Kinas svar i elbilskriget: utreder fransk sprit

En halvfärdig produkt som dessutom är lite svår att få tag på. Känner du dig lockad? Absolut har nu lanserat sin vodka i pappersflaskor.

Spritjätten Pernod Ricard, som bland annat äger Absolut Vodka, stiger på Parisbörsen efter att ha rapporterat en vikande försäljning under det första kvartalet i bolagets brutna räkenskapsår. Analytiker poängterar enligt Bloomberg att nedgången var väntat och att den upprepades prognosen är ett positivt tecken.

En man i 30-årsåldern hade fått en praktikplats på McDonald's och jobbat där i två eller tre veckor, innan han fick sparken.

Mannen var ogillad av kollega

Mannen hävdade vid huvudförhandlingen, som skrivits ner i domen som Nyheter24 tagit del av, att det fanns en kollega på restaurangen som tyckt illa om honom redan från början, vilket gjorde att chefen sade upp mannen. 

Mannen i 30-årsåldern ska då ha sagt att han ville ha det han hade rätt till, alltså sin lön. Stämningen ska ha blivit hotfull och chefen hotade med att tillkalla polis.

Mannen slog sönder McDonald's restaurangen

Någon gång mellan den 10 juni 2022 och den 11 juni 2022 återvände mannen till sitt gamla jobb, för att “få det han hade rätt till”.  Mannen sade till personalen som jobbade i restaurangen att han inte skulle göra dem illa. De fick två timmar på sig att kontakta chefen, så att han kunde få det som han hade rätt till. Eftersom mannen inte fick det som han hävdade att han hade rätt till, tog han en stol och slog sönder skärmarna där man beställer mat.

Var påverkad vid händelsen

Han var påverkad av alkohol vid tillfället och kan även ha varit påverkad av narkotika, enligt domen. Han använde droger varje dag och hade druckit en halv liter Absolut vodka, omkring en och en halv timme tidigare, står det i domen. Mannen skadade och förstörde egendom inne på restaurangen för cirka 200 000 kronor.

Den 10 september 2023 dömdes mannen för bland annat grov skadegörelse vid Lunds tingsrätt. Mannen erkänner gärningen och påföljden blev fyra månaders fängelse.

Pernod Ricard, som bland annat äger varumärket Absolut Vodka, ökar sin vinst för helåret med 13 procent.

Pernod Ricard, som bland annat äger varumärket Absolut Vodka, ökar sin vinst för helåret med 13 procent.

Runt om i Europa dricks det Aperol spritz på takbarer och uteserveringar. Den orangea aperitifen är praktiskt taget synonymt med sommar på kontinenten, skriver The Washington Post. Men i Ukraina är märket inte lika populärt. Italienska Campari Group har fortsatt med sin verksamhet i Ryssland under kriget. – Vi hade glas som det stod namnet Aperol på och vi förstörde dem och slängde dem i soporna, säger 29-årige Pavlo Lavrukhin som arbetar som bartender på Squat 17B i centrala Kyiv. (Svensk översättning av Omni). Ukraine is still seeking ways big and small to choke off foreign funding to Russia — in part by shaming companies that continue to work in the country. By Siobhán O'Grady and Kostiantyn Khudov 26 August 2023 KYIV - The Aperol Spritz is so popular that the cocktail is practically synonymous with summer in Europe, where connoisseurs cram onto patios and around bar tops to guzzle down the bubbly, orange aperitif. But in Ukraine, many bars that once served the quintessential drink are now boycotting it, citing the decision of the brand's owner, Italy-based Campari Group, to continue operating in Russia. "We had glasses with the Aperol name on them and we destroyed them or threw them in the trash," said Pavlo Lavrukhin, 29, a bartender at Squat 17B, a hipster hangout tucked behind a residential building in central Kyiv. Made up of two parts Aperol - a bitter whose core ingredients are gentian, rhubarb and cinchona - three parts prosecco and a dash of sparkling water, poured over a glass of ice and topped with an orange slice, the drink is viewed by devotees as the ideal antidote to sweltering weather. Giving up the Spritz altogether is out of the question - Ukrainian fans love the cocktail. So, Squat 17B and other bars got rid of Aperol and are serving an alternative made with comparable orange spirits from other Italian companies instead. Lavrukhin's bar also dropped the word "Aperol" from the menu, renaming the cocktail a Venice Spritz. Last month, Squat 17B served 110 of the renamed drinks, 370 Negronis and 120 Boulevardiers - all without a single drop of liquor made by Campari. After 18 months of war, Ukraine is still seeking ways big and small to choke off foreign funding to Russia - in part by shaming companies that continue to work in the country. This month, the Ukrainian government labeled Bermuda-based Bacardi as an international war sponsor, saying the company - whose brands include Grey Goose vodka, Bombay Sapphire gin and Martini - has expanded its work in Russia since last year and is even actively seeking new employees in the country. The Campari Group announced last year that it had stopped all advertising and promotions in Russia, where it employs 122 people, and "reduced the business to the bare minimum necessary to pay the salaries of our colleagues." It also said it assisted its employees in Ukraine with emergency funds and helped find shelters. "Our position is the one we publicly communicated since the beginning of the war," a Campari spokesman, Enrico Bocedi, said. But such statements are seen by many in Ukraine as platitudes. Russia - along with Italy, Germany, France and the United States - is one of the group's "core markets" for sales of Aperol. In 2022, the group's overall sales in Russia and Ukraine amounted to about 3 percent of its total. In the first quarter of this year, the group's international sales grew by nearly 20 percent. It has served as an official partner for the Cannes Film Festival two years in a row. In June, it co-sponsored an event on Capitol Hill featuring appearances by Rep. Bill Pascrell Jr. (D-N.J.) and Rep. Jimmy Panetta (D-Calif.), both of whom have been outspoken advocates for Ukraine. Neither of their offices responded to a request for comment. Completely withdrawing from the Russian market was "the only possible position in our view," said Dmytro Krimsky, 52, co-founder of Goodwine, a large upscale grocery and liquor store in Kyiv that sold more than $338,000 worth of Campari products in 2021. The store has since terminated its partnership with Campari as part of the "principled decisions" it took after conducting an assessment of its vendors' responses to Russia's invasion, Krimsky said. Goodwine did not previously work with Bacardi, he said, but has written off any possibility of working with the company in the future and is "actively working to exclude" other brands with ties to Russia. Some alcohol brands that didn't quickly withdraw from Russia are now facing difficulties. Last month, after the Danish beer maker Carlsberg Group announced plans to sell its assets in Russia to an unnamed buyer, Moscow seized control of eight of its breweries and 8,400 of its employees. In the spring, French company Pernod Ricard, which distributes Sweden's Absolut vodka, faced outrage in Sweden after reports that it was selling products to the Russian market. In April, it backtracked previous plans to just scale back, announcing it would suspend all sales of Absolut to Russia. Western companies under pressure to end operations in Russia have cited concerns that completely stopping production could lead to accusations from Russian authorities that they are intentionally going bankrupt - and could leave local employees liable. Ukrainians are not sympathetic to this narrative. Any companies that continue to work and pay taxes in Russia "are sponsoring the war," said Dasha Andriushchenko, 32, marketing manager at Pure & Naive, a popular bar and restaurant in central Kyiv. For two months after Russia's Feb. 24, 2022, invasion, "we didn't even think about alcohol and didn't make any orders," she said. The restaurant transformed into a volunteer hub where civilians gathered to make meals for Ukrainian troops fighting around Kyiv. When the bar reopened for business in spring 2022, it consulted with other bars in Kyiv about the links of liquor companies to Russia, she said. It was then that managers opted to stop buying from Campari and Bacardi. In August, as at Squat 17B, customers sipping bubbly orange drinks on their patio were drinking spirits from Italian company Luxardo - not Aperol. Pure & Naive later switched to a different alternative, called Gamondi. It was "pretty hard to check if [Luxardo] are working with Russia or not," Andriushchenko said. Luxardo did not respond to several requests from The Post for comment on any existing ties to Russia, but Instagram posts from a Moscow-based liquor distributor suggest some Luxardo products are still available there. Yevgeny Babiy, 20, a bartender at Champagnella, a pizza restaurant and bar in Kyiv, still has a bottle of Martini extra dry vermouth on display behind his bar. "It's kind of a joke because it's empty and no one can order it," he said. In general, Babiy said, his bar has tried to replace brands that still do business in Russia. "But it's kind of complicated," he said. "Frankly speaking, we are not going to stop these companies from making money in Russia if they want to. … All companies who on a moral basis wanted to leave Russia have already left." At a bar next door, Aperol, Martini and Campari were all on display. When a Post reporter asked in Ukrainian to speak to the bartenders about how they felt selling the products, their manager refused. "They're not going to talk to you, because they're just the workforce," she replied in Russian. "When everything is gone, we will deal with that." Not everyone in Ukraine is paying attention to the politics of intoxicants. On a recent evening in the city of Kryvyi Rih, Yana Ovdii, 31, and her friend Natasha Polyakova, 46, sat down in an upscale hotel restaurant and each ordered an Aperol Spritz - not knowing about the backlash against Campari. The pair had gotten together to try to cheer up, they said, because Polyakova's husband had just been mobilized. Her 24-year-old son was already in the military, and she was scared she might lose them both. "This time is difficult," Ovdii said. For some bartenders, ensuring that the products are not for sale feels personal. Ilya Petrovskiy, 26, a bartender at Malevich, a drinking spot in a bustling part of Kyiv, said brands that still operate in Russia were being phased out. The only Bacardi product Malevich still has on its shelves is Oakheart spiced rum. Once the bottle runs out, "we have no intention to place any more orders," Petrovskiy said. The bar has also renamed its "White Russian" cocktail a "Dead Russian" and donates all proceeds from purchases of it to the Ukrainian military. "Being Ukrainian, being in a country where we're at war … I don't want me or the bar where I work to support these brands with any money," he said. Lavrukhin, the bartender at Squat 17B, moved into the bar last year when Russian forces advanced on Kyiv. He and other employees slept side by side on the floor and spent their days making petrol bombs, anticipating Russian tanks potentially rolling through the streets of Kyiv. They took turns guarding the door with a machete and a shovel. After the Kyiv region was liberated and the bar reopened, they decided to do whatever they could to support the war - donating to the military and boycotting brands still present in Russia. They know their effort is small but hope other bars in Europe will follow suit. Any boycott of products still sold in Russia "is in our favor," Lavrukhin said. "It's more emphasis on Ukraine." © 2023 The Washington Post. Sign up for the Today's Worldview newsletter here.

Belarus diktator Lukasjneko säger själv att hans förhandlande under Wagnerupproret förhindrade att ”slaviskt blod” spilldes. Men något tack kan han knappast vänta sig, skriver Der Spiegel. – Belarus är det sista hörn där det imperium Putin drömmer om faktiskt fungerar, säger journalisten Jakub Biernat till tidningen. Alexander Lukashenko managed to shine as a mediator in Putin's conflict with the Wagner Group. That triumph, though, should not obscure the fact that the Belarusian ruler is nothing more than a vassal of Moscow. By Jan Puhl 4 July, 2023 The Embraer Legacy 600 is a private jet for dignified business trips. And mercenary leader Yevgeny Prigozhin is also a fan of the aircraft. His plane, call sign RA-02795, touched down at the Machulishchy air base near Minsk at 7:40 a.m. local time a week ago Tuesday. The fact that Prigozhin was even allowed to escape to Belarus with his life was part of a deal brokered by Belarusian dictator Alexander Lukashenko after the Wagner rebellion over the weekend of June 24. In doing so, he claimed proudly, he prevented the spilling of "Slavic blood." Belarusian media outlets proudly crowed that Russian leader Vladimir Putin had spoken to Lukashenko on the phone three times that weekend. "I'll be quite honest with you – at first, I didn't pay much attention to all of this," he said during an address to military officials and other dignitaries at his palace long after it was all over. The Russian president, he said, called him on Saturday morning. "I advised Putin not to rush into anything," Lukashenko continued, sounding a bit as though he wasn't an autocrat dependent on Moscow's grace and speaking to one of the most powerful men in the world, but a wise father counselling his hot-tempered son in an attempt to prevent a temper tantrum. Lukashenko said Putin complained to him that Prigozhin wasn't even answering his calls and that there was no point in talking to him. "OK, just wait. I will try to contact Prigozhin," Lukashenko claims to have replied. In his version of events, it sounds like he practically single-handedly prevented the situation from escalating into full-scale combat. Lukashenko, of all people, is claiming to have played a decisive role in finding a temporary solution to the power struggle between Putin and Prigozhin. Indeed, it sounds almost as though the Belorussian leader, dismissed for years as a mere vassal of the Kremlin, is trying to profit from the chaos in neighboring Russia. Is he seeking to break free of Russia's tight embrace? Is Lukashenko the ultimate beneficiary of the mutiny? It seems unlikely that he had as much influence on the negotiations between Putin and Prigozhin as he is claiming. The actual consultations themselves were reportedly led by an acolyte of the Russian president. Lukashenko, by virtue of his office as head of state, at best upgraded the conversation in terms of protocol, according to reports. Prigozhin, after all, doesn't speak to just anyone – there has to be a president involved, even if he is Putin's vassal. Lukashenko has been in power in Belarus for 29 years. With his Soviet nostalgia and his planned economy prescriptions, the West initially regarded him as a post-communist oddity. But it was clear early on: He's a man who is willing to trudge over dead bodies to secure his rule. Since then, his regime has become ever more repressive, his population increasingly desperate. On top of that, his economy has collapsed and his dependence on Russia has grown – all because he has no other partner in Europe. He destroyed his international reputation when he rigged elections and cracked down on the opposition. When Putin recently announced that he was even planning on moving nuclear missiles to Belarus, it was certainly not meant as a boost to Lukashenko's lapdog status. Although the Belarusian pretends to have a say in when these weapons are used, the truth is that the launch codes are in the hands of Putin and his generals. William Alberque of the International Institute for Strategic Studies has described it as a "slow motion annexation" of Belarus. Increasingly, Lukashenko is becoming a mere figurehead for Putin: He might have a fancy title, but he doesn't really have any power. Lukashenko's former culture minister Pavel Latushka, who now lives in Warsaw and is a member of the political opposition in exile, says: "He is nothing more than a vassal of Moscow. His glory after the Prigozhin deal lasted only three minutes – a sham triumph." How long this triumph will really last, and whether it could be the beginning of an attempt at emancipation or the exact opposite, remains to be seen. Indeed, it is still unclear what Belarus can expect from mutineer Prigozhin, a guest who could still cause major problems for Lukashenko in his country. Latushka estimates that as many as 8,000 Wagner Group fighters may ultimately follow Prigozhin to Belarus. Most of them are former prisoners. This large number of fighters, many of them coarsened by the war, is an extreme security risk and is unlikely to do anything to improve Lukashenko's reputation, which is already rock bottom among the population. Belarusian political scientist Valery Karbalevich believes that Lukashenko is certainly garnering significant satisfaction from his current ability to pose as Putin's savior. But: "Lukashenko has absolute no use for a military unit that he doesn't control." Indeed, if Wagner troops were to use Lukashenko's country as a jumping off point for a future attack on Ukraine, Lukashenko would find himself drawn even deeper into the war. Thus far, it has seemed that he has wanted to avoid such a fate. The few polls that are available provide a clear picture: The majority of Belarusians bear no grudge against their neighbors, and it is unlikely that they are buying into the Russian propaganda about the supposedly fascist government in Kyiv. If Lukashenko weren't such a brutal dictator, it would almost be a tragic story of how he is desperately trying to break free from Russia's grip. For years, he rode a seesaw course between Moscow and Brussels: He offered a slight opening now and then, a little less repression, a few critical jabs in the direction of Moscow – and seemed to be interested in better relations with the West in return. But the European Union was never convinced. Over the years, sanctions from Brussels grew harsher, step by step. Lukashenko experienced one last triumphant moment in 2014 and 2015. He invited leaders from Russia, Ukraine, Germany and France to his swanky palace in Minsk for conciliation talks. But the agreements reached during those negotiations, Minsk I and II, never really settled the conflict in the Donbas region. And once Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022, they became worthless. Today, Belarus resembles a black hole in the middle of Europe. Very little information leaks out, and even Belarusian exile broadcaster Belsat in Warsaw is able to report very little from the country. The opposition estimates the number of political prisoners in the country at around 2,000. Fear paralyzes Belarusians; even months later, one can be held accountable for online postings that run astray of the regime. Any kind of dissenting opinion can be considered "terrorism" or "inciting public disorder" and can be punished with draconian measures. The regime's oppression reached one of its peaks in May 2021. That's when Belarusian jets forced a Ryanair vacation plane to land in Minsk. On board were opposition blogger Roman Protasevich and his girlfriend. Both were arrested and sentenced to long prison terms – and recently given sudden pardons. Protashevich had stopped making critical comments after a temporary release. "The message is clear," says Ale ś Zarembiuk , who heads the Belarusian House in Warsaw, a cultural center of Belarusians in exile. "Lukashenko is saying: I'll get you wherever you are – but if you keep quiet, you'll have a chance at mercy. I am the source of justice." In Soviet style, Lukashenko is trying to get inflation under control and has simply banned price increases. Nonetheless, economists are estimating currency devaluation at around 15 percent. In 2022 alone, gross domestic product fell by almost 5 percent, the country's worst economic crisis since the 1990s. Belarus is only surviving because because Russia is supplying gas and goods. But not everyone in the country is starving: Lukashenko isn't an absolute ruler. He relies primarily on the security apparatus, military officials, intelligence services and police. They're paid above-average wages or given preference, for example, when looking for housing. To that end, the dictator has cultivated a group of loyal oligarchs whom he supplies with state contracts. In return, one built Lukashenko a villa in the pristine forests near the Polish border with a helipad and a man-made lake for swimming. Another set up a private clinic for Lukashenko's family with state-of-the-art medical technology. At least this is how a dissident who fled to Poland describes the system surrounding the dictator. He calls the security apparatus "highly corrupt." "There are about 1,000 people who are above the law," the dissident says, asking that he not be quoted by name. Even Poland, a European Union member state, doesn't feel safe from Lukashenko's grasp. "It is economic hardship and fear that has atomized our society. No one trusts anyone anymore." Recently, Lukashenko got an invite from Moscow to the celebrations commemorating the victory in World War II. He obviously wasn't well – he seemed waxy and absent, and was driven around in an electric car. After that, he wasn't seen in public for several days. Lukashenko is 68, overweight, and obviously doesn't pay much attention to his health. During the pandemic, he recommended vodka, sauna sessions and tractor rides to combat the coronavirus. Many observers wonder if the regime would collapse with Lukashenko's death. But experts like the Polish journalist Jakub Biernat don't believe that will happen. He says there are too many people in the country who benefit from the existing system. The people within the security apparatus could never allow an opening, because then they would possibly have to reckon with being prosecuted themselves. Most importantly, Biernat says, Russia would never allow its western outpost to become more democratic. "Belarus is the last corner where the Russian empire Putin dreams of is still functioning. And it is a model for what Ukraine will face if it loses the war: repression and dependency." It's possible that one of Lukashenko's sons would succeed him as president. The eldest, Viktor, is already on international sanctions lists for human rights violations; the second, Dmitry, is deeply connected to the system as an entrepreneur; and the youngest, Nikolai, was allowed to appear at his father's side in a tailored Soviet-style uniform as a child. A succession to the throne along dynastic lines, as in North Korea, for example, wouldn't surprise anyone in Minsk. Lukashenko, too, acknowledged in passing just how fragile his rule is. In his speech last Tuesday, he said: "If Russia collapses, we will be lying under the rubble and we will all die." © 2023 Der Spiegel. Distributed by The New York Times Licensing Group. Read the original article at Der Spiegel.

Det var i förra veckan som den ukrainska antikorruptionsmyndigheten satte upp livsmedelsjätten Mondelez, som bland annat ligger bakom Marabou, på sin svarta lista över företag som de anser bidrar till den ryska krigskassan.

För TT förklarade Jakob Hedenskog, som är analytiker vid Centrum för Östeuropastudier vid Utrikespolitiska institutet, myndighetens beslut såhär:

"De har tre fabriker där och bidrar genom tillverkning i Ryssland till att betala skatt till den ryska statskassan. Eftersom Ryssland är en krigsekonomi går pengarna på ett eller annat sätt till att finansiera Rysslands krigföring i Ukraina med det yttersta målet att utplåna Ukraina som en stat och nation."

"Många som känner att de inte kan köpa Marabou"

När nyheten kom uppgav Torbjörn Becker vid Handelshögskolan att beslutet kunde slå hårt mot Mondelez varumärken. 

– Det är nog många svenska konsumenter som känner att de inte kan köpa Marabou på fredagskvällen nu, sa han till TT. 

Och i sociala medier lät kritiken inte vänta på sig.

"Ni får lära er den hårda vägen"

I kommentarsfältet under ett inlägg på Marabous Facebook-sida, där man uppmanas swisha en chokladask till sin mamma inför mors dag, får Mondelez hård kritik. 

"Varför fortsätter ni att stödja de ryska krigsbrotten genom att finnas i Ryssland och ge skattepengar till det ryska krigsmaskineriet?"

"Marabou, Toblerone, Milka, O’boy, Oreo och Philadelphia är varumärken som Putin gillar. Företaget bakom, Mondelez, göder Putins krigsmaskineri. Varför skulle jag vilja köpa choklad av ett företag som helt saknar moralisk kompass?"

"Man skulle ju kunnat tro att företag lärt sig något av Absolut vodkas misstag, men tydligen så lär man sig bara när det är den egna inkomsten som påverkas. Antar att ni får lära er den hårda vägen."

Foto: Skärmavbild/Facebook/Marabou Kunderna säger sig bojkotta Marabou

Flera personer uppger dessutom att de framöver kommer att bojkotta chokladjätten och välja andra varumärken.

"Varför stödjer ni Putins krigsbrott? Blir enbart Fazer i fortsättningen för min del."

"Blir Fazer som lördagsgodis i fortsättningen."

"Har vana att köpa en Marabou på fredagar men aldrig mer. Nu blev det en Fazer istället. Hade en diskussion med några andra kunder på Ica vilka snabbt lämnade tillbaka sina Marabou produkter när de insåg att de indirekt stöttade Putin."

"Självklart bojkott tills ni lämnar Ryssland."

"Köp Fazer."

"Nu är det stopp för min del att köpa Marabou-produkter."

"Så tråkigt att behöva välja bort sin favoritchoklad men hellre det än att känna den beska bismaken av krig."

"Bojkotta Marabou!"

"Bojkott så länge ni stöder Rysslands krigsekonomi."

"Tack och hejdå Marabou. Det finns så många andra att välja om man vill ha lite godis."

"Inget mer från Marabou för min del förrän ni slutar handla med Ryssland. Skäms på er, Marabou."

Foto: Skärmavbild/Facebook/Marabou Mondelez: "Säljer inga produkter som tillverkats i Ryssland"

När Nyheter24 kontaktar Mondelez för en kommentar kring kritiken mot företaget hänvisar de till ett uttalande man gjort tidigare till TT. 

"Vi säljer inga produkter i Norden som tillverkats i Ryssland. Mondelez Sverige har ingen direktexport till Ryssland", skrev man då.

Det svenska kosmetikabolaget Oriflame, som 2019 köptes ut från börsen av grundarfamiljen af Jochnick, har utsett sin nya vd efter 18 år med veteranen Magnus Brännström: Anna Malmhake, som bland annat har varit vd för Absolut Vodka.