Truth & Treason
A Movie I won't soon forget!
I almost didn’t see Truth and Treason. I expected a good story—maybe an inspirational historical film—but I wasn’t prepared for how deeply it would move me. Produced by Angel Studios, it tells the true story of Helmuth Hübener, a young Latter-day Saint living in Nazi Germany who dared to stand for truth while surrounded by lies.
As the world around him fell into darkness, Helmuth did something unthinkable for a teenager in 1941—he began secretly translating and distributing BBC news reports that exposed Hitler’s propaganda. His courage, and the small circle of friends who joined him, became a quiet rebellion against evil. Eventually, he was discovered, imprisoned, and sentenced to death for treason.
It’s a powerful story in its own right, but what caught me off guard wasn’t only the history—it was the humanity. The film portrays not just the heroism of speaking truth, but the aching cost of conscience, the loneliness of faith, and the love that survives even in the face of loss.
There’s a scene that still echoes in my heart. Helmuth’s mother visits him in prison. She reaches out and gently touches his face through the small opening that separates them. There are no grand speeches, no cinematic flourishes—just that simple, wordless act of love between mother and son.
Watching that, I thought of my own mother. Her final years were spent in a kind of confinement too—not of stone walls, but of illness and fading memory. There were days when I would sit by her bedside and brush my hand across her cheek, as she had done for me countless times when life had grown heavy. She used to tell her friends she just wanted to live long enough for us to be together again. And she did. Those last years became a gift, a circle of love that closed as gently as it began.
That’s what Truth and Treason captures so beautifully—the power of love and truth to pierce through fear, silence, and even death. Helmuth’s courage reminds us that faithfulness sometimes looks like quiet resistance, and that even a single life, surrendered to truth, can ripple across generations.
When I left the theater, I wasn’t thinking only about history—I was thinking about faith, conviction, and the quiet heroism that still calls to each of us today. The film left me humbled and grateful, reminded that love truly does outlast darkness.
Sometimes, the most profound witness isn’t found in words at all, but in a gentle touch that says, I’m still here—and so is God.