Joe Cochran

Cara Mehmed, also known as Giovanni Battista (1723–1749), lived a remarkable yet tragically brief life. An Ethiopian from Tripoli, Mehmed was likely enslaved from a young age. Freed by the Pasha Suleiman shortly before Suleiman’s death in 1740, Mehmed’s newfound liberty was short-lived. He was quickly re-enslaved by Suleiman’s son, Mustafa, the Pasha of Rhodes, a man notorious for his cruelty and pver the next eight years, Mehmed endured his treatment.

In 1748, while aboard the Lupa, Mustafa’s galley en route from Tripoli to Malta, Mehmed led a daring uprising with a diverse group of fellow slaves. Together, they seized control of the vessel, imprisoned Mustafa and his crew, and sailed to Malta as free men.

In Malta, Mehmed’s life took a dramatic turn. 

He gained the favor of Grand Master Pinto, the island's ruler, who admired Mehmed’s courage and determination. After being baptized and taking the name Giovanni Battista Emmanuelle Pinto, Mehmed became a celebrated figure. Grand Master Pinto bestowed upon him employment, a home, and a wife, Francesca Azzopardi. Mehmed quickly integrated into Maltese society, transforming from a slave to a respected member of the community.

However, his newfound freedom and status were short-lived. Mustafa and his fellow Ottoman captives, imprisoned on the island, conspired with Malta’s Muslim slave population to overthrow the island’s leadership. The plot was uncovered by Giuseppe Cohen, a soldier in Grand Master Pinto’s court. While the conspirators were arrested, the political stakes were high. Punishing Mustafa directly risked provoking the Ottoman Empire, whose failed siege of Malta 184 years earlier loomed large in memory.

A scapegoat was needed, and Mehmed was chosen. Despite his lack of involvement, he and 30 others were tortured into confessing their roles in the plot.

On July 23, 1749, at the age of 26, Mehmed was executed—strangled, beheaded, and burned. He left behind his pregnant wife Francesca, who died weeks later of grief, and their newborn daughter Anna-Maria, who disappeared from history. With their deaths, Mehmed’s bloodline came to an abrupt end.

Reflecting on Mehmed’s life, I am struck by how he navigated his relationship with Malta. To free oneself from bondage is extraordinary, but to integrate into society so quickly and with such vigor is another achievement entirely.

Mehmed’s transformation from a "young man of handsome bearing and large stature" in Grand Master Pinto’s court to “The Negro,” a condemned man, reveals much about the fragility of status and freedom in colonial and imperial contexts.

Mehmed’s story offers profound insights into the violent colonial economies of his time—what I consider the first age of industrial globalization—and their parallels to today. While contemporary industries may wear different guises, their mechanisms remain alarmingly similar, if not worse. Precious resources are mined with devastating ecological consequences, techno-feudal corporations wield power rivaling governments, and modern migration policies create vast populations of disenfranchised workers. In this light, the question arises: Are we any closer to true freedom?

Change, when it comes, is often slow and fraught with risk. Mehmed understood that freedom was worth the cost, even if fleeting. His life and ultimate sacrifice echo the struggles of many who, then and now, risk their lives crossing the Mediterranean for the promise of liberty.

Opening at Malta’s first-ever biennale and housed in the Armory of the Knights of Malta in Birgu, The Quartermaster explores Mehmed’s extraordinary life. Drawing from the archives of heritage and academic institutions in Malta, the exhibition re-presents Mehmed’s story through archival documents, works on paper, sculpture, and photography. It crafts a narrative that historicizes and mythologizes Mehmed, shedding light on the colonial and economic structures of the past that continue to shape our world today.