Do we actually want to be a society of homeowners?

High rates of home ownership have large negative effects on the labour market. Why are we trying to boost it?

It is widely understood that Britain's housing market is (how to put this delicately) sub-par.

Nearly everyone agrees that there are problems which need fixing. We have a society built around homeowning, in which the average age of a first time buyer is inexorably rising. We have a social housing system which involves the state paying rents to private sector landlords, even as private sector rents are rising faster than inflation. We have a planning regime which is slow enough to deliver judgments that it encourages developers to create "banks" of property with permission, just in case the time comes to build. And widespread as these problems are, they are an order of magnitude worse in London and the South East.

But while there's agreement on the problems – and much discussion about what policies might ease them – there's far less examination of what the ideal housing market would look like.

Would homes be owned by individuals, companies or the state? Would multifamily accommodation (blocks of flats, in other words) make up a higher proportion of the housing mix, or is our love affair with the house permanent? How acceptable is flat sharing? What about room sharing? What are the minimum standards we should accept from new builds? Is the problem that mortgages aren't available, or that house prices are too high? Is the solution to insecure tenancies more secure tenancies or fewer tenancies full stop?

These questions seem uncomfortably micro-level to be discussing, but at least some of them are crucial to answer before we can make a real stab at implementing effective reforms to housing policy. And the most important one of all is the one which no-one wants to address: why do we want to own our own homes?

Obviously, given current policy, the answer is clear. The last two decades have been about shoring up the housing market, guaranteeing house prices will never fall, and making it easier to buy in. Conversely, renting has remained as insecure as ever, but with more and more people renting more and more houses, it's a landlord's market.

But if policy could be reformed to make it harder to buy a house but in a way which made renting a far better choice, should it?

One way to answer the question is to look at the wider effects of owning or renting your home. A paper from our own David Blanchflower and the University of Warwick's Andrew Oswald does just that, examining the effects of high rates of home-ownership on one aspect of the economy: the labour market.

Oswald argued twenty years ago that a lot of people owning their own houses would result in higher rates of unemployment. The reasoning is intuitive: a home is a burden, keeping you tied to one place; and a mortgage keeps you tied to a minimum salary. Insofar as it is easier to move out of a rental property than it is to sell a house and buy a new one, we would then expect people who own homes (all else being equal) to be less flexible about the sort of work they can take – and so we'd expect them to be more likely to be unemployed.

Aggregate it up, and we would expect economies with higher levels of home-ownership to have higher unemployment rates. And that's what Blanchflower and Oswald have found:

We find that rises in the home-ownership rate in a US state are a precursor to eventual sharp rises in unemployment in that state… A doubling of the rate of home-ownership in a US state is followed in the long-run by more than a doubling of the later unemployment rate.

Oswald's 1990s argument is backed up by the fact that areas with higher ownership have lower mobility – as we would expect – but there are two further effects that the authors find.

The first is that high home-ownership areas have longer commute-to-work times. That could be because home-ownership tends to promote less dense housing, due to the difficulties in selling rather than renting multifamily accommodation, and the contrary difficulties in renting rather than selling single houses.

The second is that high home-ownership areas have lower rates of business formation. The authors speculate that "this may be due to zoning or NIMBY effects", and offer it as a point for future research.

The conclusion, that "the housing market can generate important negative externalities upon the labor market", poses some tricky questions for nearly everyone discussing housing policy in Britain today. We may still want to build more, lower rents, and improve quality of life for tenants; but this research suggests that, rather than making it so that more people can buy their homes, we should make it so that more people don't feel like they have to buy their own homes. In short, make renting fairer, not buying easier.

Photograph: Getty Images

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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For the first time in my life I have a sworn enemy – and I don’t even know her name

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

Last month, I made an enemy. I do not say this lightly, and I certainly don’t say it with pride, as a more aggressive male might. Throughout my life I have avoided confrontation with a scrupulousness that an unkind observer would call out-and-out cowardice. A waiter could bring the wrong order, cold and crawling with maggots, and in response to “How is everything?” I’d still manage a grin and a “lovely, thanks”.

On the Underground, I’m so wary of being a bad citizen that I often give up my seat to people who aren’t pregnant, aren’t significantly older than me, and in some cases are far better equipped to stand than I am. If there’s one thing I am not, it’s any sort of provocateur. And yet now this: a feud.

And I don’t even know my enemy’s name.

She was on a bike when I accidentally entered her life. I was pushing a buggy and I wandered – rashly, in her view – into her path. There’s little doubt that I was to blame: walking on the road while in charge of a minor is not something encouraged by the Highway Code. In my defence, it was a quiet, suburban street; the cyclist was the only vehicle of any kind; and I was half a street’s length away from physically colliding with her. It was the misjudgment of a sleep-deprived parent rather than an act of malice.

The cyclist, though, was enraged. “THAT’S CLEVER, ISN’T IT?” she yelled. “WALKING IN THE ROAD!”

I was stung by what someone on The Apprentice might refer to as her negative feedback, and walked on with a redoubled sense of the parental inadequacy that is my default state even at the best of times.

A sad little incident, but a one-off, you would think. Only a week later, though, I was walking in a different part of town, this time without the toddler and engrossed in my phone. Again, I accept my culpability in crossing the road without paying due attention; again, I have to point out that it was only a “close shave” in the sense that meteorites are sometimes reported to have “narrowly missed crashing into the Earth” by 50,000 miles. It might have merited, at worst, a reproving ting of the bell. Instead came a familiar voice. “IT’S YOU AGAIN!” she yelled, wrathfully.

This time the shock brought a retort out of me, probably the harshest thing I have ever shouted at a stranger: “WHY ARE YOU SO UNPLEASANT?”

None of this is X-rated stuff, but it adds up to what I can only call a vendetta – something I never expected to pick up on the way to Waitrose. So I am writing this, as much as anything, in the spirit of rapprochement. I really believe that our third meeting, whenever it comes, can be a much happier affair. People can change. Who knows: maybe I’ll even be walking on the pavement

Mark Watson is a stand-up comedian and novelist. His most recent book, Crap at the Environment, follows his own efforts to halve his carbon footprint over one year.

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood