An archaeologist fascinated by a centurieslong memorial practice in Georgia considers how these unique gravestones reflect shared values and traditions—yet are sometimes destroyed in nationalist culture wars.
A ram-shaped stone stands beside Rustaveli Avenue, the main thoroughfare in Tbilisi, capturing the contrast between the constancy of pastoral practices and the fast-paced modern life of the city.Erusheti Mountains of southwest Georgia, rounded stone humps protrude from the tall grass of an untended churchyard. As we peer beneath the vegetation, we see a ram carved in coarse basalt, with a pointed head, stylized horns, and words and images engraved into its flank. It is a gravestone.
Raised by people of diverse ethnic, religious, and linguistic backgrounds, these stones are part of a memorial practice in the Southern Caucasus dating from the medieval period until the 19th century. Their origins have been variously assigned to Turkic, Kurdish, and Armenian forebears. But searching for progenitors can distract from what binds these peoples: their highland pastoral lifeways and the urge to be associated with the animals they reared.
Yet this memorial form’s endurance demonstrates the shared interests of highland populations rather than their differences. At a time when conflicts rage across the former Soviet Union, sheep-shaped stones are an important reminder of the social and spiritual practices that transcend divisions. The rams tell a story of shared values, inscribed in Armenian, Turkish, Arabic, and Georgian script over at least 600 years.St.