The recent Senate hearing that left Commonwealth Bank of Australia (CBA) executives floundering under questioning about their profit margins has done more than expose a gap in corporate preparedness—it’s revealed a deeper rot in how we approach housing as a societal priority. Picture this: a committee chair, Barbara Pocock, pressing a CBA executive for numbers that could explain how the nation’s largest lender profits from a crisis. The executive’s response? A shrug and a promise to ‘take it on notice.’ What makes this particularly fascinating is how it mirrors a broader pattern: institutions that shape our lives are increasingly unaccountable for the systems they perpetuate. When a bank can’t even answer how much it profits from mortgages in a housing market where families are being pushed into crisis, it’s not just about poor preparation—it’s about a lack of moral clarity.
Housing isn’t just bricks and mortar; it’s the bedrock of economic stability, identity, and intergenerational equity. Yet in Australia, it’s become a battlefield of speculation and exclusion. The Australian Council of Trade Unions (ACTU) has rightly called this a broken social contract. But here’s the kicker: the breakdown isn’t accidental. It’s systemic. When public housing has been reduced to a last-resort safety net for the most vulnerable, while home ownership has morphed into a playground for investors, we’re not just failing the poor—we’re robbing the future of its foundation. I’ve seen this dynamic play out in cities worldwide, but what’s striking here is how aggressively Australia’s policies have tilted toward the wealthy. The ACTU’s Joseph Mitchell isn’t just criticizing a policy—he’s condemning a culture that treats housing as a financial asset rather than a human right. And that’s where the real injustice lies.
Let’s talk about the ‘generosity of being born to rich parents,’ as Thomas Greenwell put it. This isn’t just about tax concessions; it’s about how wealth compounds across generations. Older Australians, who benefited from decades of rising home prices and favorable tax treatment, now hold a disproportionate share of the nation’s wealth. Meanwhile, young people face a market where first-home buyers are priced out by investors and landlords who see housing as a cash cow. This isn’t just unfair—it’s a recipe for social fragmentation. I’ve long argued that intergenerational equity isn’t a buzzword; it’s a survival mechanism. When one generation hoards resources, the next is left with nothing but debt and disillusionment. The CBA’s inability to answer basic questions about its profits isn’t just a bureaucratic oversight—it’s a symptom of a system that prioritizes quarterly earnings over human dignity.
What’s令人不安 is how the housing crisis has become a silent emergency. Senator Pocock’s frustration—‘Why have you not come prepared to answer them?’—wasn’t just about data. It was about accountability. When corporations like CBA can’t explain how they profit from a crisis, it’s a sign that our regulatory frameworks are failing. This isn’t just about transparency; it’s about power. Who controls the narrative around housing? Who benefits from the status quo? The answer is clear: those who’ve already secured their slice of the pie. And yet, the system continues to churn, leaving millions trapped in a cycle of unaffordability and despair. I can’t help but wonder: if housing were treated as a public good instead of a commodity, would we even be having this conversation? Or would we be focused on building homes, not profit margins?
The September 30 deadline for the committee’s report feels like a cliffhanger. Will it force real change, or will it be another chapter in a story where the powerful are never held to account? The truth is, the housing crisis isn’t just about numbers—it’s about values. Until we stop viewing homes as investments and start seeing them as lifelines, we’ll keep repeating the same mistakes. And that’s a future I’d rather not inherit.
