South Korea turns to Russian naphtha as chip supply chain faces Middle East crisis


When Iran effectively closed the Strait of Hormuz in late February, choking off the corridor through which a fifth of the world’s oil and gas flows, the immediate consequences were predictable: crude prices spiked, energy markets convulsed, and geopolitical analysts reached for their most alarming adjectives. What fewer people anticipated was how quickly the crisis would travel up the petrochemical chain and land, with considerable force, on Asia’s semiconductor industry.

South Korea, home to Samsung and SK Hynix, the two companies that between them control roughly 70 per cent of the global DRAM market and 80 per cent of high-bandwidth memory production, finds itself at the sharpest end of this disruption. The country imports about 45 per cent of its naphtha, a critical petrochemical feedstock, and roughly 77 per cent of those imports have historically arrived from the Middle East. That supply line is now, for all practical purposes, severed.

On Monday, South Korea’s Ministry of Trade, Industry and Resource confirmed the import of 27,000 tonnes of Russian naphtha, the country’s first such purchase since the outbreak of the US-Israel war with Iran. The buyer was LG Chem, the country’s largest chemical company, which directed the shipment to the Daesan industrial complex in South Chungcheong Province. The transaction was made possible by a temporary US sanctions waiver permitting Russian cargoes already in transit to complete sales and offloading between 12 March and 11 April, with Washington confirming that non-dollar payments would not trigger secondary sanctions.

The purchase is not a strategic pivot so much as an act of triage. LG Chem had already been forced to shut down the No. 2 naphtha cracker at its Yeosu complex, an 800,000 tonne-per-year facility, after it could no longer secure sufficient feedstock. It is not alone. Yeochun NCC has declared force majeure on its contracts, and both Lotte Chemical and LG Chem have warned customers that further declarations may follow. Industry officials say inventories across South Korea’s petrochemical sector have dwindled to roughly two weeks.

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The crisis prompted Seoul to take its most aggressive supply-side intervention in years. Since Friday, South Korea has enforced a ban on naphtha exports, requiring refiners to redirect the roughly 11 per cent of domestically produced naphtha that was previously shipped abroad. The government has also taken powers to order production and allocation of naphtha under emergency provisions.

The semiconductor connection

Naphtha’s role in chipmaking is less obvious than its role in plastics, but no less consequential. Its derivatives, olefins and aromatics, are processed into the high-purity chemicals, solvents, and plastics required for chip fabrication, including photoresist coatings used in circuit patterning and cleaning agents essential to wafer processing. Ethylene, produced from naphtha cracking, is sometimes described as the “rice of industry” in South Korea for its ubiquity across manufacturing.

But naphtha is only one thread in a broader web of disruption. South Korea’s industry ministry has identified 14 items in semiconductor supply chains facing severe exposure from the Middle East conflict. Among the most critical is helium, used to cool silicon wafers during fabrication and widely considered to have no viable substitute. Qatar, which accounts for more than a third of global helium production, halted output at its 77 million tonne-per-annum facility on 2 March after Iranian drone strikes forced the Ras Laffan complex offline. In 2025, South Korea imported nearly 65 per cent of its helium from Qatar.

Bromine, another essential element used in circuit formation and chip inspection equipment, presents a similarly concentrated risk. Approximately two thirds of the world’s bromine comes from Israel and Jordan, and South Korea currently sources 90 per cent of its supply from Israel.

Beyond South Korea

The vulnerability is not uniquely Korean, though South Korea’s exposure is the most acute. Japan sources roughly 42 per cent of its naphtha from the Middle East, and several Japanese petrochemical firms have announced production cuts. Taiwan, which manufactures approximately 90 per cent of the world’s most advanced semiconductors through TSMC, imports about 97 per cent of its energy needs, with roughly a third of its liquefied natural gas linked to Middle Eastern suppliers.

For now, the major chipmakers are maintaining a posture of cautious reassurance. SK Hynix has said it has diversified its helium supply and holds sufficient inventory. TSMC has acknowledged it is monitoring the situation but does not currently anticipate a notable impact from the Qatar production halt. GlobalFoundries has said mitigation plans are in place.

The reassurances may prove justified if the conflict is short-lived. But the naphtha crisis arrives at a moment when the semiconductor industry can least afford supply disruptions. Samsung and SK Hynix posted record performances in 2025, driven by unprecedented demand for AI memory chips, and both companies had planned aggressive production expansions for 2026 to feed the insatiable appetite of AI infrastructure buildouts. The irony is that the same geopolitical instability threatening chip supply chains is simultaneously accelerating demand: companies are spending billions on AI data centres, driving the very memory chip hunger that makes disruption so costly.

By 25 March, spot naphtha prices in Singapore had breached $1,000 per metric tonne, a roughly 60 per cent increase from a month earlier. Northeast Asian benchmarks were assessed even higher, between $1,010 and $1,050 per tonne. Analysts at consulting firm Kornbluth Helium Consulting have estimated a minimum two-to-three-month shutdown of helium production, with four to six months before the supply chain returns to normal.

The 11 April deadline on the US sanctions waiver looms large. After that date, the legal pathway for Russian naphtha imports closes unless Washington extends the exemption, and the 27,000 tonnes LG Chem has secured will not last long. South Korea’s chip industry, which powered a record year in 2025 on the back of the AI boom, now faces a question it never expected to confront: not whether it can make enough chips, but whether it can source the raw materials and energy to keep the lights on at all.



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Do you ever walk past a person on the streets exhibiting mental health issues and wonder what happened to their family? I have a brother—or at least, I used to. I worry about where he is and hope he is safe. He hasn’t taken my call since 2014.

James and his brother as young children playing together before his brother became sick. James is on the right and his brother is on the left.

James and his brother as young children playing together before his brother became sick. James is on the right and his brother is on the left.

When I was 13, I had a very bad day. I was in the back of the car, and what I remember most was the world-crushing sound violently panging off every surface: he was pounding his fists into the steering wheel, and I worried it would break apart. He was screaming at me and my mother, and I remember the web of saliva and tears hanging over his mouth. His eyes were red, and I knew this day would change everything between us. My brother was sick.

Nearly 20 years later, I still have trouble thinking about him. By the time we realized he was mentally ill, he was no longer a minor. The police brought him to a facility for the standard 72-hour hold, where he was diagnosed with paranoid delusional schizophrenia. Concluding he was not a danger to himself or others, they released him.

There was only one problem: at 18, my brother told the facility he was not related to us and that we were imposters. When they let him out, he refused to come home.

My parents sought help and even arranged for medication, but he didn’t take it. Before long, he disappeared.

My brother’s decline and disappearance had nothing to do with the common narratives about drug use or criminal behavior. He was sick. By the time my family discovered his condition, he was already 18 and legally independent from our custody.

The last time he let me visit, I asked about his bed. I remember seeing his dirty mattress on the floor beside broken glass and garbage. I also asked about the laptop my parents had gifted him just a year earlier. He needed the money, he said—and he had maxed out my parents’ credit card.

In secret from my parents, I gave him all the cash I had saved. I just wanted him to be alright.

My parents and I tried texting and calling him; there was no response except the occasional text every few weeks. But weeks turned into months.

Before long, I was graduating from high school. I begged him to come. When I looked in the bleachers, he was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done wrong.

The last time I heard from him was over the phone in 2014. I tried to tell him about our parents and how much we all missed him. I asked him to be my brother again, but he cut me off, saying he was never my brother. After a pause, he admitted we could be friends. Making the toughest call of my life, I told him he was my brother—and if he ever remembers that, I’ll be there, ready for him to come back.

I’m now 32 years old. I often wonder how different our lives would have been if he had been diagnosed as a minor and received appropriate care. The laws in place do not help families in my situation.

My brother has no social media, and we suspect he traded his phone several years ago. My family has hired private investigators over the years, who have also worked with local police to try to track him down.

One private investigator’s report indicated an artist befriended my brother many years ago. When my mother tried contacting the artist, they said whatever happened between them was best left in the past and declined to respond. My mom had wanted to wish my brother a happy 30th birthday.

My brother grew up in a safe, middle-class home with two parents. He had no history of drug use or criminal record. He loved collecting vintage basketball cards, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream, and listening to Motown music. To my parents, there was no smoking gun indicating he needed help before it was too late.

The next time you think about a person screaming outside on the street, picture their families. We need policies and services that allow families to locate and support their loved ones living with mental illness, and stronger protections to ensure that individuals leaving facilities can transition into stable care. Current laws, including age-based consent rules, the limits of 72-hour holds, and the lack of step-down or supported housing options, leave too many families without resources when a serious diagnosis occurs.

Governments and lawmakers need to do better for people like my brother. As someone who thinks about him every day, I can tell you the burden is too heavy to carry alone.

James Finney-Conlon is a concerned brother and mental health advocate. He can be reached at [email protected].



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