Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

For more than 30 years, Sal Russo has been part of the conservative movement in American politics, working to elect the likes of Jack Kemp, George Deukmejian and the movement's modern-day saint, Ronald Reagan.

But ask Russo what it means to be a conservative these days and his response is telling. "That's a good question," he says. "Uh . . ." After pausing fully 10 seconds, the GOP strategist admits: "I don't know what it means to people anymore."

And therein lies a problem for the Republican Party, beyond even the current fallout from efforts to throw President Clinton out of office.

While the impeachment vote provided a moment of singular clarity - most House Republicans for, most Democrats against - it belied deep divisions within the GOP over perhaps the most fundamental question there is: What lies at the philosophical core of the party? And furthermore, who's to say?

The conflict, boiled to its essence, is reflected in the disputed definition of "conservative," the emblematic label that once served to unite politically as well as conquer.

Throughout the 1980s and much of the ' 90s, the word conservative conjured thoughts of fiscal prudence, a muscular defense and, not least, a rugged individuality and radiant optimism embodied in Reagan's own sunny personality.

But at the very time many conservative ideals have reached fruition witness the balanced budget, welfare reform and a slimmed-down federal bureaucracy - the political meaning of "conserva tive" has grown increasingly muddied.

In good part that reflects Republican success attracting followers ranging from hands-off libertarians to hard-core fundamentalists, all of whom consider themselves conservatives in good standing.

The practical effect, however, is that "conservative" has come to mean pretty much what anyone says it does - including Democrats, who have striven mightily to recast the word in the angry image of outgoing House Speaker Newt Gingrich and, more recently, to partisan efforts to drive Clinton from office.

"The meaning has been contaminated to suggest someone who's harsh, who doesn't seem to have a tolerant view of the world," said Bill Carrick, a Democratic campaign consultant who conducted scores of interviews with voters over the past year.

Most Republicans would probably disagree. After all, public opinion polls over the last 20 years have been remarkably consistent, showing that far more Americans call themselves conservative than liberal (though most tend to call themselves moderate).

Still, many Republicans, such as political strategist Steve Schmidt, acknowledge that Democrats "have certainly cast a shadow on the word."

"They have been successful defining conservative as something mean-spirited and outside the mainstream," said Schmidt, who tried to fight back as press secretary for California Treasurer Matt Fong's unsuccessful U.S. Senate bid.

"If Republicans don't rally," Schmidt went on, "certainly, by the end of the [2000] election cycle, ' conservative' will be a dirty word."

Already, a kind of hyphenated or qualified conservatism has begun to flower, in evident response to Democrats' assault. Pick your pleasure: there is "compassionate" conservatism (Texas Gov. George W. Bush), "common-sense" conservatism (New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani) and "mainstream" conservatism (outgoing California Gov. Pete Wilson). And that's just among possible presidential contenders.

The significance of all this verbal skirmishing and rhetorical repositioning goes beyond semantics. Sticks and stones won't break any bones; in politics, it's words that hurt you.

"Politics is a battle of language," said Jim Pinkerton, a GOP strategist and lecturer at George Washington University. And labels are an important part of any campaign arsenal.