In the field of plant pathology and biosecurity, few careers illustrate both the urgency and the long horizons of this work as clearly as that of Beccy Ganley. From her early days studying forestry pathogens to decades spent responding to some of Aotearoa New Zealand's most serious plant diseases, her path has been defined by a commitment to collective protection and to seeing pathogens not simply as enemies, but as parts of complex ecosystems. 
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Her fascination with plant diseases began in university research, where she was drawn to work that offered practical benefit and impact. Over time, this grew into a conviction that biosecurity was not just a scientific endeavour but a deeply human responsibility. An early focus on white pine blister rust in the United States left a lasting impression on Beccy. The disease had decimated dominant pine species across the Pacific Northwest, transforming entire landscapes. Witnessing that devastation clarified what was at stake if pathogens were left unchecked. 
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She applied her experience she gained to studying pitch canker. She spent years travelling to other countries, observing how pines, sometimes native, sometimes exotic, had been destroyed by diseases introduced from elsewhere. These experiences underscored the fundamental truth that in their own environments, pathogens are often in balance. It is the human disruptions, trade, forestry, land use, that create opportunities for outbreaks and ecological collapse. 
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Returning to New Zealand, a permanent role at Scion further deepened her focus, especially in diagnostic work with native species. Here, her sense of purpose crystallised: pathogens were never inherently bad, but the consequences of their spread could be devastating.
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Among the threats to native species she has responded to, myrtle rust and kauri dieback stand out. She first learned of myrtle rust when it appeared in Hawaii in 2007, then in 2010 when it got to Australia, she knew it was only a matter of time before it reached New Zealand. When it finally did, the disease unfolded much as she had feared. Early responses were robust, but sustaining long term momentum proved harder. Myrtle rust became a lesson in how a disease, once established, becomes a permanent part of the landscape, and how easy it is for complacency to erode progress. 
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Kauri dieback presents different challenges. The pathogen that has been in Aotearoa for decades and, like rusts, Phytophthora are a group of pathogens that are complicated to manage. She believes there is much to learn about long term management of both pathogens, an area where New Zealand has yet to find the right formula. 
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Over time, her values have evolved. In the beginning, she focused primarily on scientific excellence and integrity. Gradually, her work with Māori, iwi, and community partners taught her the power of relationships and the importance of diverse perspectives. She came to see that no single person or institution can protect New Zealand's forests alone. Collective action is essential, and everyone, scientists, landowners, policy makers, community members, has a part to play. 
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This relational understanding also changed how she thought about trees themselves. They are not just biological specimens but parts of whakapapa: ancestors, knowledge holders, connectors across generations. Working alongside mana whenua, she learned to appreciate the depth of cultural connection to the land and to see shared goals through different, often more holistic, lenses. 
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Even after decades in the land and the field, she still marvels at the beauty of the very pathogens she spends her life trying to contain. In controlled environments, some of their structures look almost like fairy lights - strange, delicate and captivating. It is a reminder that pathogens themselves are not driven by malice. The real challenge lies in how human activities disrupt the balance around them. 
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Innovation has been another constant theme, though she is quick to point out that most of it involved remembering what was already known. In her experience, innovation requires diversity of thought, clear communication, and the humility to adapt. New tools or ideas are only as useful as their fit to real world situations. Collaboration across disciplines, sectors, and communities ensures that solutions are genuinely sustainable. 
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Leadership, too, has meant learning to step into spaces of uncertainty. Whether responding to new incursions or navigating public pressure, she believes effective leadership happens at every level. From technicians to policy makers, everyone plays a role in protecting forests and ecosystems. 
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Perhaps the most transformative part of her work has been learning from communities and mana whenua. No textbook prepared her for how different, and inspiring, it would be to see trees and landscapes through the eyes of others. Though the language and approach sometimes differ, the underlying commitment to stewardship is often the same. 
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Looking ahead, she is clear about what she hopes the next generation of plant pathologists and biosecurity leaders will carry forward: a fierce commitment to protect what remains and the courage to find new paths when old ones fall short. 
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She believes that long term management remains one of the greatest unsolved challenges and hopes future leaders will keep asking how to get it right. Because in her view, biosecurity is not something that can ever be set aside. The work is never done, and every generation inherits both the gains and the unfinished tasks of those who came before. 
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Above all, her story is a reminder that protecting forests and ecosystems requires more than expertise. It takes patience, respect, collaboration, and the willingness to fight the good fight for as long as it takes.