Illustration by John Holcroft / Ikon Images

In the ten years I have rented in the private sector in London, I have had six landlords, nine flatmates, two section 21 eviction notices, two stints staying with friends to tide me over, one bedroom so damp mould grew on my clothes and one instance of fungi growing out of the ceiling. Some sickening maths suggests I have parted with around £115,000 in rent in the process.

There is nothing particularly unusual about this. A fifth of households in the UK live in privately rented homes – dependent on the whims of often faceless landlords, powerless to demand repairs, unable to plan further ahead than the length of a tenancy. It can be an unpleasant, unsettling way to live.

At present, it is legal for a landlord to evict a tenant at two months’ notice, no explanation required; rent out their property to the highest bidder and then raise that rent annually with no cap; refuse to rent their property to a tenant with children or in receipt of benefits; rent out a property that does not meet the Decent Homes Standard applied to social housing.

Set out like this, it seems to me extraordinary – perhaps even immoral – that the Renters’ Rights Act, signed into law on 27 October, was not enacted decades ago. It is also extraordinary that Labour is not making more of a fuss about it.

The most remarked upon element of the bill is the abolition of Section 21 notices – “no fault” evictions – that allow landlords to evict their tenant without providing a reason and are a leading cause of homelessness. This was a Conservative manifesto pledge in 2019, but the political will behind it evaporated on contact with Tory backbenchers (a portion of whom were themselves landlords), who feared its impact on landlords.

Once the Renters’ Rights Act comes into effect next year (the exact timeline is still to be determined), landlords will only be able to evict a tenant under specific circumstances – for instance if they wish to sell the property – and then not within the first year of a tenancy, and with four months’ notice.

It will also stop so-called backdoor evictions, where landlords force tenants out by raising the rent above what they can reasonably afford – as happened to me in 2022, when my landlord asked for £200 a month on top of rent that was already 60 per cent of my income. Landlords will still be able to raise the rent once a year, but only in line with market rates (a measure that feels too open to interpretation), and renters will be able to legally challenge a rise they feel is disproportionate.

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It will also end the fixed-term tenancy, usually 12 or 24 months, and convert existing fixed term-tenancies into periodic, rolling tenancies. This might sound, on the face of it, less secure than a fixed term, but psychologically, it is a huge shift for many renters. For the past decade, I have lived year to year, knowing that no matter how settled I might feel in my home, there is a potential break point every year. Periodic tenancies also make it logistically easier for renters to buy their own homes, eliminating the (frankly impossible) need to time exchange with the end of a tenancy.

Landlords and their lobbyists are prophesying a landlord exodus as a result, but I expect, at least in the short-term, this is overstated (much as it was with VAT on private schools): buying and renting out a property will remain one of the most lucrative and reliable investments in Britain.

There are, of course, questions over how exactly all this will be enforced – presumably much of it by already overstretched local authorities – and how straightforward it will be in practice for renters to challenge errant landlords. It seems quite clear to me, for instance, that a ban on bidding wars, reprehensible though the experience may be, will not necessarily lead to properties being rented out at lower rates.

Still, the Renters’ Rights Act represents a total redefining of the power balance between landlord and tenant. For many young people, who account for around 40 per cent of all private tenants in England, their overwhelming sense of adult life is one of precarity: unreliable income, unreliable housing and a total breakdown in the social contract.

This act is a small step towards alleviating that. It is the first moment in my lifetime that I am aware of a piece of legislation materially impacting my life in a positive way. I think this is what enfranchisement is supposed to feel like.

[Further reading: PMQs Review: Keir, they’re watching you]

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