Legacy of Jo Cox

Debate between Anna Dixon and Kim Leadbeater

Thursday 11th June 2026 Commons Chamber

[Kim Leadbeater (Spen Valley) (Lab)]

I thank the Minister and shadow Minister for their beautiful and thoughtful opening remarks, and I thank colleagues and friends from across the House for attending this debate, during what I know is a busy time in politics—it was ever thus. I also thank the many colleagues who have contacted me to let me know that, sadly, they could not be here due to other commitments. Their messages have been gratefully received.

Today, 10 years since her murder, we gather to remember Jo. Jo Cox was, yes, an MP, and that is how many people do and always will think of her. But while being an MP is of course a very important job, like all of us Jo was so much more. She was a daughter, a mum, a wife, a colleague, a friend to many in this place and far beyond, and she was my sister. She was a very special person who embodied compassion, courage and an unwavering belief in the goodness of people. She was a woman who dedicated her life to public service, to fighting injustice and to bringing people together.

Helen Joanne Leadbeater—I know, who knew?—was born at Dewsbury and District hospital in West Yorkshire in 1974. She did not come from privilege or a political dynasty; she came from ordinary roots, and she carried with her throughout her life a deep understanding of ordinary people’s struggles, hopes and fears. We had a great childhood—nothing fancy or posh, but always surrounded by love, family and friendship. We had two wonderful parents who gave us the freedom and space to find our own way in life, and the support and stability to develop the confidence to do so. We had a close-knit family and a wide-ranging group of friends. And, of course, we had each other.

I have reflected a lot on our childhood over the last decade and I am so lucky to have an abundance of happy memories. The early years: walking to school, climbing trees, pretending we were in the A-Team, making up dance routines to Wham! and playing out until it was dark and we got called in for our tea. The teenage years and beyond: exams, holidays, parties, boyfriends. On more than one occasion I have been very grateful for there being no camera phones back then; I am not sure that either of us—or possibly any of us here today—would have ever had a career in public life if there had been. We certainly had plenty of fun.

Jo and I also had instilled in us a core set of values and beliefs. Our parents taught us to treat everybody with respect, kindness and empathy. They taught us simple principles, like treating people how you would wish to be treated; listening to different views and perspectives; compromising when necessary and agreeing to disagree; and, in true Yorkshire style, how sometimes, if you do not have anything good to say, to just keep your gob shut. These things were not drilled into us—they were more inherently included as part of everyday life, and they stayed with us both throughout our lives.

We were always both incredibly interested in other people and always had lots of questions when 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 to be cherished and celebrated.

Jo was genuinely one of the nicest people you could hope to meet, but she was not naturally confident—she was actually very shy when we were kids. I am always really honest about this when I speak to people, particularly young people and often women, because sometimes when we see successful people in public life, we assume that they have always been really confident and self-assured, with no self-doubts, hang-ups or anxieties. In my experience, that is often not the case—and it is certainly not for me and it was certainly not for Jo. When we were teenagers, she would ask me to ring up to order the takeaway or check the bus timetable.

Over the years, Jo worked incredibly hard to overcome her fears and doubts. She made no secret of the difficulties she had settling into life at Cambridge University. As a working-class northerner, it felt like a world away from life in West Yorkshire, much like this place, in many ways. We missed each other desperately and both felt acutely lonely, but in true Jo style, she stuck it out and battled on. She was very grateful for the education that she received and, more importantly, for the strong friendships she made.

Before entering Parliament, Jo spent years working on humanitarian causes, helping vulnerable people around the world. She worked for organisations that sought to alleviate poverty, defend human rights and support those devastated by conflict and disaster. Her politics were never rooted in power or glory. They were rooted in empathy and humanity. When she became the MP for Batley and Spen in 2015, she brought that same humanity into public life. She spoke passionately about loneliness, inequality, refugees and community cohesion. She believed politics should improve lives, not inflame hatred. Perhaps her most famous words, from her maiden speech in this place, capture her entire philosophy: her belief, as has been said,

“that we are far more united and have far more in common than that which divides us.”—[Official Report, 3 June 2015; Vol. 596, c. 675.]

It speaks to something essential in our society—something that in recent times we seem to be seriously at risk of forgetting.

I could talk all day about how great Jo was—and she really was—but you need only to look at the many tributes that came in from across the world when she was killed to see that for yourself. It is always very important for me to remember that it was Jo, and more specifically her murder, that brought me to this place, and all of us together today.

Jo was murdered on 16 June 2016, just one week before the Brexit referendum and a week before her 42nd birthday. Jo had worked in some of the world’s most dangerous countries, but she was killed not in some distant place or in a war zone, but on the streets of her constituency, while carrying out her democratic duty as an elected representative, 10 minutes from where we live. Jo’s murder shocked the nation, it horrified the world, it left our family utterly bereft and it left two small children without their mum.

Those children are of course Jo’s most important legacy, and I am delighted to report that they are doing brilliantly. They are very like Jo in so many ways and they are annoyingly good at everything. They are musical, they are sporty, they are academic and they are really nice human beings. When they come up to Yorkshire, we try to find something that we can beat them at—and we fail every time. They are very much in my thoughts today and every day. As a family, we have ensured that they have been bathed in love for the last 10 years, just as Jo would have wished, and they are thriving as a result.

We have worked incredibly hard as a family to stay positive and strong, and we have been supported by so many wonderful people who have done so many amazing things in Jo’s name, which I will come to, but this year I feel that we also need to address more directly why Jo was killed. 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 and passion in politics is natural—Jo would be the first to say so—but what developed at that time went beyond disagreement and became something much darker. Social media amplified outrage. Politicians and commentators often chose confrontation over understanding, because division attracted attention. Entire communities were fractured. Families argued, friendships broke down and trust in institutions collapsed. In that climate, hatred found oxygen.

[Anna Dixon (Shipley) (Lab)]

I am so moved by my hon. Friend’s words about her sister. I commend her for her amazing bravery and courage in stepping into her sister’s shoes and being an amazing MP for Batley and Spen. I thank her for her words. As some hon. Members may know, I was a contemporary of Jo’s at university; I am just sorry that although we knew people in common, I did not know her.

I fear that the division and hate that my hon. Friend is speaking about, which fuelled Jo’s murder, continues to spread, and that if anything abuse and threats against MPs is on the rise. Does she agree that all hon. Members across the House must redouble our efforts to uphold civility in politics, to follow Jo’s shining example? I commend the continuing work of the Jo Cox Foundation to support civility in our politics.

[Kim Leadbeater]

I thank my hon. Friend for that intervention. It is lovely that she, a fellow Yorkshire MP, is with us today. I absolutely agree with her. We can reflect on that time in 2016—to me, a lot of it is a blur—but to say that Brexit was responsible for Jo’s murder would be simplistic and untrue. There is one individual who committed that heinous crime: a far-right neo-Nazi, whose evil act was his and his alone. However, things do not happen in a vacuum, and we cannot ignore the broader social and political atmosphere that surrounded it. Toxic rhetoric, scapegoating and the dehumanisation of opponents all contributed to a society under immense strain.

Words matter. 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. Tragically, we have seen that again in recent weeks and days. We must all call it out. 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, we fail both her memory and our democracy.

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. We see a growing blame culture in Britain. When the economy struggles, when public services let us down, when communities feel left behind, someone must be blamed— migrants, politicians, the poor, the rich. The young blame the old, the old blame the young, cities blame rural communities, rural communities blame cities, and through all of that we risk losing sight of our shared humanity.

Social media algorithms reward outrage, because outrage keeps people engaged. News cycles thrive on conflict, because conflict generates clicks and views. Politicians can gain more support more easily by telling people who to fear than by offering difficult and complex long-term solutions. This constant division creates loneliness, mistrust, resentment and cynicism. It makes people feel unheard and angry. It encourages us to see one another not as fellow citizens, but as opponents to be defeated. That is dangerous for any democracy. A healthy society cannot survive if its people stop believing in one another.

I also want to pay tribute today to Sir David Amess—another colleague and friend to many in this place—who was murdered by an Islamist extremist in 2021. His family and friends have been very much in my thoughts in recent weeks. We cannot allow ourselves to be divided by the evil actions of ideological extremists, whatever sick views they are peddling. So the question becomes: what do we do about it? How do we honour the memory of Jo, not just with words, but with action?

In the past 10 years, we have seen an abundance of action in Jo’s name. In the face of the worst of humanity, we have seen the very best of it, in so many ways, including of course through the work of the Jo Cox Foundation—the charity set up by Jo’s family and friends in the months after she was killed. It works on issues as diverse as the protection of civilians in conflicts, such as in Syria; the promotion of women in all aspects of public life—it is great to see so many sisters here today; on loneliness and isolation; and on the related work to build closer and stronger communities at home and abroad.

The trailblazing work that Jo started on loneliness resulted in the world’s first ever Minister for loneliness—my good friend and colleague, Tracey Crouch—and the first ever Government strategy on loneliness. The UK is still seen as a world leader on this really important subject, and I strongly urge the Government to update the cross-departmental strategy to ensure that we do not lose that reputation.