History Repeating: How Northern Ireland is Sleepwalking into Ireland’s Housing Crisis

I have worked in homeless services since 2008, first in the Republic of Ireland and, since 2020, in Northern Ireland. Over those years I have seen housing and homelessness shift from a marginal social issue to one of the most urgent and politically charged crises on our island.

When I first entered the sector, the work was tough but the pathways were clear. If someone was ready to leave a hostel, we could usually move them on without much difficulty. Private rental accommodation was accessible even for people facing multiple barriers: prison leavers, those with active addictions, people with a chequered past. They could still secure viewings and be offered tenancies, because demand was not yet overwhelming.

But by 2011–2012, everything began to unravel. Suddenly the doors that had once opened easily were slamming shut. Families were presenting as homeless in numbers we had never seen before. Hostels became clogged with single people who had nowhere to go. The system entered gridlock.

Over the following decade, I witnessed how underinvestment, policy missteps, and the politicisation of homelessness turned a manageable problem into a rolling crisis. Tragically, that crisis has not only endured in the Republic of Ireland, it is now being replicated in Northern Ireland.

What I see today in Belfast feels like déjà vu. Rising rents, families being priced out, young people unable to secure a first home, social housing lists ballooning, and a growing hidden homelessness that statistics struggle to capture. Unless Northern Ireland learns from the Republic’s mistakes, we are sleepwalking into the same long-term disaster.

Early Years: A Different Landscape

Back in 2008, the housing landscape in the Republic of Ireland was starkly different. I worked with people whom society often pushed to the margins – prison leavers, people with addictions, rough sleepers. Yet when they were ready to move on, we could usually make it happen. Private landlords were open to housing them, because supply outstripped demand.

At that time, homelessness was not the political flashpoint it would become. The government and local authorities produced statistics that suggested rough sleeping was relatively contained. For example, the 2011 census reported just 64 people sleeping rough nationwide on census night.

But those figures were a fiction. I was there. I remember vividly how local authorities added extra beds during official counts, effectively hiding rough sleepers from the data. Beds would appear for one night only, and people were ushered in to ensure the numbers looked better. I also knew of people who were deliberately moved on from visible locations before counts took place.

It was clear to frontline workers like myself that rough sleeping was already far higher than official figures suggested, but homelessness had become politicised. A lower count meant less public embarrassment for government. This sanitisation of data created a dangerous lag between the lived reality on the streets and the policy response in government buildings.

The Shift: When Crisis Took Hold

By 2011 and 2012, the change was undeniable. The same people I had once supported into housing were now locked out. Landlords were no longer willing to take a chance on prison leavers or people in addiction.

Most alarmingly, families began presenting as homeless in droves. Ireland’s housing system, historically reliant on a mix of social housing and private rental, was beginning to show severe strain.

Hostels, originally designed for single adults, became jammed. Move-ons dried up. Bottlenecks formed everywhere.

At this time, Housing First, the international model of directly housing rough sleepers and then providing wraparound supports, was in its infancy in Ireland. While the philosophy was sound, the model had no housing stock to work with. There simply weren’t properties available to allocate. The result was that rough sleeping remained consistently high in Dublin and other cities.

This was the backdrop to the most haunting episode of my career: the high profile death of a man I had worked with for months. This occurred on 1 December 2014, in a doorway just yards from Leinster House, where the Irish government sat.

His death sparked public outrage and the usual protests, vigils and media outcries ensued. But for those of us in the sector, it was not surprising. We had long seen how restrictive policies, combined with a shrinking housing supply, left people like him with nowhere to go. His death became a symbol of a system that had failed.

Policy Responses and Their Limitations

His death forced the government to act, but many responses were reactive and short-sighted.

The Housing Minister at the time pledged that 50% of social housing allocations would go to homeless households. It was well intentioned,  but flawed. In practice, it created a perverse incentive: some families saw homelessness as the quickest route to secure a “home for life.” Far from easing pressure, the policy deepened it.

Meanwhile, temporary accommodation expanded rapidly, with hotels converted into emergency shelters. This was enormously costly for the state. By the late 2010s, the annual bill for this type of emergency accommodation in the Republic exceeded €200 million. Hotels became semi-permanent homes for thousands of families, many with young children, growing up without stability.

Charities like the one I worked for tried to plug the gaps. We developed an Approved Housing Body (AHB) and began purchasing properties under the Capital Assistance Scheme (CAS), which funded acquisitions for homeless priority cases. This created vital move-on opportunities, but it was never at the scale needed.

The root problem was the failure of successive governments to deliver public housing programmes on time. The Republic had once built 20,000 local authority homes per year in the 1970s and 1980s. By the 2010s, that figure had collapsed to a fraction. The state had outsourced provision to the private sector, and when the crash came, construction halted. Ireland has been playing catch-up ever since.

Meanwhile, rents and house prices soared. Between 2013 and 2019, average Dublin rents increased by over 60%, far outpacing wage growth. The housing market became unaffordable not just for vulnerable people, but for middle-income earners too- me included.

Moving North: Relief, Then Déjà Vu

In 2020, I made the decision to move to Northern Ireland. Partly it was personal, but housing affordability was a factor too. House prices were lower, and the rental market was nowhere near as pressurised.

When I arrived in Belfast, I found the contrast striking. I had a good job and could choose from five rental properties,  all at a fraction of what I had seen in Dublin. I felt a sense of relief.

But within a year, the familiar patterns returned. Rents started climbing. Friends and colleagues spoke of being priced out of once-affordable areas. Supply tightened. It felt like watching Dublin in 2012 all over again.

Northern Ireland Today: The Numbers Don’t Lie

The data confirms what my gut already told me.

Rents are surging: Average private rent in Northern Ireland reached £896/month in 2024, up from £833 in 2023 — a 7.6% annual increase. In Belfast, average rent hit £1,014/month, with annual growth of 8.3%.
By early 2025, rents averaged £960/month, representing an 8.5% year-on-year increase — the fastest in the UK.
Affordability is deteriorating: The median rent-to-income ratio rose from 33% to 40% in just a few years. Nearly half of private renters (45%) now spend more than 30% of their income on rent, a level widely considered unaffordable.
House prices are also soaring: In Q1 2025, the Northern Ireland Statistics and Research Agency reported an average house price of £185,037, up 9.5% year-on-year. Other indices put the figure higher, with PropertyPal recording an average of £226,000. Halifax identified Northern Ireland as the fastest-growing housing market in the UK, with prices rising 9.3% annually.
Social housing is overstretched: Around 47,000 households are on waiting lists for social homes, with supply falling far short.
Infrastructure is lagging: An estimated 19,000 planned homes cannot be built because sewage connections are unavailable, stalling much-needed construction.
These statistics paint a grim picture. Northern Ireland is experiencing the same toxic mix the Republic faced a decade ago: rents outpacing wages, house prices inflating, supply bottlenecks, and an underfunded social housing sector unable to cope.

The Human Consequences

Behind every statistic lies a story. Families crammed into unsuitable accommodation. Single people in hostels with no move-on options. Workers commuting hours each way because they can’t afford to live near their jobs.

Homelessness is not always visible. For every rough sleeper, there are many more in hidden homelessness,  sofa surfing, doubling up with relatives, or living in overcrowded conditions. These situations rarely make the headlines, but they erode stability, dignity, and opportunity.

The stress of housing insecurity bleeds into every aspect of life: mental health, physical health, children’s education, even employment stability. In my years of work, I have seen how housing precarity fuels addiction, relationship breakdown, and despair.

Reflecting the Parallels

The parallels between Dublin in 2012 and Belfast in 2025 are chilling.

Rents rising far beyond wage growth.
House prices making ownership unattainable for young families.
Social housing waiting lists lengthening, with no large-scale building programme to meet demand.
Local authorities under political pressure to minimise the appearance of crisis.
I have lived this story once before. I know how it ends if unchecked: a full-blown housing emergency that lasts for decades.

What Must Be Done

Northern Ireland still has a real chance to avoid repeating the Republic’s mistakes,  and the NIHE’s Youth Homelessness Action Plan and the new Foundations programme are vital commitments that deserve recognition. But these efforts will be undermined unless the wider housing system is strengthened now. If family homelessness surges, as all indicators suggest it may, services will be forced to shift focus, and young people will once again be pushed to the margins. Preventing that outcome requires decisive, ambitious action:

Commit to large-scale investment in social housing: The Republic’s overreliance on the private rented sector,  a sector that proved neither stable nor dependable,  left thousands of households exposed. Northern Ireland must break from that model and urgently build real, secure social homes.
Unblock infrastructure barriers: Development cannot proceed at the scale required while sewage capacity limits and planning backlogs restrict progress. These structural bottlenecks must be addressed as a priority.
Introduce meaningful rent regulation: Rent caps alone are not a silver bullet, but doing nothing will allow rents to continue rising beyond what ordinary households can bear.
Regulate short-term holiday lets: Without firm controls on Airbnb-style rentals, long-term homes will keep disappearing from the market, worsening shortages and driving up costs.
Expand Housing First with real resources: The model works,  but only when supported by dedicated property allocations and sustained investment, not just policy statements.
Tackle speculative investment: Bulk purchasing by investors and funds is pushing local buyers out of the market. Clear, preventative regulation is needed to protect housing as a public good, not a commodity.

Conclusion

From the Republic to the North, the pattern is unmistakable: when governments fail to take bold, structural action, housing systems buckle and people pay the price. I have seen what happens when warnings go unheeded and when political caution outweighs human need. The consequences are devastating, and they are entirely avoidable.

Northern Ireland is now facing the same red-flag indicators: rising demand, shrinking supply, deepening inequality, and young people already slipping through the cracks. If lessons are not learned, the crisis will not only repeat itself, it risks becoming even more entrenched.

Housing is not merely a policy area; it is the bedrock of dignity, safety, wellbeing, and opportunity. The cost of inaction is measured in lives destabilised and futures derailed. The time for incremental change has passed. The North must act decisively — now — before another generation is left to suffer the consequences of choices not made.