Enthusiastic, full of hope, with postgraduate degrees, international work experience, and legal working rights, I arrived in Melbourne about six months ago. But when it came to renting a home, a very basic amenity, none of that mattered. Landlords didn’t care for my qualifications or potential. They wanted an Australian credit history, a stable job and sometimes even months of rent in advance. Without these, I was a risk, not a tenant.
Australia rightly promotes itself globally as one of the world’s most beautiful and liveable countries, attracting thousands of students, workers, and skilled migrants every year. But behind the marketing lies a housing system that is not just expensive, it’s exclusionary. The rental market keeps out those who don’t fit a narrow financial mould. It has become a gatekeeper to the nation’s ambition. Australia’s rental crisis is more than a local issue, it is a reputational risk, one that affects the country’s image as an inclusive and fair society.
Australia’s housing challenges are largely framed around home ownership. But for many newcomers, especially international students, refugees, and young workers, the rental market is the frontline of exclusion. While commentators, policy-think-tanks and policymakers get their heads around supply pipelines and home deposit schemes, the urgent issue for many is simply finding an affordable, stable place to live.
The problem is not unique to Australia. Rental markets are undergoing a profound change across the advanced world. Before the pandemic, rents were high, but did not increase at today’s pace. In fact, rents fell in some cities as landlords eagerly looked for tenants. But the post-Covid inflation spike has changed all that. First-world rents are rising at such a pace it’s not uncommon for more than a third of disposable income to be spent on housing.
The figures are stark for Australia. Rental inflation is eight times higher than in the late 2010s. Median rent in Melbourne and Sydney have jumped by more than 30 per cent in the past two years, far outpacing inflation and wage growth. Vacancy rates have fallen below one per cent in many areas, triggering rent bidding wars that disproportionately affect those without local networks or financial buffers. For migrants arriving with limited savings or no credit history, these conditions can be devastating.
For international students and young workers, two of the groups most recruited through Australia’s migration and education policies, the lack of harmony is jarring.
Even when housing is available by offering more money than usual, the vetting process is often opaque and discriminatory. Newcomers are routinely overlooked because they can’t present long-term employment contracts, local references, or upfront payments that wealthier applicants can afford. And even when successful, most tenancy contracts are months or years long, meaning landlords implement prices rise with a lag. That is the reason that even though the rate of inflation in other goods and services may have come down, rental inflation has not.
The result is not just inconvenience, it’s precarity, homelessness, and humiliation. Rental properties occupied by international students in a non-pandemic year are estimated to amount to about seven per cent, yet foreigners and migrants were blamed over the past year in the lead up to the recent election for inflating the Australian housing market.
For international students and young workers, two of the groups most recruited through Australia’s migration and education policies, the lack of harmony is jarring. Many of those drawn in by the diplomatic narratives of inclusivity find themselves priced out of housing. The cost of a visa might be paid up front, but the emotional, social, and financial cost becomes clear only after arrival.
This is not just a housing policy failure. It is a reputational one. In a digital age where personal stories spread globally, the reality experienced by newcomers directly shapes Australia’s image internationally. When talented individuals are met not with inclusion but exclusion, they take that story with them. It reverberates through future student cohorts, migration flows, and foreign policy perceptions.
Australia’s reputation abroad rests on the lived experiences of those who come here seeking a better life, not on ads or migration brochures. That experience is not welcoming right now. To maintain its standing as a fair, forward-thinking nation, housing must be treated as a basic amenity, not a privilege of those already established.
