Relying on older versions of the bylaws, back issues of the American Rifleman, and accounts published by NRA members and supporters, it is nonetheless possible to cobble together an idea of how things work in Fairfax. (The NRA did not respond to our attempts to verify these details, but it has included an overview of its election procedures in its members-only publications, which it states is "summarized from the NRA Bylaws." It did not respond to our other requests for comment.) A corporate-style board of 76 directors—all of whom must be fully paid lifetime members—controls the organization’s activities, primarily via the selection of executive officers. Just as it is responsible for hiring the likes of LaPierre, Cox, and NRA president Pete Brownell, the board has the power to fire them, too.

Like any savvy organization, the NRA has instituted structural safeguards that make it tough for dissidents of any persuasion to enact sweeping changes. Only 25 of the 76 board seats turn over each year, and only those who have been members in good standing for five straight years—or are willing to pony up $1,500 for the immediate franchise that a lifetime membership buys—can vote. (The 76th member is elected on an annual basis by those who attend the annual meeting, regardless of whether or not they can vote for the 25 “regular” seats.) Ballots arrive in the February issue of the NRA's various publications; members who opt for digital editions receive their ballots by mail.

The NRA further controls access to the ballot via its use of a “Nominating Committee,” which vets board candidates for the electorate’s convenience. The Committee, whose members are designated by the board, is composed of six individuals who are directors and three lifetime NRA members who are not. It acts as a de facto kingmaker, relying on the fact that most voters have neither the time nor the incentive to research the policy positions represented by dozens of unfamiliar names. When you vote in elections for obscure local government positions, you probably check the box next to whoever boasts the most impressive roster of trustworthy-sounding endorsements, right? That is, more or less, the service the Committee provides, too.

Until recently, a separate procedure allowed candidates to make the ballot without the Committee’s support by securing the signatures of at least 250 voting-eligible NRA members—a reservation of power to the people, of sorts. (Again, to some of the people.) To account for growth over time, a recent bylaw amendment abolished that number and now requires candidates to clear a floating threshold equal to 0.5 percent of the number of ballots returned in the previous year. In 2018, the magic number of signatures required to become a “petition candidate” is 653.

Most of those who make the ballot do so with the Committee’s blessing. (In 2017, 32 of the 35 names on the ballot were Committee picks.) Successful petition candidates, whose ranks include former congressman Allen West, tend to be celebrity types whose name recognition affords them a baseline level of grassroots support. Otherwise, as Jeff Knox puts it on his Firearms Coalition blog: “...since most members get virtually all of their information about candidates only from NRA magazines, and those magazines are controlled by people whose livelihoods depend on keeping the good-old-boy’s-club rolling, the election results are pretty easy to predict.”

While only some NRA dues-paying members are eligible to vote, an even smaller segment of that contingent actually does so. According to data analyses published by "Sebastian," an independent pro-NRA blogger who has covered its elections for years, the proportion of eligible voters who cast a valid ballot hovers around 6 or 7 percent. (Sebastian did not return requests for comment.) In 2017, it was just above 5 percent. Getting on the ballot, he concludes, is difficult—but it can be “ridiculously easy” to influence an election if you happen to clear that hurdle.

How It Would Work

Hundreds of thousands of strangers aren't going to independently spring for $1500 lifetime NRA memberships without some semblance of a plan in place. But imagine that a fabulously wealthy gun safety proponent like, say, former New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg—who bankrolls Everytown for Gun Safety, and who spent tens of millions of his dollars backing pro-reform politicians during the 2016 election cycle—wanted to organize gun safety proponents, mount a sort of hostile takeover attempt, and buy his way in to the NRA's closely-guarded electoral process. Donating one percent of his $53 billion fortune would allow him to finance around 350,000 newly-minted lifetime members, who would immediately be able to vote for whichever board candidates they see fit.