Jess Phillips

I do not have any notes written down, because when I tried to write things down this morning, I just kept crying, but I shall try to get through this regardless. Many brilliant things will be said about Jo today, and my hon. Friend the Member for Spen Valley (Kim Leadbeater) has given us much insight. I want to start my remarks where she ended hers, in that we have to live the values of Jo’s words, not just say them. When I was reflecting this morning about my friendship with Jo, I thought about how Jo was a doer. She was always coming up with a scheme of some kind or another—some of them ridiculous, I have to say. I text the Minister on the Front Bench this morning, saying, “We do have to remember that sometimes she was quite mental!” I reflected on the fact that she made me into one of her projects. When I arrived here, I did not know many people—I was not the popular girl I am now—and I did not live in London. My family were at home in Birmingham, and I had been to Parliament one time before working in this building. She made it so that I always had somewhere to go. She sought me out, she made friends with me, and she took me to have dinner with her family, because I could not go home to mine. She invited me to events—she tried to make connections for other people. There has been a lot of talk recently about the boys’ club in politics—we have seen a little bit behind some curtains—but Jo was definitely trying to make a girls’ club. She would make sure that you were introduced to the right people. If she heard you talking about things that you were interested in and she had a connection, she wanted you to have it. But the greatest connection that Jo gave me was to invite me into her family. To this day, the place where I go when I am sad or things are difficult, or just when I fancy a drink and a celebration, is the moorings where Jo lived. When I resigned the other day and I was all a-tizz, I went to sit with Cuillin and Lejla, to eat a takeaway and do Cuillin’s GCSE homework with him— I kept shouting “oxbow lakes” at him repeatedly, which yesterday he told me was not all that helpful. The legacy of Jo Cox in my life is that she gave me a family to be part of when I was away from my family. There is not a time when things have been hard and they have not been there for me. I recently lost my sister-in-law, and the people who were there for me—to make sure I could help raise my nephews without their mom—were Brendan, Cuillin and Lejla. They are the most important legacy that Jo has, and I am eternally grateful that when we first arrived in this place together, she tried to make sure that we had connections; that nobody would be lonely; that somewhere would always be available for you to have a cup of tea or a curry, or do geography homework. It is mundane—it is the small mundanity of kindness. The way that Jo’s family have kept her alive in Cuillin and Lejla’s minds is so phenomenal. Yesterday, Lejla made a speech in No. 10. She said, “My mom was a brilliant mom, she was a brilliant Member of Parliament, and she was a brilliant friend.” I know, because she told me, that her mom felt like she was not good enough at any of those things, but the way Lejla remembers it—the way she has grown up remembering her mother—is far more accurate than the way her mother felt about herself. I try to encourage young women to get involved in politics, so Lejla came out with me once to go door-knocking in an election. I remember her sat in the back of my car as we were driving to the meeting point— I think the election was for the West Midlands Mayor; I am sure Lejla was deeply involved in wanting to do that—and talking about a memory that must have been given to her. She said, “When my mom was standing for election, because we don’t have the right accent, we had to be taught how to say, ‘Vote for Jo!’” [Laughter.] There was just total delight in this little girl faking a Yorkshire accent while in the west midlands. What Jo gave me in life was friendship and family that has endured to this day, and what she gave me in politics—which I think actually is still quite rare—was to show me that you have to be courageous, you have to be brave, and sometimes you have to stick your neck out quite a long way. I often think of that—certainly in relation to Gaza, for example—and constantly wish she was here. I still sometimes send her text messages, as if she is alive. I wish she was here to talk us through these things in this House. I think, “What would Jo do now? What would Jo say in this circumstance?” I can think of no better person who could be here right now, in the politics we face today, than Jo. The remarks that my hon. Friend the Member for Spen Valley has made today—it is now really hard for me not just to say her name —are not just a nice speech to hear, but the embodiment of living like Jo and loving like Jo. It does not matter which political persuasion or flavour you are, the idea that everybody in this Chamber is some sort of baddie over there is the easiest political line. If the line that you have to take to get likes, clicks and popularity is that there is some sort of shadowy institution in this place made up of people who will never understand the world, and that is why we are the better alternative, or if you are saying that the only reason things are bad in our country is because of x or y over there—when I was a kid, it was single moms; now it is immigrants—it is the politics of stupidity. Any fool can behave like that. There is no value in it whatsoever. We did not allow that kind of politics to creep in at the time of Jo’s death, because we did not want her death to be politicised. We wanted her life and her legacy to be politicised; we did not want to stare down what it was actually about at the time, because we wanted to forge her legacy. That was the right thing to do, but every single day in this place and outside it, there are people doing the exact opposite: using people’s deaths to sell their political narrative. They should be ashamed of themselves. If anything you say or do does not drive forward a good outcome for our country, do not do it. Do not say it. Jo would be a beacon in that regard, as her sister is, and I beg everybody to be much more like the actual people in our country, who—as my hon. Friend the Member for Spen Valley says—are good. If we all lived more like Jo and looked for somebody who needed connections that we might be able to give them, who maybe needed a cup of tea and a place to call home away from home, there would not be any of the division that there is today. I did not meet Jo Cox on social media; I met her around a table with a cup of tea. I ask people to put down their phones—both in politics and in how we deal with our communities—to pick up a cup of tea, and to live and love like Jo did.