Let’s start with a question that’s been haunting me for years: If you’re 25, living in your parents’ spare room, and they own the house, are you really a ‘homeowner’? The answer, according to a growing chorus of economists and data analysts, is no. And yet, official statistics would have you believe otherwise. This isn’t just a technicality—it’s a seismic distortion in how we understand one of the most politically charged issues of our time: housing.
The traditional ‘home ownership rate’ in Australia is often cited as a benchmark of national stability. We’re told it peaked at 70% in the 1960s and now hovers around 66%. But here’s the kicker: this number is based on a flawed premise. It counts households, not individuals. So if your parents own their home, and you live with them, you’re statistically counted as a homeowner—even though you’re not. This isn’t just a statistical anomaly; it’s a moral and political blind spot. Personally, I think it’s one of the most insidious ways our data systems obscure inequality. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it turns a basic human experience—living with family—into a proxy for economic privilege.
Karl Fitzgerald, an economist at Grounded Community Land Trust Advocacy, has been sounding the alarm for years. He argues that the real homeownership rate in Australia is closer to 52%, not 66%. Why? Because the census asks households whether their dwelling is owned or rented, not whether the individual living there owns it. If your parents own the house, and you’re a renter (even if it’s free), the system still labels you as an owner. This isn’t just a bureaucratic error—it’s a deliberate misrepresentation of reality. What many people don’t realize is that this distortion has been quietly inflating the numbers for decades, creating a false sense of progress in a sector where millions are locked out.
The implications are staggering. Fitzgerald points out that half a million young Australians are living at home, yet they’re not counted as part of the ‘missing’ in the homeownership crisis. They’re invisible. This raises a deeper question: How can a society claim to be stable when its metrics hide the very people who are struggling? The political consequences are equally dire. When voters are told the market is ‘fine’ because the numbers say so, they’re less likely to demand change. It’s a vicious cycle where the illusion of stability perpetuates the reality of exclusion.
Let’s take a step back and think about the broader picture. The same flaw exists in the United States, where researchers at the Federal Reserve Bank of Minneapolis recently found that the true homeownership rate is 53%, not the commonly cited 65%. Their alternative measure, the homeowners-to-population ratio (HPOP), paints a radically different picture. For example, in a household where a couple owns a home and their adult child lives with them, the traditional metric counts the entire household as owners, while HPOP only counts the two who actually hold the deed. This isn’t just a statistical correction—it’s a redefinition of what it means to be a homeowner in the 21st century.
What this really suggests is that our definitions of ownership are outdated. In an era where housing costs have skyrocketed, and intergenerational living is becoming the norm, the old metrics are relics of a bygone age. A detail that I find especially interesting is how this issue highlights the tension between individualism and collectivism. We’ve been conditioned to see homeownership as a personal achievement, but the reality is that it’s often a family affair. The system rewards those who can afford to buy, while penalizing those who can’t—yet still counts them as part of the ‘solution’.
Fitzgerald is now pushing for the Australian Bureau of Statistics to adopt the HPOP measure. He argues that the data already exists in the census, but it’s being buried. This isn’t just about numbers—it’s about power. Who gets to define success? Who gets to shape the narrative? If we’re serious about addressing the housing crisis, we need to stop counting households and start counting people. Otherwise, we’ll keep building policies on a foundation of lies.
In my opinion, this is a moment of reckoning. The way we measure homeownership isn’t just a technical debate—it’s a moral one. Until we acknowledge the full scope of the problem, we’ll continue to underfund affordable housing, ignore the needs of young adults, and perpetuate a system that privileges the few at the expense of the many. The next time you hear someone cite the homeownership rate, ask yourself: Are they counting the people who matter, or just the ones who can afford to be counted?
