Homelessness - a symptom of the commodification of housing
Reading a recent study published by Crisis into Homelessness, one question keeps echoing in my mind – and I suspect it’s on many others’ lips too...
How can nearly 300,000 families and individuals in England be facing what’s described as the worst forms of homelessness, in one of the wealthiest nations on earth?
Some will point to the usual scapegoats. The rhetoric we’ve grown used to, especially from the right, suggests it’s always someone more desperate at fault. It’s the refugee, the single parent, the person with mental health issues.
But the truth is older and more uncomfortable. We sold off our social housing. Some people benefited, climbing onto the property ladder and securing homes they could proudly call their own. But those homes, once council-owned and accessible, are now out of reach for most first-time buyers.
In my area new housing is going up all the time. But is it affordable? According to Rightmove, the average house price here sits between £456,792 and £619,000.
The average wage? Around £33,000 a year. Rent averages £1,339 a month.
I personally rent a house that was once social housing – for £1,200 a month. And if you’re trying to buy, the average deposit in my region is about 23 per cent, according to unbiased.co.uk. The maths doesn’t add up unless you’ve got privilege – family wealth, a high-paying job, or some other leg up.
Back in 1983, the house price-to-earnings ratio in the Southeast was 2.95. Today, it’s 5.76. Owning your own home, or at least the illusion of it, has shifted from aspiration to fantasy for many.
There are complex reasons behind this rise: property portfolios, investment schemes, pension funds. Why do people invest in housing? Because it’s profitable. Like everything else that’s been sold off in this country, housing has become a boon for profiteers.
I’ve been homeless twice. The first time was when I was 18. I was told I wasn’t vulnerable enough, as a young male. But I was extremely vulnerable. When resources are scarce, the measure of need becomes warped. Worthiness is judged through a lens that distorts what it means to treat people with dignity.
I slept in garages and sheds. I kept warm by heating rocks in a fire, wrapping them in newspaper, and stuffing them into my jacket. I was 18. I’d been abused my whole life. I wasn’t equipped for adulthood. I was vulnerability personified.
We need to ask ourselves: what kind of country abandons its own people so readily, based on its own failings?
I often hear people say homelessness is complex. But it’s not. People are complex. Not building enough housing, not regulating profiteering, not protecting tenants –those aren’t complex problems. They’re choices. And we’ve made the wrong ones for decades.
Most people in the UK live pay cheque to pay cheque. Every year, more is taken. Food costs rise. Councils go bankrupt and hike council tax to fund services that are barely coping. Rents go up. Energy bills go up. It never ends.
Homelessness isn’t the problem – it’s a symptom of the problem.
We’ve normalised a system where housing is treated as a commodity, not a human right. We’ve allowed the narrative to shift from collective responsibility to individual blame. And we’ve done it while watching the safety nets fray and snap.
So, what do we do?
We start by telling the truth. We stop pretending that homelessness is inevitable or too complicated to fix. We build homes – real homes, not luxury flats or investment shells. We regulate rents. We protect tenants. We stop selling off what little social housing remains. And we listen – to those who’ve lived it, those still living it, and those on the brink.
Because if we don’t, the numbers will keep rising.
And behind every number is a person.
A story.
A life.
Gavin Rogers is principal consultant at DCC-I with more than 20 years’ experience in adult social care, workforce development, and organisational change. He leads quality assurance training in relation to self-neglect, trauma and strengths-based working