childcare arrangements be read as evidence of redundancy. In a context of chronic shortages and rising costs, families often have little choice but to assemble solutions wherever they can.
For early-career researchers, students, and international staff in particular, access to stable and affordable childcare can determine whether participation in academic life is possible at all. Treating childcare as optional infrastructure risks reinforcing precisely the inequalities universities otherwise claim to address.
Universities rightly emphasise excellence, inclusion, and equal opportunity. These commitments are difficult to sustain if childcare is treated as a peripheral benefit rather than shared infrastructure. Childcare is not separate from the university’s mission; it is one of the conditions that allows education and research to take place.
Universities are judged not only by what they teach, but by how they organise the material conditions of academic life — and by whether they recognise childcare as part of the foundation on which their academic communities depend.
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Elsa Charléty is a lecturer for the Leiden Institute of Cultural Anthropology and Development Sociology.