Some individuals leave behind more than a professional legacy. They leave an imprint on the people they encounter, quietly shaping thought, discipline, and perspective. Forrest was one such man. Though born far away, he chose this country, committed to it, and in time, made Bangladesh his home.
I came to know him in 2022, though it now feels like I had known him far longer. The introduction came through Syed Ershad Ahmed of the American Chamber of Commerce in Bangladesh. At the time, I was looking for a regular columnist for a business magazine where I served on the editorial board.
Within a week, we found ourselves at Forrest’s office. The room spoke before the man did. It was meticulously arranged -- papers aligned, books placed with intent, not clutter but curated presence. Even subconsciously, I found myself forming a picture: This was a man of research, of discipline, of order.
Then he walked in.
Leaning on a walking stick, he carried the weight of his years with grace. He was in his late 80s then -- burly in presence, yet unmistakably spirited. What struck me immediately was not his age, but his energy. There was a quiet alertness in his eyes, a readiness of mind that many younger men struggle to sustain.
Soon, steaming hot coffee and freshly baked croissants were served. It may seem like a small detail, but that moment revealed something essential about Forrest. His appreciation for good coffee, for a well-made croissant, was a reflection of his appetite for life. He paid attention to the details that make life richer.
Our conversation that day flowed effortlessly. He listened carefully, spoke thoughtfully, and by the end of it, he had agreed to write for the magazine. His first assignment was an article on the upcoming national budget. What followed set the tone for everything I would come to admire about him.
The article arrived a day before the deadline.
Over the next four years, it became a pattern. Not once was he late. Not once did he miss a commitment. In an age where deadlines are often treated as flexible suggestions, Forrest’s consistency was almost radical. It was not about punctuality alone but about respect. Respect for his work, for his readers, and for the people he collaborated with.
To understand that discipline, one must look at the life behind it. Born on April 26, 1934, in the United States, Forrest’s journey to Bangladesh began in the mid-1980s. What started as a professional engagement soon evolved into something far deeper. He arrived to support financial sector reform initiatives at a time when Bangladesh was navigating complex economic transitions.
Many would have treated it as an assignment. Forrest did not. He stayed. Over the decades, he became intricately woven into the country’s institutional and intellectual fabric. As a consultant to Bangladesh Bank, he played a central role in the financial sector reform program of the 1990s -- a landmark effort that helped modernize the country’s banking and capital market regulatory framework. These were foundational years, and his contributions helped shape systems that continue to influence the sector today.
His work extended beyond finance. As an advisor to the Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics, he contributed to strengthening the methodological foundations of national economic data. In a country where reliable data is essential for sound policymaking, this was no small contribution. It reflected his belief that good decisions begin with good information.
His association with AmCham was both long and deeply formative. The institution itself did not begin as what we know today. Its earlier incarnation -- the American Bangladesh Economic Forum (ABEF), established in 1988 -- was modest in structure but ambitious in intent. It was during this transitional phase that Forrest’s influence became decisive. When AmCham formally began its journey in 1996, it did so not merely as a rebranded entity, but as a reimagined one, with Forrest Cookson as its first president.
He was instrumental in that transformation. Not in a ceremonial sense, but in the way a builder shapes foundations -- quietly, deliberately, and with clarity of purpose.
He helped carry ABEF across that institutional bridge, refining its vision, strengthening its voice, and positioning it as a credible platform for dialogue between Bangladesh and the United States. In many ways, the AmCham that exists today still carries the imprint of those early decisions.
He went on to serve as president from 1996 to 2001, guiding the chamber through its formative years. Under his stewardship, it found both direction and discipline -- becoming not just a forum for business interests, but a serious participant in the country’s economic conversation.
And even after his tenure, Forrest never really “left.” Through his writings in the AmCham Journal and his continued engagement with policy discourse, he remained what he had always been -- a steady, thoughtful presence in the evolution of an institution he helped bring to life.
Yet, beyond all these roles and achievements, what stands out most is a simple truth: Forrest chose Bangladesh, and Bangladesh, in many ways, became his life’s work.
Our friendship grew beyond editorial exchanges. We began meeting regularly, often over lunch at Bistro E. His invitations were characteristically brief -- usually a WhatsApp message that read simply: “Lunch next week!” There was no ceremony, no elaborate planning. Just the quiet assumption that good conversation awaited.
And it always did. Those lunches became intellectual journeys. We spoke about banking, macroeconomics, education systems, energy policy -- topics that shape nations and futures.
What amazed me each time was not just the breadth of his knowledge, but the precision of it. Forrest had an encyclopedic mind. Data was not something he searched for; it seemed to reside within him, ready to be summoned at will.
Yet he wore his knowledge lightly. There was no hint of arrogance, no need to dominate a conversation. He engaged, he explored, he questioned. He had the rare ability to make complex ideas accessible without diluting their substance. You left those conversations not overwhelmed, but enriched.
If there was one thing that truly animated him, it was the presence of young, inquisitive minds. He found genuine joy in engaging with the next generation.
I remember when he invited my family to his residence. He specifically asked me -- more than once -- to bring my daughter along. When we arrived, it became clear why. Much of the conversation that day was between him and her. He spoke of his early years, his experiences, his observations -- stories layered with insight, offered not as lectures but as gifts.
One of the most memorable evenings we spent with Forrest was at that dinner table. At the time, we were quietly nurturing a parental hope -- that our daughter might one day become an economist.
As parents often do, we spoke about it with a certain conviction. Forrest listened, as he always did, with patience and full attention. Then, with a gentle smile and the calm authority of someone who had lived and reflected deeply, he responded -- not with advice of his own, but with words from Khalil Gibran:
“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”
The room fell into a thoughtful silence. It was not a rebuke, nor even a correction. It was a gentle realignment -- a reminder that guidance must not become imposition, that aspiration must leave room for individuality.
In that moment, Forrest was not the economist, not the columnist, not the former president of the American Chamber of Commerce in Bangladesh. He was a philosopher in the truest sense -- someone who understood life beyond systems and structures.
What struck me most was not just the quote itself, but his choice to use it. It reflected his deep respect for intellectual freedom, for the autonomy of thought, and for the unfolding of individual purpose. It also explained, in many ways, why he was so drawn to young minds. He did not seek to shape them in his image; he sought to engage them, to challenge them, to let them discover themselves.
His home itself was a reflection of his mind. Shelves lined with books, a collection that spoke of decades of curiosity. Alongside them, his love for classical Western music was evident -- another window into a life that valued depth over distraction.
Despite his age, Forrest maintained a fierce sense of independence. He had difficulty moving, yes -- but he never allowed that to define him. On several occasions, I instinctively tried to assist him -- offering a hand as he sat down or rose from his chair. Each time, he gently declined.
Not out of pride, but out of a quiet determination to retain his autonomy. It was his way of saying: Dignity lies in doing what one still can, not in surrendering too quickly to limitation. Even in his final months, that spirit remained intact.
Just last month, I received a message from him -- another simple invitation to meet for lunch. Life, as it often does, intervened. Schedules clashed, days slipped by. That meeting never happened.
It is a small regret, but a profound one. Because with Forrest, every conversation mattered. Every meeting carried the possibility of learning something new, of seeing the world a little differently.
Beyond our personal interactions, Forrest’s intellectual contributions to Bangladesh were significant. Through his essays and columns, he consistently sought solutions. He was not one to dwell on problems without offering pathways forward.
Whether it was the energy crisis, the challenges surrounding foreign exchange reserves, or the need for reforms in the banking sector, his writing reflected a constructive mindset.
Reading Forrest Cookson was, in many ways, an extension of knowing him. His writing carried the same discipline as his life -- structured, evidence-based, and free of unnecessary flourish.
He had little patience for vague assertions; every argument was anchored in data, every conclusion earned through reasoning. Yet what set him apart was not just analytical rigor, but intent. He did not write to impress -- he wrote to improve.
He was, at his core, a positivist. He believed that systems could improve, that policies could evolve, that nations could progress -- if guided by clarity of thought and integrity of purpose. In an era often marked by cynicism, Forrest chose optimism -- not the naive kind, but the informed, deliberate kind.
It is easy to measure a man by his professional achievements -- titles held, roles performed, contributions made. Forrest Cookson had all of those. But to remember him only through those roles would be incomplete.
Because what truly defined him were the quieter qualities: His discipline, his intellectual generosity, his curiosity, his respect for others, his love for good conversation, and his enduring engagement with life.
As I reflect on my time with him, I realize that what I received was more than friendship. It was an education -- informal, ongoing, invaluable. He challenged assumptions without confrontation, expanded perspectives without imposition.
And he did so with grace. Adieu, my friend.
You came from afar, but you belonged here. You made Bangladesh your home -- and in doing so, became a part of its story.
And for that, you will be remembered -- not just as an economist, not just as a thought leader, but as a man who lived fully, thought deeply, and gave generously.
Ziaul Karim is a senior banker.
