I may be the only American who has seen both the "panic room" where Danish cartoonist Kurt Westergaard fled in 2010 as a Somali Muslim man hacked at the door with an ax, and the apartment house where this week Danish journalist Lars Hedegaard, 70, was almost killed by an "Arab" - or "Pakistani" -looking man posing as a postman. Since our vast media don't consider these items news, I will tell you about them.
First, Westergaard's panic room. It is a bathroom off the front hall of a modest, modern-style home in the small Danish city of Aarhus. The tiny room is equipped with a buzzer that rings through to the local police station, and it has a steel door. While the Somali was breaking through the front door of his home, Westergaard, then 74, who walks with a cane, made his way into the secure room, hoping the police would reach him in time. As he listened to each strike of the ax on his door, the assailant screamed, "Blood! Revenge!"
Blood and revenge for what? Four years earlier, Westergaard had drawn a cartoon of Muhammad. It was one of 12 such cartoons commissioned by his newspaper, Jyllands-Posten, to demonstrate that Denmark's media do not follow Islamic laws against depicting Muhammad. You haven't seen Westergaard's cartoon in American media? That's because American media do follow this Islamic prohibition -- only they call it being "sensitive" or "inclusive" or something. (Google "Westergaard" and "cartoon" to see if the image makes you want to pick up an ax.)
No matter what our media chiefs say, however, there is nothing "sensitive" or "inclusive" about capitulating to what is, in reality, fear of Islamic violence, thus allowing an elderly Danish artist to face this jihad alone.
The other front-line outpost of jihad manned by Danish senior citizens with pens that I can claim to have seen for myself is Lars Hedegaard's apartment building. Just a few stories high, it stands on a quiet street in Frederiksberg, a municipality adjoining Copenhagen that is known for the city zoo and nearby park and gardens. On Tuesday, Lars got a call from the front door telling him he had a package. He opened a window and looked down on the postman -- or, rather, on a man wearing the distinctive red jacket of the Danish postal service. Lars said he'd be right down, since the buzzer to let visitors into the building didn't work.