Latrice Royale is no stranger to adversity. Before shooting to fame in Season 4 of RuPaul’s Drag Race, the “large and in charge” drag performer, pageant queen, ordained minister, and all-around queer icon with the big heart and even bigger personality had, in her words, “been through a lot.” Raised by a single mother in Compton, California, Royale worked hard to escape from violence and homophobia, but a year in a Florida prison on a minor drug charge would delay her progress before she eventually turned her life around.
Now, at 52, she is more in-demand than ever. Hot on the heels of her first season co-hosting HBO’s award-winning reality series We’re Here—in which a troupe of drag legends travels around small-town America, empowering members of the local LGBTQ+ communities to embrace their authentic selves through no-holds-barred drag performances—she’s wrapping up her residency at RuPaul’s Drag Race Live in Las Vegas before taking on the role of Audrey II (the plant) in an off-Broadway production of Little Shop of Horrors.
Season 4 of We’re Here saw Royale and her co-hosts, Sasha Velour and Priyanka, defy anti-drag protests in Oklahoma as they sought a space that would allow them and their new protégés to stage a show. They eventually found a safe haven in the most unlikely of places—the Parish Church of St. Jerome in Tulsa.
In a poignant moment, Royale, a powerful, plus-sized queen who stands tall at 6 feet, 4 inches, was moved to tears as local priest Father Joshua told his congregation, “Everyone is welcome,” no matter if they are gay or straight, cisgender or transgender or nonbinary, conservative or liberal, faithful or nonbelieving, rich or poor, Black or white.
“If Jesus were to walk this earth today, he’d be out there with them,” continued Father Joshua, referring to the LGBTQ+ community, adding: “You have got to follow Jesus to the margins of our society, to embrace those who have been oppressed, to welcome those who have been abandoned by their families.”
Visibly emotional, Royale told her castmates: “I’ve always heard the opposite.”
Slate caught up with Latrice Royale between shows in Vegas to talk about faith, how the experience in Oklahoma impacted her, and where she stands as the queer community in America faces its most divisive election year to date. Our conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Slate: You were raised in a religious household. Could you tell us about your Christian upbringing and how it impacted you?
Latrice Royale: I come from very humble beginnings in a single-parent home in Compton, California. My mom was doing it for herself, you know, and, of course, I was raised in the church. I was in the choir and I loved singing. But my pastor was old-school and had some very archaic teachings; he didn’t believe women should be ministers. He was definitely a homophobe and taught that being gay was an abomination, that we were all going to hell, and that whole thing. And that stuck with me through my developing years.
I wasn’t even out when I left California, but I’d stopped going to church because my mom was fed up with my pastor because of his ways. She left and became a minister, so, yeah, I’m a preacher’s kid!
I had left the church because of that, but then I was outed. My brother outed me and we got into a huge fight and that’s why I left California in search of my own identity. But I’d started to lose my faith because I didn’t understand what I was being told versus the way I felt on the inside.
How did that affect your coming-out process?
I knew I was dealing with being gay, so my faith and sexuality were definitely at odds. I chose to live free and happy and didn’t care too much about consequences, because I didn’t believe that if God was so loving and all-powerful, why would he specifically hate this group of people? If we’re made in your image, why would we be unacceptable in your sight? That didn’t make sense to me!
So I was, like, “To hell with it!” I felt my own journey was my own journey and my relationship with God was personal, so I did my thing. Now I’m a full-grown-ass man and know what I’ve been through. I had only one instance where I felt there was nobody who could help me but God, and that was when I was in prison. When I reconnected with my faith, it was just me and God riding it out in jail.
So once we got through that, and I was focused on what I wanted to do with my career and drag was it, it became my ministry; it became my mission to be the best I can be. And I know that only me and my higher power have gotten me to where I am. So nobody, none of these Christians—so-called Christians—can tell me a damn thing about the power of the Lord, darling.
How did your mom, the minister, reconcile her faith with your identity?
Beautifully. Very Christlike, as you do.
I was on my way to a pageant in South Carolina and my mom called and she was like, “Baby, you are so beautiful!” I’d sent her a care package with all these pictures and a video, and that was my coming out to her.
She’d opened up the box and was like, “Baby, I didn’t know who this was. I was like, Why are you sending me these pictures of this beautiful lady?” And then she’d popped in the tape and watched the video and saw the whole arc and she was so proud. She was like, “You’re so classy and elegant.” And that was everything I wanted to hear. And then she goes, “I need some of this hair,” so that became our thing. My mother loved some wigs!
After I was open about everything, I felt like I got my mom back and she got her son back. Once I did that, it was just magical.
You said you reconnected with your faith after prison. How do you reconcile being queer and Christian today?
I don’t consider myself a Christian. I’m nonreligious—I’m definitely spiritual, but I am not over there, because there’s too much trauma and too much damage and it can never be undone.
So, no, God is in your heart and has always been in my heart. I take him everywhere I go. I get emotional because I’ve been through a lot, you know? I’ve been through too much for anybody to invalidate the blessings that have been bestowed upon me. You have no idea until you’ve walked in my shoes what I’ve gone through and what it’s taken to get here. I’ve done that through prayer and faith, and nobody can take that away from me.
So, you can believe in your Bible, but I don’t. When I tell you, I’ve never had more disdain for a book in my life than the Bible. And that’s on the record! I have never had so much disdain for something that has been weaponized and used for harm and used for war and used for murder. There’s no way you can tell me this is of God. The Bible is of man, of editing.
When it comes to Jesus, I feel like Jesus was with the riffraff, with the whoremongers and the misfits, he was in the trenches. Jesus was loving and accepting and meeting people where they were. Jesus was out in the community. I try to do that, I try to meet people where they are.
What would you say to someone who is queer but also believes in the Bible? Do you think the two can coexist?
I’d say, believe in whatever you want, but be mindful, be smart and educated. Do not let it lead you to think you’re less-than or unworthy because of your life’s truth. I don’t think we were put here on earth to be unhappy, or to not be our authentic selves. We’re supposed to learn and grow and teach each other, all in the name of love. I don’t know why that’s not the thing. But what a wonderful world it would be if we just did that, you know?
That actually resonates with what Father Joshua said in his church on We’re Here. What was it that got under your skin in that scene?
Just the affirmation. Hearing him say the words “drag” and “ministry” together was so powerful because that’s what I feel like I’ve been called to do. That was my purpose when I was on Drag Race. Sharing my story. I felt like that was the way I was going to help people.
I’m ordained. I am a drag-queen minister. I started doing weddings, and that was my thing for a while, especially when I was fighting for marriage equality and that snowballed into me wanting to actually get married one day. And this manifestation thing happened, and here I am, 12 years with my husband and married six years ago. But I’m nondenominational because, as I said, I do not do the church so much.
Do you think you’d feel differently if you’d met someone like Father Joshua sooner?
Oh my goodness, maybe. Maybe if I’d known there was something like that out there, that there was another way of thinking and believing and receiving, there could have been some damage control. But with organized religion, I just can’t get behind something that’s hurt and is still hurting so many people. The sad part is there are really wonderful Christians out there who actually love and are trying to do what Christ would have done.
Looking at how the political climate has evolved since the first season of We’re Here aired in 2020, you and the other new hosts have come in at a far more volatile time. How did you feel taking on the challenge
I felt like this was an extension of what I was already doing. We need to understand that we’re still being ostracized and that they’re trying to eradicate us. I’m ready to have a conversation, and I want to understand the situation, because it’s important for people to do that in order to learn and grow—if both parties are willing, of course.
It’s scary, though. The legislation and the attacks are all just hate-motivated. And I learned through our experience in Oklahoma that it starts with fear, and then fear turns into ignorance, from the misinformation that’s being spewed out. And then the ignorance turns to hate. And I don’t understand how we get there, because it seems like we skipped some steps in between. Like, you were scared, and you don’t even know why you’re scared, but you know you hate it. And we’re challenging their belief system.
Meanwhile, this is happening in the context of an election year. What can we do to stand up to the bullies?
I am so scared for us right now. We have two candidates and one choice. Does that make sense? And we cannot do the other thing, but let’s just be real, we’re not excited about Biden, either. But we can’t do the other guy. We cannot do Trump, because I’m not going to live in a world of dictatorship. I’m not going to have my rights stripped away from everything I’ve worked for. Are you crazy?
The fact that [the right] are comparing him to Jesus. To me, that’s blasphemy. And if you want to go to the Bible, you should not make idols or worship any other gods. The Bible always warns us about false prophets. And here he is. And look at all the little sheep following him right to hell.
What does this mean for the election with so many LGBTQ people turning against Biden right now?
Put this in bold print: You cannot be complacent. A non-vote is a vote for Trump. An independent is not getting in there, it has never happened in the history of this country and it ain’t about to happen now.
So, we have two candidates, period. One Trump, the other Biden—or whoever the Democratic nominee ends up being. We cannot do Trump, period. Do not waste your vote by voting some independent or saying I’m going to just sit it out. That just shows you don’t give a shit about anybody, not even yourself. The only way we stand up to the bullies is in the polls. What counts is that little checkbox. That is the only way.