When Tabaré Abadie first walked into the offices of Pioneer (now Corteva Agriscience) in 2003, he wasn’t just starting a new job. He was stepping into a storm of rapid change—technological upheaval, global expansion, and an evolving understanding of how science, business, and people intersect. What he didn’t know then was that a small, informal assignment—connecting more meaningfully with graduate students—would quietly grow into one of the most enduring education initiatives in modern plant science.
More than two decades later, as Abadie prepares for retirement from his position of senior research manager and Distinguished Laureate at Corteva Agriscience, he’s being recognized by the National Association for Plant Breeding (NAPB) with the Private Sector Plant Breeding Impact Award. Not for a blockbuster variety or an algorithm. But for building something that’s harder to define—and even harder to sustain: a global, student-led symposium series that changed how talent is developed and connected in the field of plant breeding.
“What I’ve learned,” Abadie says, “is that you can’t force transformation. But you can create the conditions for it to take root.”
Abadie’s story spans nearly 50 years, with roots as a university professor and wheat breeder, and branches that now reach into education, talent development, and systems change. “I’ve had two careers,” he says. “One in the public sector, and one in the private. But they’re really just parts of one story—of teaching, building, and asking how to make things last.”
That question—how to build something that endures—sits at the heart of his now-famous side project, the Plant Sciences Symposia Series.
It started modestly. A student-organized symposium at the University of Minnesota. A request from a Pioneer colleague to support it. A belief that internships and fellowships weren’t enough to create real transformation. And a simple but radical idea: what if students were given the reins to design events, connect across universities, and shape their own learning ecosystems—with just enough structure to guide them, and enough freedom to grow?
The Birth of a Movement
Abadie didn’t just attend the Minnesota symposium—he embedded himself in it. “I asked, who are the fellows? No one could tell me. So I started working directly with students,” he recalls. “We had disagreements. Tough conversations. But that’s how trust was built. That’s how we created something real.”
From those early days emerged a model: define a clear purpose (learning, networking, career development), but keep the events student-driven. Let each university adapt it to their needs. Embrace messiness. Learn by doing.
The formula worked. Within a few years, the model had spread—first to Madison, then across the U.S., and eventually to Brazil and beyond. Students began inviting peers from other universities, raising their own funds, organizing competitions, running parallel workshops, and building connections that far outlasted the events themselves.
“What we were doing,” Abadie says, “wasn’t just holding meetings. We were helping people find their people.”
The growth was exponential—but not effortless. Abadie still had his “day job” leading molecular breeding deployment. That didn’t stop him from hopping on flights, knocking on doors, or navigating spreadsheets to convince managers to fund a project that, for years, didn’t even have a name.
“The hardest part?” he says. “Convincing others that something soft—a conversation, a connection, a community—could be as transformative as a new technology.”
One of the most pivotal moments came in 2020, when the pandemic could have easily dismantled the whole system. Instead, the student advisory board that Abadie had quietly built sprang into action—creating online programming, keeping the network alive, and proving the brand had legs of its own.
By then, Abadie had already achieved what few in corporate education can claim: he’d turned a corporate initiative into a global, decentralized, student-led brand.
“I always knew this couldn’t be about me,” he says. “It had to belong to the students. That’s what makes it last.”
Lessons from the Long Game
Looking back, Abadie distills his experience into a few hard-won insights:
- You don’t need to start with a master plan. “We built this as we went. Listening. Adapting. Letting the model emerge from practice.”
- Fight for autonomy. “I had to convince people to let me manage my own budget. You can’t scale without trust.”
- Make the invisible visible. “It took a student publication to show this was working. That paper saved the series.”
- Don’t underestimate branding. “A standalone brand gave us independence—and gave students something to believe in.”
- Let go, but don’t walk away. “Succession isn’t about stepping back. It’s about stepping aside with grace.”
The Road Ahead
As he passes the baton, the current series manager who’s now expanding the initiative into adjacent fields like digital agriculture and chemistry, Abadie is clear: “This isn’t about preserving what was. It’s about continuing the spirit of what we built.”
He’s also honest about what’s changed: students today are more global, more career-diverse, and more open to private-sector roles than ever before. And the rapid pace of innovation—from AI to gene editing—demands new kinds of learning platforms that can’t be confined to lecture halls.
“We didn’t create the wave,” Abadie says with a smile. “We just learned how to surf it.”
Now, with retirement weeks away, he’s unplugging his phone, stepping back from email, and (mostly) staying off LinkedIn.
But the legacy he built isn’t retiring. It’s growing—just like the next generation of plant breeders he helped empower.
