Monday, December 20, 2004

 

"It's, um, African."

(Many thanks to Daniel Radosh for providing us with the great material for this piece after his recent blog about the girls)

April Gaede loves to pawn off the notion that her non-identical twin daughters are a self-made act. There's no doubt they lack the big money of the Olson twins, or even Huckapoo, for that matter. But ask yourself this: How many 10-year-old twin girls wake up one morning, look each other in the eye, and say (simultaneously), "Let's learn to play violin and guitar, dress up like we're in Lord of the Dance, and perform folkish covers of white power music"? One could argue that the girls of Prussian Blue are unusual, and this is certainly true--just not unusually talented. Lynx and Lamb's act is nothing less than a gimmick, the work of a domineering stage mom, different from other stage moms only in that she happens to be one of the rising stars of the National Alliance.

The simple fact is that as much as the Gaede girls might "believe" what they sing, they don't really understand it. They're simply too young. Louis Theroux, who spent a good deal of time with the Gaede family, writes,

In the front room, Lynx and Lamb sing an a cappella version of a song about the whites fighting the blacks in South Africa titled Strikeforce. Each time they sing the word "strikeforce", they give a Nazi salute. When the song ends I clap, then wonder whether I am doing the right thing.
"They don't seem old enough to know what that's about," I say. "Well, I've explained to them," April says. 'What's the ANC?' she demands.
"It's, um, African." Lamb begins. "National."
"Congress," April says. "And what's happening in South Africa?"
"The blacks are killing whites," Lamb says.
"And in Zimbabwe."
"And in Bim-zah-bwe," Lamb says uncertainly, and looks out of the window.
April educates the girls at home herself, using text books from the 1950s. In her study, April shows me an alphabet book she's working on for toddlers titled A is for Aryan. "Every letter has a word that is important to the white race or represents the white race," she says. "So B is for blood, C is for creativity, D is for dixie, E is for eugenic." The artwork is being drawn by white prisoners, some of them incarcerated for hate crimes against non-white victims.

It becomes painfully obvious the more one delves into the bubble inhabited by Lynx and Lamb that they are far too young to possibly even begin to understand the meaning behind, or ramifications of, their "music." This becomes more evident when one notes that only two of their songs on their debut album are originals (three if you include one track that was clearly written by April, who kindly tossed some credit Lamb's way).

"The choice you face is to bring your children up fairly or not," I tell her when we are alone.
"I don't understand how I'm not doing that," April says, fixing me with a look. "A person who tells their children that all people are created equal are, in my mind, lying to their children."
"I think what it's about," I continue, "is judging people based on who they are, not your prejudice about who they are. Giving people a chance."
"I find other races annoying," April says. "I don't like their chattering in other languages, I don't like the way they look. I mean, 99 per cent of them, they're just not pretty. I don't want to be around them. I don't like the fact they seem to make everything just dirty and messy wherever they are. I don't like to be around them. I want to be around all white people."

Perhaps April is simply oblivious, as stage moms sometimes are, of her naked exploitation of her own daughters. Or perhaps she simply has trouble admitting that her daughters' real value lies in their ability to advance her own position within a fringe movement.

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