If Barack Obama had a grandfather, he would look like Steven Utash.

But don’t hold your breath waiting for a thoughtful president to make that observation. Instead, the White House, like the evening news, is ignoring Steven Utash.

And how he came to be stomped nearly to death on a Detroit street.

It was a week ago today as he drove his pick-up down the street. As he approached a vehicle parked on the right, a group of boys stepped out from behind it, directly in front of his truck.

One of the boys was struck, an 11-year-old lad whose leg was broken.

Across the street, a retired nurse with a gun in her pocket heard the noise and literally came running, wanting to help. Steven Utash squealed his truck to a stop and hurried back to the boy.

He was distraught.

He asked the nurse if the boy was injured. He knelt down beside him.

And then the crowd gathered.

Probably 100 people, folks from the area, those on porches or street corners or nearby businesses.

Most stood and watched, but about a dozen attacked Steven Utash.

A thin, gray-haired, 54-year-old white man.

They quickly knocked him to the ground and, from every side, started stomping him, kicking his ribs and abdomen and head.

One report is that a passing vehicle pulled over and its driver leapt out to take a turn stomping Steven Utash’s head.

One old white man, unconscious and bleeding on the ground, 10 to 15 teens and adults standing around him, pummeling his limp and near-lifeless body.

Ten to 15 people.

All black.

A white guy, driving through a black neighborhood, accidentally strikes a black child, and is set upon by a black mob, while almost 100 black people stand around, looking on.

Thank goodness for the black nurse.

The one with the gun in her pocket.

Because that 56-year-old black woman with the .38 in her pocket – “This neighborhood is terrible. I don’t walk around without my gun,” she told the newspaper – saved the old man’s life.

She waded into the crowd of kicking, stomping man, shouting for them to stop, to leave the man alone, and to back up.

Then she knelt beside his shattered head and cared for him until the ambulance arrived.

The police are looking into it as a possible hate crime.

The boy is ok, the police say the driver bears no responsibility in the accident, a couple of arrests have been made.

The old man is in a coma at the hospital, a self-employed guy with no insurance, and it is uncertain if he will ever wake up again.

While the country looks the other way.

Illustrated yet again is the cardinal rule of America’s racial double standard – blacks cannot be perpetrators of race hate, they can only be victims of race hate.

There will be no cluster of national reporters, no statement from the White House, no visit from Reverend Al. The sad slaying of Trayvon Martin played out like a referendum on the American soul in which the society was convicted on a charge of inherent racism. But this matter will be ignored.

Whites who bring it up will be suspected of racism. Whites who talk about their safety in black neighborhoods will be suspected of racism.

We get sensitivity lessons about the racism involved in locking your door when you drive through a black neighborhood, and are forbidden to discuss the incidents that give rise to such actions.

In our discussion of race matters, every issue boils down to compelling whites to understand black perceptions. Those perceptions are given credence even when they are objectively not founded in reality. But white perceptions are unavoidably and always labeled racist. It is a one-sided discussion in which one side is always right and the other side is always wrong.

And realities like Steven Utash are ignored.

Our empathy is dependent on melanin and the vagaries of progressive political correctness.

The president said the slaying of Trayvon should force a national dialogue, and his personal compassion was driven by the fact that if he had a son, he would look like Trayvon.

Well, the president did have a grandfather, and he did look like Steven Utash.

And this attack should spark a national dialogue, too.