Visiting my hometown has always been an eye-opener for me. Sydney’s thicket of skyscrapers and high-rise apartments – especially around the city centre – are a sharp contrast to the sparser, quiet suburbs right on the doorstep of Perth’s CBD.
But recently, there’s been a noticeable change in the latter.
Even in some of the inner suburbs of Perth (five minutes’ drive from the CBD) where local councils have – for decades – intensely opposed anything higher than a two-storey building, there are suddenly tall cranes towering and construction tape wrapping around large blocks of land.
My mum and grandma, on recent drives and walks around my childhood neighbourhood, have complained about this development.
Despite my well-aired opinions on housing affordability, and both of them having to chip in to help me buy my own apartment in Sydney, they remain disgruntled by one of the main solutions to the housing shortage in Australia.
To some degree, I get it. Going for runs around the Swan River, across the leafy University of Western Australia campus, and through Kings Park – one of the world’s largest inner-city parks – for example, reminds me how peaceful and rejuvenating it feels to be living in a city with plenty of greenery.
And when large buildings increasingly creep onto this space, there is a sense of loss (perhaps in amenity) that is difficult to put an exact number on, but is felt quite keenly by residents.
More crowding in public spaces, increased noise and worse congestion on roads are also common grounds for opposition by residents, all of which are often reasonable concerns.
At the same time, though, there is still clearly a need for more affordable housing. And simply building more detached homes further away from the city is not an optimal solution.
That’s because building homes where there is no existing infrastructure costs much more than building more of them where there are already power lines, pipes and roads. The Productivity Commission, for example, has estimated that building a new home on Sydney’s western fringe costs up to $75,000 more per dwelling than in inner suburbs.
This is what’s called “sprawl cost”: the extra bill (often footed by taxpayers) to build out all the required infrastructure to power the home, ensure there are running taps and flushable toilets, and to make sure people living in these homes have roads or public transport they can use to get to other places such as the city, where many of us work.
There are also less-visible costs to urban sprawl: the outward expansion of low-density housing into surrounding rural or undeveloped land.
It’s something that Perth, one of the most sprawling cities in the world, is notorious for. As a city spread out across more than 100 kilometres, many of its residents are reliant on cars. And being among the few to live close to the city centre doesn’t exempt people from this fact.
Despite staying in one of Perth’s central suburbs, as a non-driver, I often rely on my parents and friends – who do drive and have cars – to get me around, increasingly to far-away suburbs where my friends have been able to find a place to live.
While I’m lucky that much of my travel here is optional, and there are some people who don’t mind (or even prefer) living further from the city, it’s a challenge for many who are forced to reside increasingly further away from their work, friends or family.
This is especially the case for workers or students needing to commute to a particular school, university, apprenticeship or workplace several times a week. These people, who are often less well-off to begin with, and have moved further out to be able to afford a home, end up spending more money and time just to get to where they need to be.
This, of course, worsens inequality, but also drains our productivity (our ability to get the most out of our resources, including workers). Why? Because commuting long distances by car reduces the time people have for other priorities in their life, including spending time with loved ones, exercising or sleeping.
That can lead to worse mental and physical health outcomes or fatigue, all of which negatively affect a person’s ability to complete their work as effectively as they otherwise could. Having more unhappier people in our communities is also a bad outcome in itself.
Although flexible work and online lectures have made it possible for some people to receive their education or do their work remotely, it’s not something everyone has the privilege to be able to do.
The solution to our housing affordability problem is not only the need to build more homes, but to do so in the lowest-cost way: not only financially, but also in terms of the impact we have on the environment and our wellbeing as a society.
While some people oppose density because they think it hurts the environment, that’s not necessarily the case when compared with the direct alternative: building more homes further out of the city.
We should be careful about increasing density through shrinking green spaces in existing cities and suburbs. But prioritising – and allowing – more apartments and townhouses to be built (where standalone houses would otherwise be built) is generally better for the environment than clearing more land and forcing more people to use cars, still largely powered by petrol, to get around.
Transit-oriented development – an urban planning approach that clusters housing (as well as jobs, shops and businesses) around high-quality public transport options – is also a key priority as we increase density. This not only reduces dependency on cars, but is also better for the environment and reduces concerns about congestion on roads.
A big barrier to higher density has tended to be local councils, especially in affluent inner suburbs where residents are often relatively well-off and are more likely to want things to stay the same.
In states such as Western Australia, where voting in local council elections is voluntary, it has generally been those with the strongest opinions and interests who have tended to cast their votes.
In order to win these votes, many councillors have protected the interests of those who fiercely want to maintain the exclusivity of their suburbs, as well as the lifestyle and amenity that living in these areas affords.
However, recent state government intervention across several states has helped to weaken this barrier through, for example, changes to zoning rules and density codes which dictate how many dwellings can be built on a specific piece of land. Perth’s annual urban infill rate – the share of new homes built within already established urban areas – has grown from 34 per cent in 2023 to 39 per cent in 2024.
While Melbourne, with fewer geographical constraints than Sydney, has also sprawled over the past few decades, with housing expanding rapidly outwards, it has been limited by an “urban growth boundary” and reforms to zoning, allowing people to build higher-density housing in many inner suburbs.
The NSW government, similarly, has pushed for more density in certain areas of Sydney, especially around transport hubs such as train and metro stations.
There will always be some opposition to greater housing density, much of it by sensible Australians. But the costs of urban sprawl far outweigh the costs of higher-density housing, especially if the latter is done in a way that is well-considered and supported by strong public transport access.
Explaining this view to my grandma, she paused, then nodded and said, “I suppose there is that way of thinking.” While density may not look nice, and there are some downsides – especially during the construction phase – it’s a crucial piece of the puzzle when it comes to our housing affordability problem. And the opposition to it might not be as stubborn in some cases as we may think.
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