KopiTalk LegCo Tracker · Second Meeting — Special Report (Housing)
Brunei is building more houses. But the latest LegCo debate exposed another measure that matters just as much as the number of units completed: how much of a family's life passes before the keys finally arrive.
By Malai Hassan Othman
He applied for a house before he turned 30 — not because he had nowhere to live, and not because he was struggling to put a roof over his head. The young civil servant held a middle-management position in the public service, earned around BND3,000 a month, and as a Government officer already had access to Government accommodation. The house he applied for was different: a home he hoped eventually to own under the National Housing Scheme, and he applied early for a reason people in their twenties are often accused of not thinking about — retirement. His calculation was simple. Get into the housing scheme while young, receive a house early enough, and pay it off during his working years, so that by the time the salary stopped coming, the house would already be his.
Then came the housing interview. He was told, he says, that priority was understandably going to applicants in lower-income categories who did not enjoy housing privileges — and with a reasonable salary and access to Government accommodation, his circumstances did not place him among those in immediate need. There is an obvious fairness in that: when houses are limited, the family with the greatest need should come first. But another calculation began troubling him. What if his turn came only in his forties, with perhaps 15 or 20 years of salaried service left — enough time to comfortably settle a housing payment before retirement, or not? His question was no longer simply when he would get his house. It was how old he would be when he did.
That distinction matters, because housing emerged as one of the more relatable issues in the Second Meeting of the 22nd Legislative Council — and because there are actually two different housing conversations running alongside each other, easily blurred by a single phrase like "waiting for housing." One is the National Housing Scheme, ultimately about home ownership. The other is Government accommodation for eligible public servants — essentially, where an officer and their family live while serving. LegCo was told that as of 9 July, 1,092 public servants remained on the waiting list for Government accommodation administered by the Public Service Department, with an average wait of one to four years — a figure that excludes separate housing lists run by other Government institutions, so it is not even the whole national picture. Behind those 1,092 names is a question the statistic does not answer: where are they living while they wait — adequately housed, still in a family home, or renting privately? The Hansard does not say. But Government should find out, because knowing how many people are waiting is only half the story; knowing how they live while they wait is what tells us the consequences.
It would be unfair to tell this story as though nothing is being built. LegCo heard that Brunei's home-ownership rate stands at 68.1 per cent, with an ambition to reach 85 per cent by 2035. Under the 12th National Development Plan, at least 1,606 new houses are planned — 576 terrace houses at Kampong Lugu Phase 2B, 330 at Kampong Rimba Phase 6, 300 at Kampong Salambigar and 400 at Kampong Lumut Phase 7 — with further sites identified across all four districts. The government also said the Ministry of Development and the Coordinating Minister for Social Policies and Manpower have, since July, been reviewing housing eligibility and policy, including a basic question: what can applicants at different income levels actually afford? The review is looking at matching house type and price to financial capacity, and at drawing banks, investors and local developers further into affordable housing delivery — which suggests the Government already senses the next housing challenge cannot be answered simply by counting units. The house has to match the household, and perhaps the financing period has to match the applicant's stage of life.
This is where the young officer's story becomes uncomfortable, and useful. It is not an argument that a BND3,000-a-month public servant deserves a house before a struggling family — a state-supported scheme has every reason to prioritise genuine need. But housing policy has to reconcile two different forms of fairness: a need-based fairness that gives scarce housing first to those who need it most, and what might be called life-cycle fairness — a realistic chance to acquire and pay for a home while enough working years remain. Most of the time the two coexist. When waiting stretches on, they pull apart: someone who applies at 28 and receives a house at 30 faces a very different financial horizon than someone who applies at 28 and receives it at 43, even though it is the same applicant and the same house. None of this means the young officer will actually be made to keep paying past retirement — his anxiety about that outcome is separate from the formal repayment rules that will eventually apply to him. But the anxiety exposes a real policy question: should housing priority weigh only how urgently someone needs a house today, or also how many working years they have left to pay for it? Perhaps the answer is not choosing one over the other, but designing a system that can recognise both.
There was another revealing moment in the debate. LegCo asked whether National Housing Scheme planning accounts for social impact — family stability and mental wellbeing, not merely units delivered — and the answer was telling. Housing design traditionally provides at least three bedrooms, reflecting the needs of parents, boys and girls; newer designs have moved toward four, including a downstairs room for elderly or unwell parents. National housing estates also provide or plan for mosques, schools, playgrounds, sports facilities, commercial spaces and community areas, which the Ministry explicitly linked to children's development, mental wellbeing, social interaction and stronger families. Government, in other words, is already saying housing is not merely shelter — it is social infrastructure that shapes family life. Which raises the question the debate did not quite ask: if receiving a home contributes to family stability, what does waiting years for one do? There is no simple statistic for that.
Perhaps the most quietly poignant reform disclosed in the proceedings was also the least dramatic. Since January, a new mechanism allows the spouse, child or registered adopted child of a National Housing Scheme applicant who dies before receiving their allocated land or house to take over that application while keeping its original application year — a compassionate rule that stops a family being sent back to the beginning simply because the person whose name was on the application did not live long enough to receive it. But the provision's existence quietly tells its own story: sometimes the housing journey outlasts the applicant. That is when years become more revealing than units.
Housing policy will always need numbers — applicants, houses, land, cost per unit, how many the Government can build this year. Those are legitimate questions. But this debate exposed another number worth measuring: how much of a person's life passes between application and possession. For the public servant waiting on Government accommodation, that may mean years renting or sharing a family home — though Government needs better information before anyone can say how common either really is. For an older applicant, it can mean receiving the keys with fewer earning years left. And for the young officer who applied in his twenties, the dream was never simply to receive a subsidised house. It was to work, pay for it, and reach retirement knowing the roof over his head was finally, entirely his. Brunei is building houses. The harder question is whether we can build — and allocate — them in time for the lives being lived while people wait.





