When We’re Here launched its fourth season earlier this spring, it was a bit of a rebirth. Original hosts Bob the Drag Queen, Eureka, and Shangela had been shown the door (for good reason, in the third queen’s case), and the HBO series had undergone a creative retooling. Gone were the weekly trips to different cities, themed host costumes, and quick-and-teary featured story lines. Instead, the new season focused on just two small towns — Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and Bartlesville, Oklahoma — that had dealt with hotheaded community problems following recent Pride celebrations featuring drag queens.

While Jaida Essence Hall joined hosts Sasha Velour and Priyanka for the three episodes in Tennessee, Latrice Royale stepped into that slot for the religiously charged visit to Oklahoma, bringing not just her “chunky yet funky” essence but also a youth spent in church alongside her mother, a minister, in Compton, California. Royale was ostensibly recruited to the We’re Here team to guide her charge, a local farmer named Randy, but she was also there to bring her rich well of life experiences to a town where thousands of people signed a petition to protest a public drag show at a Pride event the year prior, effectively pushing queens out of the public eye. Latrice has spent years in the drag trenches, and her backstory — a stint in prison, a charming marriage, and her current life in Florida — leads you to believe she cares about what’s happening in Bartlesville and that she can relate: When she tells a poster-waving anti-gay protester in Oklahoma that she’s open to having a conversation with him, you believe it, and when she pushes back at a Black Republican spokeswoman’s preposterous notion that queens are exposing themselves to children, you want to scream, “Yes, that!” (“Do you know how many pairs of tights drag queens wear? Bras, girdles, corsets … There’s nothing to expose but cotton-and-polyester blend.”)

Latrice says she always thought she’d be a great fit for the show “because I’ve gone through some things,” and she knew her name was in the conversation during the recasting process. “I didn’t get the initial call,” she explains, but she heard back later that “they wanted to see if I was still interested, because they had an idea for something they wanted to do.”

Did they tell you what the gist of the Oklahoma visit might be, or why they wanted you specifically? I think they knew it would be faith based, because religion and church are a big part of the political climate in Oklahoma, and everyone knows that I have a strong faith, but I’m not religious because I left the church. So I do have some views, but they also said they were just missing my voice.

You were clearly very affected in the episode in which you went to the church service. It seemed like you were blown back a little when sitting in the meeting with the forward-thinking religious leaders. Did this visit make you reevaluate where you stand in terms of organized religion?  It definitely gave me more hope for people who are still struggling with their faith, but for me that ship has sailed. I will never return to the church. Never ever. That’s just not for me. I’ll still hold on to my faith, though, because I feel like that’s a personal relationship.

It was so refreshing and heartwarming to see these clergymen really sticking their necks out. It is a high-risk job they’re doing, and taking on that responsibility is really brave.

Going to St. Jerome’s was a moment that I didn’t expect to have to deal with. I had a moment before where I was like, “I’m not doing this.” I didn’t tell production, I didn’t tell the girls, but I was struggling internally with those voices that said, “You’re an abomination, you’re going to hell for coming up here in drag.” Those words were coming up and I just had to shut them down and say, “Let’s do this,” because I know what my purpose is. I had to put on my big-girl panties. But when I went in there, the feeling of welcome and acceptance and love was so overwhelming that I was moved to tears. To hear all these affirming words from the pastor letting us know we’re loved and that drag is our ministry — which is exactly what I say, that drag is my calling — to get that confirmation was just next level.

What about doing the actual drag show in the church? Was there an extra level of panic, like, what are we doing? What’s funny is that I realized I take God with me everywhere, including the club. So if I can take it to the club, why can’t I just take it where it belongs? And so I selected the perfect song, “This Joy,” which is a classic gospel song but done up (by Junior Vasquez), and brought it back to the church to rock it out.

It felt like a full-circle moment for me to be able to do that and feel comfortable. I felt like it was going to be a powerful moment and the people who were watching were going to feel some type of way, in a good way.

How did you put together your number with Randy? “Why Haven’t I Heard From You” was a reference to him trying to find a venue for the show in Bartlesville, right? Randy is a beautiful person, but he was also doing something very powerful and strong, even if he didn’t realize his own strength in what he was doing. I was like, “You’re leading the charge in your community, where OkEq dropped the ball; you’re picking up their weight and carrying it. It’s a form of activism, and you need to know and embrace that.”

And so, when we were trying to come up with the number that was going to really showcase his story, which was him saying “Where are you? Why am I here by myself?,” that Reba song just made sense. It really got everyone going, too.

Speaking of Bartlesville: There has always been a fish-out-of-water element in We’re Here, but this season felt a little more dangerous in some sense. Like when you all read the Facebook comment that said, “Three well-placed bullets would solve this whole business.” What was that experience like? I’m sure the production had security for you, but can you ever really feel safe? There’s always an element of danger, but, you know, you can be anywhere and it can be your time. I was never afraid of going into a battleground, and I’m not afraid of walking with purpose. I’m from Compton, baby. I’m from the hood. That don’t scare me. I’ve been to prison. It’s going to take a lot more than idle threats to scare me and deter me.

But people are unpredictable, too. Who’s to say they couldn’t take the security out first? You never know. But the work and the job and the mission must go forward, and I am going to continue.

The big-sign people that we see on the show are such a disease — they’ll show up anywhere and there’s usually only a couple of them, but they’re really loud and they always seem to have a kid with them. I loved your approach to the protester, which was to say, “If you want to talk, we can talk.” Why did you try to engage rather than ignore him?  To prove a point. I knew what he was there to do, but I wanted him to prove to the rest of the world that he was ignorant and did not want to have a conversation, or rather that he was not capable of having a conversation. I’m a strong believer in giving a person rope to hang themselves.

The more he talked, it was not so much about us being gay, either. You realized he’s a male chauvinist, a womanizer, an abuser, he has no respect for women. The way he talked about his wife, I was like, That speaks volumes about the kind of person you are. Like, your views are archaic, and we don’t need to even go any further because we already know what you would do. If you could have it be caveman days, you would. You’d be dragging your woman by the hair.

Speaking of wrong-minded people: There’s a beat in the show when Randy tells you that OkEq regrets not supporting the show and not being there for that meet and greet. These episodes were filmed a while ago. Have you heard anything more about what’s going on now, whether from Randy or from other sources? We’re coming up on Pride month. I have not heard anything as far as progress. I am curious to check, but no, it doesn’t seem like they’ve done any follow-up. I think it’s still been quiet. I think in Bartlesville now, the people are more energized than the organization is. But I need to check in and see what’s up.

In the local article that ran before the meet and greet, it pointedly said that the three of you would be wearing appropriate outfits so that anyone could come. Was that something you had to discuss or agree on? It wasn’t a concession so much as it was being mindful about where we are and what we’re doing. We dressed for the occasion. That’s what drag is. Duh. If you’re gonna go daytime in the park, you dress appropriately, understanding that there are going to be all ages there, that we don’t want anything exposed. We definitely don’t want to give them the ammunition to say we were inappropriate or doing any of the horrible things that they claim we are doing, like sexualizing children. Sexualizing drag, period! To me, that’s what they’re doing. That’s what the adults are doing. Kids think we are princesses. They just think we’re glittery, sparkly things and beautiful people, and they are excited about it. There’s nothing sexual about that. Gender has nothing to do with it. It’s fun, just like watching cartoons.

In the first Oklahoma episode, you have a conversation with this ridiculous Black Republican leader named Charity who … is very good at her job. Let’s put it that way.  Yes, she’s good at her job. She gets paid for bullshit, though. Listening to her give this misinformation and spread these rumors, and she’s never even been to a drag show or knows what it is, it was like, girl, what experience are you speaking from? What facts do you have to back this up? Where did any of that happen? Because it’s not on the news. Where’s the headline?

The allegations these people are spreading would cause people to lose their livelihoods. These are serious allegations, and they’re just throwing them out willy-nilly, saying queens are pedophiles and all these horrible things. We’re not answering to this nonsense. And, in fact, we’re going to make people understand that these claims are unfounded and you are not trustworthy. We have the facts, we have the receipts, and you are liars.

Your drag child was Randy, but did you get to interact with any of the other participants? Did anyone’s story really affect you? We got to meet the other drag children and their support systems. They’re an intricate part of the journey. It’s important to have a support system that loves you unconditionally, that gives you that safe space and that reassurance that you’re going to be okay, that they got your back. Especially in a scary place like Oklahoma, where it’s not easy to be gay, trans, or nonbinary.

I strongly believe that wherever you pay the cost to be the boss, you should be able to act like you want to act. But that’s just not the case everywhere. Everybody can’t get out. And that’s the other thing that I realized: For me, it was desperate times, desperate measures, and sometimes you have to jump just to fly. I left. I hit it. But should people even have to leave? There are people who can’t leave, but also isn’t it a bit like “fuck that, you shouldn’t have to leave the place you love”? If everyone leaves those small towns to move to better, more accepting places, then there’s no more Randy and Kevin, no more people living with their husbands showing the kids — and the adults — that all the horrible stuff they think or that they’ve heard isn’t true.

I mean, I live in Florida. I’m in a place where I could sell my house in a heartbeat, but why would I when I love it? I love Florida beaches! I love where I live, so we’re gonna fight and you’re gonna change. We’re gonna march right up to Ron DeSantis’s door, like we did with our drag queen march, and we’re going to let you know that we’re not going anywhere, you’re not banning us, and you’re not making it illegal. For me, being able to stay in Florida is more important because that’s the only way we’re going to normalize and stabilize our system. For them, it’s out of sight, out of mind. And I’m not trying to shove it down your throat, but you’re not gonna dismiss me, either. We do exist, and we are here.

It’s the show’s name for a reason. That’s the whole point! We’re everywhere. We’re your brothers, your gardener, your kindergarten teacher, your post office worker … we’re everywhere. Can’t we just connect on a human level, or even not connect on a human level but just exist? I’m not coming over to your job in protest. I’m not trying to make you get fired. I’m not trying to infringe upon your life.

Oklahomans for Equality asked We’re Here not to film in Bartlesville, saying it could cause issues for locals following a controversial drag show during the town’s 2022 Pride event. It also declined to send any members to the We’re Here meet and greet.