Tonight: a rare look at Dubside’s boot camp for the Greenland Style Revolutionary Front. Twelve long boats in a pool. The lifeguards don't suspect anything. Prominent members of the sea kayaking world are present - their identities will not be revealed. We train under cover of the night.
At the appointed hour everyone lines their boats up side by side. Dubside stands at the edge of the pool and barks out orders in Greenlandic: “Paatip kallua tuermillugu illuinnarmik!”
“What did he say? I can’t hear anything with this tuilik on!”
We have trouble deciphering the code, but attempt to perform the maneuver anyway. Dubside keeps score.
Afterwards, we disperse and regroup at an undisclosed location. This is Headquarters. The entrance is hidden in a quiet corner off an ordinary street – a nondescript door marked only with a Qajaq USA sticker. The kayaks on our cars threaten to expose us. We park in the church parking lot nearby.
It’s a spartan room. A Feathercraft Kahuna hangs from the ceiling. A collection of norsaqs are arranged along a wall, like guns on a rack. In the corner is an iMac – the propaganda machine stamping out copies of Greenland Rolling with Dubside, a thousand mind-bombs delivered by priority mail.
We sit on balance boards and watch videos of Greenland, from Greenland. There is talk about upcoming operations: a sortie to Florida, Spain, possibly Iceland. There are no frontiers in this struggle. Other nations of the world summon Dubside's modest efforts. He exports revolution.
Someone mentions Gordon Brown. This is followed by a curse, and two minutes of hate. Brown has called for the disenfranchisement of members of The Movement. While sympathy for our populist cause continues to grow, so does worldwide British hegemony. It is inevitable that the two will clash.
Down to business. Dubside tabulates our scores on a whiteboard. The total is 51 points for the team. At least three people in the group must perform the roll correctly for the roll to count. Next time we’ll do better. It’s a difficult struggle, fighting a revolution, especially one financed by selling T-shirts and DVDs.
We exchange critical data: a DVD and a videotape. Finally, I deliver a black parcel from our contact in the south, a copy of the new Manifesto.
“Thanks, comrade. It's a beautiful text -- truly a great leap forward.”