The JJ Effect
My little brother was murdered in a brutal knife attack. Now, I share his story to make sure no other family has to suffer the pain mine has
EXCLUSIVE | 4 MINUTE READ | AS TOLD TO RACHEL SMITH
I was six years old when news of a little arrival filtered down into my world. I was playing on the stairs with my Action Man when my grandad came into the hallway with a big smile on his face. ‘Would you like to be a big brother?’ he asked. I didn’t really understood what that meant at the time. Now, I know having a brother is like no other bond in this world.
Growing up, my younger sibling Jon-Jo and I often rolled around on the floor, sometimes laughing, sometimes fighting, until our mum stepped in to split us up. But if anyone picked on my little brother in the school playground, I’d get that butterfly feeling in my chest and be there like a shot, fighting his corner. That’s a brother’s love, or as I call it, the JJ effect.
When I hit my teens, the age gap between us seemed to yawn wide open. I was busy making music, rapping, and riding motorbikes while Jon-Jo was still in junior school. He had so many friends and did anything to make people laugh. But at 14, my baby brother began to change. Much like the massive growth spurt that saw JJ shoot upwards, there was now an anger within him that seemed to suddenly erupt from nowhere.
A BAD CROWD
Mum had always been a real authority figure but now, Jon-Jo made his own rules and stopped going to school. For the next three years, he spent all his time hanging around with his mates, more interested in drinking and girls than making anything of his life. When I’d been 14, social media hadn’t taken off yet. For Jon-Jo, it was a huge part of his life, tainting every day. Little squabbles escalated in seconds online and spilled over into real physical fights between different groups. It wasn’t what I’d call gang violence, just petty tit-for-tat.
Happier times. Jon-Jo, front, as a little boy, smiling with his big brother Byron, left and their mum, Tracey. Photo: Byron Highton
But in June 2013, tensions between rival groups came to a head. I was at home when I heard the sound of screaming coming from up the street. The next thing I knew, Jon-Jo’s friends were banging on the front door. I rushed outside and ran towards the crowd forming at the end of the street, pushing my way through, just in time to see Jon-Jo being loaded into an ambulance.
I bundled into the ambulance and sat next to him. His eyes were closed and his face was pale. Amidst the flashing lights and the bleeping monitors, panic rose up in my chest. Jon-Jo had been stabbed 24 times in his back and legs as he’d walked along the road where his dad lived. One of the paramedics told me Jon-Jo looked like he’d been attacked by a great white shark, his bones exposed from the ferocity of the knifing.
Teenage Jon-Jo at home. Photo: Byron Highton
In the hospital waiting room that night, the seconds turned into minutes, then hours. It was almost light when a doctor finally came out to speak to me. It had been touch and go, but Jon-Jo was going to be alright.
After he was discharged, everyone saw a change in my brother. He stopped hanging around with his old friends and ploughed his energy into looking for work, which he found. The change was unbelievable. Only a few weeks earlier Jon-Jo been on crutches after almost losing his leg and now he was off to work as a labourer. I laughed when I saw him in his hi-vis vest for the first time. My funny, cheeky brother was back.
Five months later, two men admitted wounding with intent, and were jailed for the attack. Meanwhile, Jon-Jo was a walking miracle - the guy who was stabbed 24 times and survived. Even more miraculous was how he’d left his old life behind and had started out on a new, brighter path.
THE PAST CATCHES UP
A year later, I was in the kitchen unpacking groceries when my phone rang. I picked up and heard my mum screaming that Jon-Jo had been stabbed again. Driving to the hospital that afternoon, all I could think was what on earth am I was going to say to him? After all the positive ground my brother had gained, the progress he’d made in life… was ready to go into that hospital room and give Jon-Jo a really good bollocking.
Jon-Jo shortly before the attack that took his life. Photo: Byron Highton
But when I arrived, his dad was standing outside, his face ashen. His eyes flitted around in a panic as the same words kept tumbling out of his mouth: ‘He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead.’ I heard the words, but my brain didn’t accept the reality. I couldn’t believe Jon-Jo was gone.
Soon, a squad car arrived with a sombre looking police officer inside. He took us into a quiet room and began to tell us what he knew.
Jon-Jo had been walking home from the pub that day in August 2014 when two cars had pulled up. A gang with swords, axes, a machete and hunting knives had attacked my brother in the street. He was just 18.
As the officer explained my brother had suffered a catastrophic stab wound to his neck and bled out in the road at 11:45pm, just yards from his own front door, the room began to spin. Suddenly, there was a scream next to me and I realised it was coming from my mum, who’d fallen to the floor, consumed with grief. Watching her writhe in agony was unbearable - nightmare I couldn’t wake from.
I stepped outside, unable to take my mum’s heartache laid bear in all its agonising, raw humanity. I knew I had to call Jon-Jo’s friends but I couldn’t find any way to soften the words. When they answered, I simply said: ‘He’s gone.’ By 7am the next morning, I headed to the gym like every other day. Except nothing was the same anymore - nothing felt real. Tears ran down my face as I tried to burn off some of the anger and pain threatening to consume me.
As the police began making arrests, the full story began to emerge. The night before Jon-Jo had been killed, some lads he used to know had tried to rob a local drug dealer. A window was broken and someone inside the house had been punched. In revenge, the group gathered weapons and set out to even the score and happened to come across Jon-Jo. Knowing his past associations, they attacked and killed him instead.
JUSTICE
As we waited for the trial to begin and bring justice for my brother’s death, life trudged on. But I realised a part of me had died too. To lose a brother is to lose a part of your soul. I knew I’d spend the rest of my life trying to get that missing piece back, though, of course, I never would.
Byron hugging Jon-Jo's gravestone Photo: Byron Highton
When the court case came around, I sat in the public gallery and attempted to watch the proceedings, but the moment I clocked those men in the dock, my whole body tensed and the blood roared in my ears. I imagined knocking them out one by one.
None of them would look at me. Cowards. But what hurt the most was knowing some of the lads who killed my brother were barely more than children themselves. But together, with weapons, they had transformed into lethal killing machines.
On 4 June 2015, six men were jailed for murder with life sentences ranging from 20 to 29 years at Preston Crown Court. Three others were jailed between four and seven years for assisting an offender.
Justice had been served but the loss of my brother took a heavy toll on me. I started having flashbacks to the night of the first attack when I was in the ambulance with Jon-Jo, and heard his screams over and over. I struggled to sleep and dark thoughts filled my head. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was suffering from PTSD.
My only release was the gym. I threw myself into bodybuilding and won awards from the National Amateur Body Builders Association. Having that to focus on literally saved my life.
Byron threw himself into bodybuilding to cope with the loss of his little brother. Photo: Byron Highton
CHANGING LIVES
After Jon-Jo died, I wanted to do my bit to help stop knife crime. When I was approached by the Safety Guide Foundation it was a no-brainer to share Jon-Jo’s story with young people. I did one talk for them, then two, then three. It felt good to have an opportunity to change lives and channel my pain into something positive.
I have now spoken to more than 18,000 young people at schools, gyms and pupil referral units. I’ve worked with the police, NHS, the Crown Prosecution Service and The Prince’s Trust to show youngsters embroiled in knife crime how quickly their lives could implode, or worse, end.
In June 2020, I launched my own campaign called The JJ Effect. Using Jon-Jo’s story, I tell the hard-hitting truth about knife crime and why it’s so important to choose your friends wisely. This is my opportunity to help these kids escape the gangs and violence they’re caught up in.
Sometimes, kids will stand in the corner with their hoods up looking like they couldn’t care less. Some are there because they’ve been excluded from school for stabbing someone or for carrying knives, but you have to be non-judgemental as you don’t know what lead them to that point. But I don’t hold back when I speak to them and watching me, a tattooed bodybuilder, cry unstoppable tears has a powerful effect.
You can see it in their eyes, that moment when the pieces start to fall into place as they realise the wider impact of knife crime. I’ve had kids leave the talk crying and parents sending me messages of thanks afterwards.
A large machete given up by a teenager at Byron's talk last week (October 2020). Photo: Byron Highton
Even in lockdown, my work hasn't stopped. In recent weeks, three blades have been handed to me after youngsters have seen my talk and realise the potentially devastating consequences of their decision to carry a weapon.
Getting that kind of reaction, that kind of action, and seeing lives are changing before my eyes, gives me hope. That’s The JJ Effect.
For more information about The JJ Effect or to book a talk with Byron, visit here. Byron also produces music about his brother which can be found on his YouTube channel, Byron Alive.
Visit the NSPCC’s guide on criminal exploitation and gang involvement. If you’re feeling pressured to join a gang, you can find support on Childline’s website.
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