Jo’s pathetic killer wanted to silence her for ever but her voice is being heard more clearly than before
MP’S WIDOWER REVEALS HORROR
AS Brendan Cox struggled to cope with the murder of wife Jo, he and their two children Cuillin and Lejla began to realise how many others had been touched by her death across the world.
Here in the third and final exclusive extract from his new book Jo Cox: More in Common, Brendan, 38, recalls the painful details of the murder of the 41-year-old MP for Batley and Spen by Thomas Mair, 53… and the legacy Jo leaves behind.
Right from the day of her death, I had decided not to focus on the act of Jo’s murder. There was nothing I could do about what had happened, and it caused almost a physical reaction whenever I did think of it. I wanted to remember Jo as she lived, not how she died.
I also didn’t want to fixate on the perpetrator. He was a sad, pathetic man not worthy of anyone’s time.
Neither was there much to learn from the trial. We already knew that the man had shot and stabbed Jo repeatedly, shouting “Britain first” as he killed her. I wasn’t interested in what he might say in an attempted justification of his hatred.
We learned some predictable facts during the prosecution account when the trial opened at the Old Bailey on November 14, 2016.
The defendant had connections with white racist groups from around the world.
His home in West Yorkshire was studded with Nazi memorabilia.
In the days before he murdered Jo, he had spent time in Birstall Library searching the internet for information about the Waffen SS – the armed wing of the Nazi Party – the Ku Klux Klan, as well as serial killers and matricide (his racism has been tied back to his mum’s relationship with a black man when he was growing up).
He viewed websites about guns and the use of .22 ammunition.
We knew about the last moments of Jo’s life, too. Jo lay on the pavement. Her senior caseworker Sandra was near her, screaming. Her aide and office manager Fazila saw a man standing over Jo and shouted at him. “She’s got two little kids,” Fazila shouted. “Get away from her.”
The man didn’t even seem to notice Fazila. He stared down at Jo.
Sandra had just seen him shoot Jo at close range. It was then that Sandra began to scream, in horror, but also in the hope that people would help them.
The man had taken a knife out of his bag. He seemed oblivious to the screaming. Sandra lashed out at him with her handbag, trying to stop him stabbing Jo. Fazila ran towards Jo, her raw instinct driving her on in an attempt to save her friend.
The murderer turned to Sandra and Fazila, ready to stab them too. Sandra could hear Jo’s cry, weak but insistent. “Get away!” Jo said to her friends. “Get away you two! Let him hurt me – don’t let him hurt you.”
The man turned back to Jo. He attacked her even more viciously. He then stood up and waved his knife at Sandra and an Asian man who had run to the scene. They were forced to back away. Fazila crouched over Jo. “I really need you to get up and run, Jo,” she said. “I can’t run, Fazila,” Jo said. “I’m hurt.” The killer had retreated but now he came back. There were gunshots. Jo slumped down. Blood seeped across the concrete. Fazila turned cold. The man’s voice chilled her even more. She heard him talking clearly. “Britain first”, he said. “Britain will always be first.” Fazila can still hear his voice now, as the nightmare revisits her often. He sounded calm. There was no shock at what he had done to Jo, and no remorse. Fazila cradled Jo in her arms. Her hands and her clothes were covered in Jo’s blood. There was blood everywhere. Jo could no longer speak. Fazila kept talking to her but she heard the panic in her own voice. She didn’t know what to do.
Fazila was crying. She had sensed Jo’s last breath. Fazila felt her sigh and then slip away into silence and stillness. She told me later that she was sure Jo had not suffered any pain after the initial attack. Now she was certain that her friend had just died in her arms. But she wanted to believe she was wrong.
Within three or four minutes, the Special Branch arrived. They carried guns and moved quickly and the man was arrested.
And five months later, after a nineday trial, it was over. “Guilty”. In courtroom dramas this is the point where people punch the air and hug each other. None of us moved. None of us felt any elation. For us, the verdict changed nothing. Before sentencing, I spoke for Jo. As I started to speak, I turned to the defendant and looked straight at him. He jerked his head away from me even before I began to talk, unable to
maintain eye contact. He looked pathetic. I spoke at him: “We are not here to plead for retribution. We have no interest in the perpetrator. “We feel nothing but pity for him; hat his life was so devoid of love that is only way of finding meaning was to attack a defenceless woman who epresented the best of our country in an act of supreme cowardice.” The judge ruled the defendant would serve a whole-life sentence, and would never be released, owing to the “exceptional seriousness” of the offence.
Almost a year has passed since Jo’s death. I still feel like a walking wound. The pain is deep and gaping. I remind myself it’s normal to feel this way. It’s natural – at least, as natural as life can feel when your wife, and the mother of your children, has been murdered.
I draw tiny vestiges of solace from the certainty that, even amid the devastating end, her name and her work endured in new ways.
Rather than being forgotten, Jo had been discovered by the world in death.
When Jo died, I said that she would have no regrets about how she had lived her life. She had spent it with her foot to the floor and without a brake pedal. Of course that meant occasional crashes, but ultimately they made her stronger and it was an amazing ride. I will not let her voice be silenced.
At least she died doing the work that she loved. As the MP for Batley and Spen, she felt fulfilled and driven.
There is some comfort to my family and friends in the way that an act driven by hatred unleashed an outpouring of love around the world.
A lost and lone man wanted to silence Jo Cox for ever.
He took her from us but, in so doing, he ensured that Jo’s voice, after her death, has been heard more clearly than ever before.
From Jo Cox: More In Common, by Brendan Cox, published by Two Roads on June 13 at £16.99. Copyright © 2017 The Jo Cox Foundation Trading Limited.