When the ABA Industry Enters the Classroom
This week, the Texas Autism Academy announced thr appointment of a new board member: Anna Bullard, vice president at Behavioral Innovations and a well-known advocate for expanding access to Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) therapy.
On the surface, it’s a routine governance update. A parent-turned-executive joins a school board that serves autistic students. But for those of us watching how autism gets narrated, standardized, and steered — this moment deserves a closer look.
Because Bullard isn’t just bringing experience. She’s bringing a model — one with deep ideological and financial roots — into the very structure of a school meant to support autistic kids.
Behaviorism at the Core
Texas Autism Academy states that it doesn’t offer one-on-one ABA therapy. That matters.
But the school does integrate ABA-based methodologies into its behavior plans. It employs BCBAs — the credentialed architects of ABA — to help design the way students are expected to behave, respond and “progress.”
That means the philosophy of ABA is still at the center:
- Behavior is observed, charted, reinforced.
- Compliance is rewarded.
- Difference is interpreted through correction.
This may look gentler than a clinic, but the structure is the same: children are assessed not just by what they need, but by how closely they match expectations.
And when the newest voice in school leadership is a senior executive at an ABA company, that framework only tightens.
This Isn’t About One Person
Anna Bullard is not the villain in this story. She’s a parent. She’s an advocate. She has helped many families navigate a confusing and often brutal system.
But she also represents an industry — and a worldview — that sees autistic behavior as something to reshape. One that often defines success by how well we imitate neurotypical norms. One that continues to dominate everything from state funding to special education plans to school governance boards like this one.
That influence is no longer just clinical. It’s curricular. It’s architectural. It’s in the walls.
What Gets Lost When Industry Leads
When autistic children flap, script, stim, or go silent — what does that mean in a behaviorist system?
Too often, it means:
- Points deducted.
- Data logged.
- Progress stalled.
Not because those behaviors are harmful — but because they’re read as deviations from a norm the system refuses to question.
And when the people helping shape those norms also work within the industry that designs behavior plans, it raises a fair question:
Are we making room for new ideas — or reinforcing the same ones with different language?
That’s not about blaming individuals. It’s about noticing patterns — and deciding whether we’re still open to change.
What Inclusion Would Actually Ask
A truly inclusive school wouldn’t just ask what behavior needs changing. It would ask:
- What does this child need to feel safe?
- What are they communicating — even when they’re not using words?
- How can we build structures that flex, instead of asking children to do all the bending?
It would include autistic people in governance.
It would consider joy, autonomy and regulation as signs of success — not just compliance.
It would recognize that stimming can be literacy. Silence can be language. And “challenging behavior” might just be protest.
A Moment for Reflection — Not Retreat
To the staff and families of Texas Autism Academy:
This post isn’t an attack. It’s a reminder.
That the frameworks we adopt — and the people we empower to shape them — carry real consequences for the children we claim to support.
ABA-based systems may offer structure. But structure alone is not support.
Support listens. It adapts. It recognizes when the system, not the child, needs to change.
If this school truly wants to lead, then let this board appointment be a moment to ask:
- Are we centering autistic lives, or industry expertise?
- Are we measuring success in regulation — or recognition?
Because we’re not just teaching children.
We’re teaching what kind of difference the world will accept.
And if we want that lesson to be liberating, we can’t afford to teach it from a model built to contain us.
Final Word
You don’t have to abandon structure to honor difference. But you do have to examine who built the structure — and what they built it for.
Autistic students deserve more than polite correction. They deserve the dignity of being met on their terms — not just managed on ours.
This school can still be that place. But only if it’s willing to listen.