The Latina Who Fought to Make Mariachi a Bachelor’s Degree

When the Metropolitan State University of Denver announced a Bachelor’s Degree in Mariachi Performance and Culture, the news landed like a grito on national headlines. The program, hailed by faculty as the “Juilliard of mariachi,” was covered as a historic first. Yet behind the celebratory press releases lies a story that almost disappeared: a Latina student who refused to let her culture be dismissed as “not real music.”

That student is Karen Olide. Her persistence, and that of her partner, Travis Jensen, laid the groundwork for the degree MSU Denver celebrates today. While official narratives often trace the program back to Los Correcaminos, the campus mariachi ensemble founded over a decade ago, Olide’s testimony reveals the deeper truth. “Creating my own degree was my way of saying: We do belong and our music is real. Our voices matter,” she told FIERCE.

Her story is one of rejection, advocacy, and the conviction that mariachi deserves equal respect in higher education.

Facing dismissal: “This is folk music, not real music”

Olide grew up in Westminster, Colorado, in a single-parent household where her mother worked three jobs and attended night classes to learn English. Access to music programs was scarce. She found her voice in church and school choirs, but when she entered MSU Denver’s music program, the culture shock was immediate. Her peers had been trained since early childhood. Professors told her to quit, and her math learning disability made the already rigorous program harder.

When she joined the mariachi class in 2017, everything shifted. “It was the first time I felt at home because it was the music I grew up with,” she recalled. She sang, became vice president of the club, and signed up for what she believed was extra tutoring in mariachi violin. Instead, she was dropped into a classical repertoire class without a syllabus. The moment that followed marked her path.

“One of the professors scoffed at the music and said, ‘They’re not even real musicians. This is folk music, not real music like classical music,” she remembered. The sting of that dismissal hardened her resolve. She failed the class, appealed the grade, and eventually found support from the dean, who changed the decision. But the message from her department was clear: mariachi was unwelcome.

“It was honestly heartbreaking and painful, but it lit something in me. I knew I had to fight because the treatment I received and the things that were said were not okay, and I didn’t want anyone else to go through this,” she said.

Building Mariachi into a degree

Refusing to back down, Olide found the Individualized Studies Department and worked with advisors to build her own degree that centered on mariachi. “The next day, I found the Individualized Studies Department at MSU Denver. I met with an advisor and shared my experience and my ideas, and they agreed that this would be a good idea for a degree,” she said.

She went further, integrating psychology, human services, and social work credits into her program. “If I was going to show up and advocate for my people and community, I needed to make sure I was showing up in an informed, holistic, and authentic way,” she explained. Her degree became more than music. It became a framework for cultural advocacy.

During that time, she completed internships at Su Teatro, a Chicano theater, and In Lak’ech Denver Arts, a nonprofit that launched a free youth mariachi program. She became a vocal instructor, bringing mariachi, banda, and norteño to students who might otherwise have no access.

According to Olide, the choice to blend arts with social services reflected her lived experience. “Creating my own degree was my way of saying: We do belong and our music is real,” she said.

The role of persistence and partnership in Mariachi’s survival

Olide emphasizes that she did not do it alone. Her partner, Travis Jensen, joined the mariachi class out of curiosity and never left. “Afterward, he returned as a teaching assistant. He joined out of pure curiosity and stayed because he fell in love with the culture and the music,” she said.

When other students graduated, Jensen kept the ensemble alive. He performed at community events, often alongside alumna Alejandra Solis. During the pandemic, the two carried performances forward even when they were the only musicians present. “That kind of consistency made a huge difference,” Olide explained.

The invisible labor mattered too. “On my end, the advocacy was often invisible. It meant countless conversations with faculty who didn’t understand why mariachi belonged in the program. It meant pushing through when the department labeled me as ‘difficult’ just for asking to be included,” she said.

Her behind-the-scenes advocacy laid the foundation for the program that now holds official recognition.

Mariachi on the national stage feels personal

When MSU Denver announced the launch of its mariachi bachelor’s degree in 2025, Olide was moved to tears. “When Dr. Jackson Shumate, the head of the Individualized Studies department, reached out to me to tell me about the launch of the program and that my work and our conversations helped to build the degree, I cried,” she said.

The moment validated years of struggle. “I cried because I felt like I finally did something right. Like every obstacle I went through was worth it,” she explained. Seeing mariachi celebrated on a national stage confirmed that her culture belonged in higher education.

She also thought of students who would come after her. “Now students have the choice to continue to learn about their culture and pass on their traditions and music. These students get to walk in and feel seen and accepted, that’s huge,” she told FIERCE.

What Karen Olide’s journey reveals about Latinas in academia

For Olide, the barriers were systemic, but so was her refusal to yield. “I was told I should quit music, [that] my culture didn’t belong. I was told I was ‘difficult’ for not fitting the mold, yet here I am,” she said.

Her story highlights the challenges Latinas face in academia, where expectations often demand assimilation into classical molds. Instead, she built her own table. “A wonderful teacher once said to me, ‘If there is no room at the table, build your own.’ For Latinas in particular, it means our voices are not just valid, they are essential,” she explained.

The lesson extends beyond mariachi. It is about how Latinas navigate institutions that were never designed with them in mind and create spaces where their culture is honored.

Mariachi deserves full legitimacy in higher education

Olide is clear about her vision for the future. “My hope is that mariachi is treated with the same respect and legitimacy as any other form of music in academia. It shouldn’t be an afterthought or side elective; it deserves full recognition, resources, and scholarship,” she said.

She also wants to see recognition expand to other forms of Latin music. She pointed to programs like In Lak’ech Denver Arts as examples of how access to instruments, wardrobes, and training can transform lives.

“To the next generation, I would say, don’t wait for permission. If you don’t see your culture represented, fight for it. Build it and protect it. And know that the barriers you face aren’t proof that you don’t belong, they’re proof that your presence is powerful enough to make real changes,” she said.

The Latina who changed Mariachi’s place in higher education

Today, Olide and Jensen live in Dallas, Texas, where they continue to advocate for their communities. Jensen directs the South Grand Prairie High School Mariachi Los Guerreros and composes music for a new stage play in Denver. Olide works as a vocal instructor, training students in mariachi and regional Mexican music while expanding accessibility in arts education.

Her legacy, however, is already cemented. The mariachi bachelor’s degree at MSU Denver reflects a vision that once drew ridicule. What professors dismissed as “folk music” now carries the weight of a university degree.