IN A shaky video, Kizza Besigye, the main opposition leader in Uganda, holds aloft a Bible and is sworn in as head of a “people’s government”. It is more amateur dramatics than revolution. The production may have been shoddy, but the timing of its release was provocative, coming the day before the re-inauguration of Yoweri Museveni as president. Within a few hours of the footage being released, Mr Besigye had been whisked away by helicopter to a remote prison. On May 13th he was charged with treason: police claimed to have found 20 machetes at his party headquarters.

Mr Museveni has held power for 30 years and Mr Besigye, a former ally, has spent half that time trying to dislodge him. February’s election was the fourth contest between the two, with the usual result. The playing field was uneven, with state institutions bent to Mr Museveni’s will.

Mr Besigye claimed “a creeping military coup”, and promised to respond with “defiance”. His following in the cities raises the possibility of mass unrest. But Mr Museveni is having none of it. Protests have been banned, as has live coverage of them. Policemen patrol the capital and plain-clothes thugs beat demonstrators. Even before his most recent arrest Mr Besigye’s movements were restricted—at one point he was under house arrest for 43 days—and party activists are frequently detained.

Mr Besigye has been charged with treason before, in 2005. That case dragged on for five years before charges were dropped. Treason is a capital offence, but the state doesn’t expect a conviction, says Peter Magelah, a lawyer at Chapter Four, a human-rights group in Kampala. The aim is to keep Mr Besigye off the streets.

Such repression is not new, says Frederick Golooba-Mutebi, a Ugandan political analyst. He thinks that tempers may cool now the election has passed. But some analysts detect a hardening mood in the cities. People are chafing under the most restrictive political climate in a decade. Recent laws give police wide powers to halt public gatherings and shut down civil-society groups. The resurgence of Mr Besigye—who just a year ago seemed a spent force—has worried the regime.

Yet for all Mr Besigye’s charisma, the threat from the opposition is limited. It is poorly organised and weakly represented in parliament. That makes it easier for Mr Museveni, who is now 71, to remove a constitutional restriction forbidding presidential candidates who are over the age of 75. That would allow him to run again in 2021.

Though Western donors tut about civil liberties, Mr Museveni can afford to ignore them if, as he hopes, oil starts to flow in a few years. He was always suspicious of political competition, which he blames for Uganda’s violent past, and sees less reason than ever to change course.