We were deeply saddened to recently learn of the death of Asad Hussein, a scholar supported by the Marjorie Deane Financial Journalism Foundation and a student on this year’s MA course in Global Financial Journalism at City St George’s, University of London.

Asad was a gifted and deeply humane journalist whose warmth, curiosity and generosity made a lasting impression on his teachers and fellow students. Only a few weeks ago, we published his beautifully observed account of the Marjorie Deane Summer School in Singapore. In it, Asad reflected on Singapore’s economy, history and place in a changing global economy, while also considering what its achievements might mean for Kenya, Somalia and other parts of Africa.

The article displayed the qualities for which Asad will be remembered: intellectual curiosity, elegant writing, attention to the human consequences of economic change and an ability to find wonder in the world around him. We are honoured to have published it and to preserve Asad’s words here: A Letter from Singapore: Asad Hussein reflects on the Marjorie Deane Summer School.

A tribute from Prof Jane Martinson, Marjorie Deane Professor of Financial Journalism:

Asad had a rare gift for talking to people and finding out why their stories mattered, which made him not just a considerate human being but a great journalist. He always talked of others, despite his own life story being so exceptional.

His application for a place on the MA in Global Financial Journalism at City St George’s, which is where I first met him, was one of those impossible to forget. It jumped out, not just for his strong academic background—with degrees from Princeton and Oxford—and examples of work already published in some of the world’s biggest news organisations, but for his obvious enthusiasm.

He had written about the impact of US tariffs on a denim factory in Lesotho, which employed hundreds of young women to make jeans for Americans and which had closed down overnight. The story, he told me, revealed “the purpose of financial journalism”: translating “the abstractions of economic policy into human terms”.

He wanted to “help reframe how the global economy is covered: not just as a matter of markets and trends, but as a system of power, consequence, and story”.

It was only during the interview for the Marjorie Deane scholarship that Asad talked about the fact that he had been born and raised in what was then the world’s largest refugee camp, at Dadaab in Kenya. He nurtured dreams of becoming a writer and moving to America while reading dog-eared donated novels amid a fractured school environment. I found out much later that his story of perseverance and determination, as well as his powerful belief in education, had been covered in a book by a writer for The New York Times.

Among Asad’s first stories at City was one in which he quizzed the men doing the dangerous work of cleaning the windows of Canary Wharf’s skyscrapers about their terms and conditions.

“Your endless curiosity suggests you already think like a seasoned journalist,” I told him.

Another notable thing was that Asad never seemed to complain: not when the demands of an English winter saw him swaddled in coats and woolly hats inside the classroom, nor even when the US administration refused to grant him a visa for a study trip to New York in June 2026.

His response to so many of life’s challenges—large or small—was simply to smile. This was helped by the fact that he had a smile that could light up any room.

He talked of journalism as the best profession in the world and the keeper of its conscience. He talked of returning to East Africa to tell the stories of other refugees with “depth and complexity”. It breaks my heart to think that he will never now do so.

Asad will be sorely missed by so many people, but also by the world of journalism. I feel lucky to have met him and I am sending all my deepest sympathies and condolences to his closest friends and family.

The following memories were offered by Asad’s classmates and lecturers at City St George’s for his family.

Frank Wolfreys:

I first met Asad at an event marking the beginning of our course at The Economist’s offices. Many of his unique qualities were immediately apparent. As we began to get to know one another, it was clear that he was thoughtful, funny and, above all, deeply kind.

During our classes, he had a superb way of being direct and curious while remaining thoughtful in the questions he asked. I continue to envy his questioning style.

Asad made me laugh a lot. What was particularly notable was the real joy he took in doing so. He wanted to share his happiness, and I saw in him a deep generosity and warmth.

As his family begins to mourn him, I hope you are conscious of how fondly he is remembered by others and of the deep sense of loss felt by those who knew him.

Tom Holliday:

I want to express my deepest sympathies to Asad’s family and friends following his tragic passing. I speak not only for myself but for the entire Global Financial Journalism cohort when I say that Asad was a much-cherished member of our little gang: endlessly kind, honest and easy-going, with an effusive passion for life. He was a truly singular individual.

On mornings when I arrived in class with a gloomy perspective on the day, Asad could always be trusted to shed some light on it. That is the quality that will shine most brightly in my memory: Asad’s unrelenting and unprejudiced capacity for kindness.

One memory sums him up particularly well. After we had completed our lectures earlier this year, we went into the City for an evening of celebration. At the end of the night, I found myself without anywhere to sleep. Asad was the first person to offer me a roof for the night, without the slightest hesitation.

For Asad, it was not a choice that needed to be made. Kindness was a certainty—a compulsion. This became even more apparent when I watched him vacuuming his room in the early hours of the morning. He could not have a guest stay without making the room as comfortable and welcoming as possible.

Asad was the kind of person who would move the earth for his friends and family. He was a true friend and unfailingly loyal. He will be sorely missed. May he rest in peace.

Mike Jagassar Cardenas:

Asad was a wonderful classmate and friend. His positive attitude, combined with his mild-mannered and kind demeanour, always brought out the best in us.

He was the first person I formally met in our Global Financial Journalism class. From that first day, and at networking events before classes had even begun, he told me about his time in North America, his home in Kenya and his ambitions.

Towards the end of the year, we became closer. It was wonderful to celebrate with him after a gruelling broadcast week. We also shared a room in Singapore and had the opportunity to get to know one another better.

Asad was a learner, and he developed enormously over the past year. He was wise, sometimes amusingly clumsy, and above all the warmest and most thoughtful person.

He would have welcomed you into his home or shared the clothes from his back if you needed them.

He had a very bright future ahead of him, beyond everything he had already accomplished. He approached it all with a smile and a genuinely inspiring attitude.

Asad will be dearly missed by our class.

Carla Rosch:

Whenever I think of Asad, I remember his wonderful, contagious smile. He was always smiling and was always such a positive presence.

We bonded during our first conversation because I had travelled to Kenya a few years earlier. The country had brought me such peace and joy and held a special place in my heart.

The last deep conversation I had with Asad was over dinner in Singapore. We talked about our families, and he told me about his parents and his life in Kenya. I was curious about his culture and about how different it was from my own. I greatly appreciated how easy he was to talk to, as well as how open-minded and honest he was.

I knew him for only a short time, but I am grateful that I did. I am deeply saddened by his passing and send my deepest condolences to everyone whom he loved and who loved him.

Marcos Arizpeleta:

I consider myself very lucky to have met Asad and to have been able to call him my friend. Our friendship reached its peak during our time in Singapore.

He was the person with whom I explored the city during our free time. For three days in a row, we had breakfast together in a small coffee shop because we had fallen in love with its atmosphere. We once missed a lecture because we lost track of time while having lunch at the National University of Singapore and then playing basketball. We also spent my extra day in the city exploring together.

Before Singapore, he was the person beside whom I sat during lectures and the person with whom I chatted when a class began to feel too long.

What I will remember most is a conversation in which he told me how excited he was to see his family when he returned from Singapore.

He was a happy, good and honest man, and he will be dearly missed. I have lost a good friend, but the world has lost an even better soul.

Rest in peace, Asad.

Laiba Yousaf:

I was deeply saddened to hear of Asad’s passing. It was a privilege to study alongside him, and he will always be remembered for his kindness and positivity.

Asad and his family are in my du’as. I wish you strength during this incredibly difficult time and offer my deepest condolences.

Bea Learmouth:

I am incredibly sad to hear about Asad’s passing. He was a truly wonderful person who found a way to be kind and good-humoured in every situation.

I have a tendency to become stressed easily, and whenever I was paired with Asad for a task in class he would reassure me by saying: “It’ll be OK. What is there to worry about?”

He also had a great sense of humour. We attended a 9am shorthand class together at the beginning of the year, for which we both rapidly lost enthusiasm. He always made me laugh with his exclamations that it was all “ridiculous”.

He made endless fun of me for being from Slough, a town not generally celebrated for its beauty, and sent me photographs every time he passed through it on his way to Oxford. It always made me smile.

Asad was the least deserving of what has happened. I offer my deepest condolences at this extraordinarily difficult time.

Natalija Jovanovic:

Asad had incredible talent and a rare kind of optimism that he brought to everything he did. He possessed a remarkable sensitivity to words and approached every sentence with meticulous care, genuine enthusiasm and deep thought.

I feel incredibly fortunate to have heard him speak about his love of language and writing. It was impossible not to be inspired by his passion.

Asad was a wonderful friend: endlessly curious about the world, thoughtful and knowledgeable about every topic we discussed.

I will always remember his quiet strength, his healing way of seeing the world, the calm and hope he brought to those around him and, of course, his beautiful smile.

Rest in peace, legend. You will be deeply missed.

Chris McEvedy:

I came to know Asad as a fellow student on the master’s programme in journalism at City St George’s over the course of the past year.

From the outset, I was impressed by his friendly and open manner. He was usually in good humour and was curious about life and the world around him. Asad struck me as mature and thoughtful, although this never prevented him from expressing his playful side.

Over time, I became aware of something of his remarkable background, his studies at Princeton and his work as a journalist in Kenya before he came to the United Kingdom.

Asad was popular among the other members of the course and was, from everything I could see, a gifted journalist. At the same time, he was generous in sharing his experience, since he already knew far more than most of the rest of us.

His passing is an enormous loss to those of us who came to know him. That loss is, of course, immensely greater for his family. My thoughts and sympathies are with you at this most difficult time.

Pauline Renaud:

Asad was a wonderfully kind, generous and inspiring person, and I feel incredibly lucky to have been one of his lecturers this year. Although I first met him in September, it was during our supervision meetings for his end-of-year project that I really had the opportunity to get to know him.

His enthusiasm—whether for his trip to Singapore and Vietnam, the World Cup or his project on traditional locks—was second to none. Our supervision meetings became occasions that I particularly looked forward to. I knew that we would end up discussing much more than assessments and that we would always find something about which to laugh.

Asad was a luminous person who always looked at the bright side of every situation.

He was also a gifted writer. Wanting to report on the decline of a small town and its lock industry might initially have seemed unusual, but I never doubted that he would turn it into a brilliant piece of journalism. His attention to other people was at the heart of his work.

I miss him dearly, and my thoughts are with his family and friends during this most difficult time.

Anne Senior:

When meeting a new group for the first time, it can take a lecturer a while to learn everyone’s names and personalities. This was never a challenge with Asad. He stood out from the beginning, and not only because of his talent.

Typically arriving early for class and often lingering afterwards, he was full of enthusiasm, ideas and astute observations.

It was hardly surprising that he went on to produce an exceptionally insightful piece of reporting, informed by his travels in Asia and framed in elegant prose.

A similar eloquence eludes me as I struggle to find the words to express the profound sadness of his loss.