It’s been nearly a decade. That’s a long time in politics. Honestly, it feels like an eternity given how much the world has flipped upside down since June 2016. But if you walk through Birstall or talk to people in the Batley and Spen constituency, the name Jo Cox isn't just a piece of history. It’s a pulse.
Most people remember the headlines. The shock. The brutal nature of her death just days before the Brexit referendum. But focusing only on the tragedy of British MP Jo Cox misses the point of who she actually was and, more importantly, what she was trying to fix. She wasn't some career politician looking for a pension. She was a whirlwind.
People often get her wrong. They see a martyr. In reality, she was a pragmatic, slightly messy, incredibly driven woman who spent her life in the trenches of humanitarian work long before she ever stepped foot in Westminster. She lived on a barge. She climbed mountains. She shouted about loneliness when nobody else thought it was a political issue.
The Humanitarian Who Ended Up in Parliament
Jo didn’t start in the halls of power. She started in the mud. Working for Oxfam, she saw the worst of humanity in places like Darfur and Afghanistan. You can’t see that kind of suffering and come back to the UK to just "play the game."
When she became the British MP for her home patch in 2015, she hit the ground running. It wasn't about ego. It was about the fact that she knew, fundamentally, that policy kills or saves people. She was one of the loudest voices calling for intervention in Syria to protect civilians. She didn't care if that made her unpopular with the "anti-war" crowd or the "pro-war" crowd. She cared about the people under the bombs.
She had this weirdly effective way of working with people she supposedly hated. She co-chaired the Friends of Syria All-Party Parliamentary Group with Andrew Mitchell, a Conservative. In today’s hyper-polarized world, that looks like a miracle. Back then, for Jo, it was just common sense. If you want to get things done, you talk to the people who hold the keys, even if they’re on the "other side."
That Famous Quote: More in Common
"We are far more united and have far more in common than that which divides us."
You've seen it on t-shirts. You've seen it on murals. It was part of her maiden speech in the House of Commons. It’s become a bit of a cliché, hasn't it? But look at the context. She wasn't being naive. She wasn't saying we all need to group-hug and forget our differences.
She was talking about her constituency. Batley and Spen is a diverse place. It has seen its share of racial tension and economic decline. Jo was acknowledging that while people might pray to different gods or have different skin colors, they all want the same basic stuff: a decent job, a safe street, and a future for their kids.
The Loneliness Commission
One of her most underrated legacies is her work on loneliness. Before she died, she started a commission on it. She’d noticed it among her constituents—not just the elderly, but new mums and refugees too.
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She realized that a society that doesn't talk to itself is a broken society. This wasn't "soft" politics. She saw loneliness as a public health crisis on par with smoking or obesity. Today, the UK has a Minister for Loneliness. That’s Jo’s doing. She planted the seed for a policy that has now been copied by governments all over the world.
The Day Everything Changed
June 16, 2016. It was a Thursday. Jo was heading to a constituency surgery at the local library in Birstall. A regular day.
Then the world stopped.
The man who killed her, Thomas Mair, was a white supremacist with links to far-right ideologies. During his trial, it came out that he shouted "Britain First" as he attacked her. He didn't see a mother of two or a dedicated public servant. He saw a symbol of the "liberal elite" that he’d been taught to hate through online rabbit holes and extremist literature.
It was the first time a sitting British MP had been murdered since Ian Gow in 1990. The country went into a collective state of shock. The Brexit campaigning—which had become incredibly toxic and vitriolic—was paused. For a second, it felt like the tragedy might force everyone to take a breath and lower the temperature of the debate.
It didn't last.
Misconceptions and the Radicalization Problem
There’s this idea that Jo’s death was a "one-off" act by a "lone wolf" with mental health issues. That’s a dangerous simplification. While Mair certainly acted alone that day, his mind had been fed a steady diet of extremist propaganda for years.
He had a collection of Nazi memorabilia. He researched high-ranking Nazi officials. He targeted Jo Cox because of her vocal support for refugees and her belief in the European Union.
We need to be honest about this: Jo was a victim of political terrorism.
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Since her death, the threats against female MPs in particular have skyrocketed. If you look at the data from the Hansard Society or the reports from the Committee on Standards in Public Life, the level of abuse directed at women in politics is staggering. Jo was the canary in the coal mine. She showed us exactly where dehumanizing language leads. When we stop seeing politicians as humans and start seeing them as "traitors" or "enemies," the path to violence becomes a lot shorter.
The Great Get Together
Her husband, Brendan Cox, and her family didn't let her memory become just a footnote of grief. They started the Jo Cox Foundation.
Their biggest "hit" is the Great Get Together. Every year, around the anniversary of her death, thousands of communities across the UK hold picnics, street parties, and events. The goal? To prove that "more in common" thing wasn't just a nice sentiment.
It’s actually pretty radical if you think about it. In an age where we’re all siloed in our digital bubbles, physically sitting down with a neighbor you don't know is an act of defiance.
What the Foundation Actually Does
- Combatting Loneliness: Carrying on the work Jo started with the Loneliness Commission.
- Stronger Communities: Funding local projects that bring different ethnic and social groups together.
- Civil Discourse: Working to make politics less toxic so more "normal" people feel they can run for office without being hounded.
The Reality of Being a British MP Jo Cox Today
If Jo were alive today, she’d probably be horrified by the state of the discourse. But she wouldn't be sitting in a corner crying about it. She’d be organizing.
She was a "proud Yorkshire lass" who believed in the power of the local. She knew that big changes start with small conversations. The tragedy isn't just that she died; it's that we lost her voice at a time when we needed it most.
She was a bridge-builder in a world of wall-builders.
The fact that her sister, Kim Leadbeater, eventually stood for and won Jo’s old seat in 2021 is a testament to the family's resilience. Kim has been a vocal advocate for better security for MPs and a return to "kindness" in politics. It’s a bit of a cliché, sure, but when you’ve lost a sister to hate, kindness isn't a weak word. It’s a shield.
Lessons We Can Actually Use
So, what do we do with all this? Is it just a sad story?
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No. Jo Cox’s life offers a blueprint for how to live in a fractured society.
First: Reject the "Us vs. Them" narrative. It’s easy to dunk on people online. It feels good. It gives you a hit of dopamine to call someone a names because they have a different political flag. Jo proved that you can hold your convictions—she was a staunch Labour partisan—while still treating your "opponents" as colleagues.
Second: Focus on the local. You probably can't fix national politics. It’s a mess. But you can fix your street. You can check on the neighbor who lives alone. You can volunteer at the local food bank. Jo was an internationalist, but she was rooted in Batley.
Third: Watch your language. Words have weight. When we describe political disagreements in the language of warfare, we shouldn't be surprised when people start acting like soldiers.
Actionable Steps for a Less Divided World
If you want to honor the legacy of Jo Cox, don't just post a quote on Instagram once a year. Do something that actually moves the needle.
- Join or host a Great Get Together. It doesn't have to be a massive production. Invite three neighbors over for tea who you’ve never spoken to.
- Support the Jo Cox Foundation. They do the unglamorous work of policy lobbying and community organizing.
- Engage with someone you disagree with—offline. Try to understand the why behind their belief. You don't have to agree. You just have to remember they are a person.
- Read her biography. Look into "Jo Cox: More in Common" by Brendan Cox. It gives a raw, non-sanitized look at who she was.
Jo Cox was a British MP, but she was also a climber, a mother, a friend, and a fighter. She didn't want to be a symbol. She wanted to be useful. The best way to keep her memory alive isn't to build statues, but to finish the work she started.
Focus on what we have in common. It’s more than you think.
The work continues. It has to. Because the alternative—letting the division win—is a price we simply can’t afford to pay. Look around. The world is still here, and so are we. Let's act like it.
Next Steps for the Reader:
- Visit the Jo Cox Foundation website to find local community projects in your area that focus on social isolation.
- Research the "More in Common" network, which provides resources on how to hold difficult conversations across political divides.
- Contact your local representative to ask about what measures are being taken to protect democratic participation and safety for public servants in your community.