A 90-second fight in a Texas school can lead to a 45-day placement in disciplinary programs. Under Chapter 37 of the state’s education code, administrators remove students from regular classrooms and assign them to Disciplinary Alternative Education Programs (DAEPs) when they believe the students cannot remain.
In 2015, Jorge Meave assumed leadership of the Del Valle Independent School District’s DAEP in Austin before his official start date. He recognized the program’s failure to prepare for his arrival would only prolong the harm. Upon inspection, he found a system designed to fail students rather than support them. Lesson plans were abandoned in favor of generic work packets, while special education students—among the most complex learners—were placed with first-year teachers. Referrals were recorded by hand before being manually entered into the district system. Textbooks were outdated, and elective courses like computer training and auto mechanics relied on printed materials instead of hands-on instruction.
The physical conditions mirrored the neglect. Ceiling tiles hung loose, and the clothes closet was nearly empty, forcing staff to seek donations. When Meave requested a washer and dryer, basic needs for students who arrived in dirty clothes carrying shame, the request prompted questions no one had anticipated. The message was clear: these students were not considered worth the investment.
Yet the most critical failure lay in the program’s culture. Students entered through security checks, picked up breakfast, and were directed to cubicles where they sat in isolation, separated from peers and any adult who might recognize their names. Safety was enforced, but connection was absent. Discipline was treated as punishment rather than an opportunity to rebuild trust.
Hiring teachers who truly understand students
Meave changed that approach. He hired educators who understood the students’ backgrounds, individuals who had grown up in the same neighborhoods, spoken the same languages, and shared the same history of exclusion. Several new teachers struggled with the cultural shift and left, but he persisted until finding the right fit.
By his second year, the program’s structure transformed entirely. Classrooms opened before the bell, laptops became available, and staff greeted students by name before they reached their desks. The goal shifted from compliance to belonging. “Normal,” Meave called it, the kind of normal other schools took for granted.
Three years into his tenure, the district secured funding for a leveled library, with books matched to students’ actual reading levels rather than state assumptions. They also established safe rooms: three portable structures where students in crisis could decompress without facing disciplinary referrals. Work continued there, students could draw, breathe, and return when ready. The emphasis remained on retention, not removal.
From punishment to purposeful support
A student’s experience demonstrated the program’s shift. The year before Meave arrived, a young man had assaulted an assistant principal, and staff feared his return. His records labeled him “seriously emotionally disturbed,” but no one had previously addressed his needs. Upon re-enrollment, the approach changed. Instead of isolation, the team provided structured support, no longer treating his behavior as punishment but as an opportunity for connection. The student’s progress became a case study in how DAEP environments could evolve from warehouses to classrooms.
State data later reflected these cultural changes. A sheriff’s deputy who had once visited the campus “almost every other day” reported no recent conflicts. Some students, previously dismissed by the system, now asked to stay. Their requests signaled a rare shift: the DAEP had become a place where they chose to belong.
Meave’s own background shaped his approach. He grew up moving between small towns, earned his GED through a High School Equivalency Program, and later completed his bachelor’s and master’s degrees as an adult. The students he served in Del Valle shared similarities with the child he once was, the one who had been told, in both words and actions, that he did not belong.
Recognizing the child still waiting inside
That child, Meave knew, still existed in every DAEP across Texas. Waiting to see what the adults around them would decide.
The 2015 annual convocation marked a turning point. Held in the high school gym, the event featured a Spirit competition among campuses. Meave’s team, newly assembled and the smallest group, had spent weeks preparing. They brought a portable speaker and took the microphone. Playing “Lean on Me,” they began slowly, arms over each other’s shoulders, swaying in unison. Within minutes, the entire gym joined them. By the end, strangers had become a united front, singing about mutual support. They won the Spirit Stick that year, but the victory carried deeper meaning: the staff had committed to a shared purpose. The foundation was set, though the work ahead would demand relentless effort.
