Jo Cox: If we reduce her death to an isolated act, we learn nothing

People gathered in Trafalgar Square to commemorate Jo Cox MP the week after her murder in 2016 (Stephen Chun/Alamy)

Jo was genuinely one of the nicest people you could hope to meet. She brought a unique combination of hard-headed pragmatism and deep compassion to the job of an MP. She was a politician, but she was first and foremost a passionate humanitarian – and a realist at the same time, always looking for solutions that were practical and achievable – and ways to bring people together, not drive them apart. Qualities we need now more than ever.

Jo fought for justice, equality and for the rights of those less fortunate than herself. She was full of kindness and a deeply held determination to make a difference. After working in the voluntary sector for over 15 years, Jo moved into politics here in the UK, but her main objective remained the same – to make a difference to the lives of those around her – and from Bosnia to Batley and Syria to the Spen Valley, this is what she did. 

She knew how lucky we had been in life to have two wonderful parents who loved us unconditionally, and to have each other, along with a wide network of family and friends, enough food to eat and a safe environment in which to live. Through her humanitarian work, she had sadly seen many people who were not so fortunate.

Jo also knew, as I do, the power of diversity, and the beauty of difference in human beings. We were both always incredibly interested in other people and always had lots of questions whenever we met someone new. From a young age we took great pleasure in hearing stories of people from a wide range of backgrounds. The differences were not a focus, but nor were they invisible – they were something to be cherished and celebrated.

It was a big decision to put herself forward as MP for Batley and Spen in 2015 as her children were so young. But it was a job she loved and she had already started to make a huge impact in the role, both nationally and locally. But everything was torn apart – and changed forever – when Jo was murdered while going about her duties in the constituency.

Jo was murdered on 16 June 2016, just one week before the Brexit referendum, and a week before her 42nd birthday. She had worked in some of the world’s most dangerous countries, but she was killed not in some distant place, not a warzone, but on the streets of her constituency while carrying out her democratic duty as an elected representative. Ten minutes from where we live. 

It shocked the nation. It horrified the world. It left our family utterly bereft. And it left two small children without their mum.

We must be honest about the atmosphere in which Jo’s murder took place. The Brexit referendum was one of the most divisive periods in modern British history. People were encouraged to see each other not as neighbours with differing opinions but as enemies. 

Public discourse became increasingly toxic. Fear was weaponised. Anger became political currency. Complex issues were reduced to slogans, and compromise was portrayed as weakness. 

Of course, disagreement is part of democracy. Debate is healthy. Passion in politics is natural. But what developed around Brexit went beyond disagreement. It became something darker. 

Social media amplified outrage. Politicians and commentators often chose confrontation over understanding because division attracted attention. Entire communities became fractured. Families argued. Friendships broke down. Trust in institutions collapsed. In that climate, hatred found oxygen. 

To say that Brexit was responsible for Jo’s murder would be simplistic and untrue. One individual committed that heinous crime – a far-right neo-Nazi whose evil act was his and his alone. But things don’t happen in a vacuum, and we cannot ignore the broader social and political atmosphere that surrounded it.

Toxic rhetoric, nationalism pushed to extremes, conspiracy, scapegoating and the dehumanisation of opponents all contributed to a society under immense strain. The language we use in politics matters – because language shapes culture, and culture shapes behaviour. 

When people are constantly told that others are traitors, enemies, invaders, or threats to the nation, eventually some individuals begin to believe that hostility and violence are justified. That is why remembering how and why Jo was killed matters so deeply. If we reduce her death to an isolated act, we learn nothing. 

If we refuse to examine the environment of anger and polarisation that surrounded it, then we fail both her memory and our democracy. And sadly, a decade later, many of the same forces are still with us – perhaps even stronger. 

Today, polarisation dominates public life. Across politics, media and online platforms, people are increasingly pushed into opposing camps. Nuance disappears and every issue becomes a battle. Every disagreement becomes moral warfare. 

When people are constantly told that others are traitors, enemies, invaders, or threats to the nation, eventually some individuals begin to believe that hostility and violence are justified

We see a growing blame culture in Britain. When the economy struggles, when public services fail, when communities feel left behind, someone must be blamed. 

Migrants are blamed. Politicians are blamed. The poor are blamed. The wealthy are blamed.

The young blame the old. The old blame the young. Cities blame rural communities. Rural communities blame cities. And through all of this, we risk losing sight of our shared humanity.
So much has been done over the last 10 years to remember Jo and ensure her name and her values are never forgotten – but there is undoubtedly more to do. And I believe we can – and we must – all play our part.

There is no doubt that we face some challenges as a country, and it can be hard to stay positive. But I do remain optimistic – because it is also true that we have a country full of inspirational people who – day in and day out – show the very best of us. And it is their stories that need to be told.

Whether it is the litter pickers, the sports coaches, the library volunteers, the doctors, nurses, teachers, charity workers or the scout and guide leaders. The people who seek to unite us, not divide us, and who show compassion, empathy and unity every day.

And surely we must all choose compassion, empathy and unity over hatred and division. Empathy is not weakness. Compassion is not naivety. Understanding another person’s fears does not mean abandoning our principles. 

Jo understood this better than most. She believed deeply in human dignity. She believed people from different backgrounds could live together peacefully. She believed Britain was strongest when it was open-hearted rather than fearful. 

That belief cost her her life. But it must not die with her. 

If there is one lesson we should take from her legacy, it is this: hatred grows when good people become indifferent to division. The answer to polarisation cannot be more polarisation. The answer to fear cannot be more fear. The answer must be courage. 

The courage to listen. The courage to speak responsibly. The courage to reject extremism. The courage to defend democratic values even when emotions run high. And most importantly, the courage to remember that we belong to one another. 

Do we want a society defined by outrage and suspicion? Or one defined by compassion and solidarity? Do we want future generations to inherit division? Or do we want them to inherit hope? The choice is ours. 

And perhaps the greatest tribute we can offer Jo is not merely to repeat her words but to live by them, and show that we really are “far more united and have far more in common than that which divides us”. 

Kim Leadbeater is the Labour MP for Spen Valley

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