The world is negotiating a plastics treaty, but behind the talk of pollution and cleanup lies a deeper battle over production cuts. At stake is whether governments will confront the fossil-fuelled expansion of plastic, or let the treaty become a glorified waste management plan. Nowhere is this tension more visible than in Asia, where countries are caught between rising petrochemical ambitions and the mounting toll of plastic pollution. This regional surge in plastic production is unfolding alongside mounting public concern over waste imports, environmental degradation, and global calls for binding production limits.
China alone accounts for 32 per cent of global plastic production, with a polymer capacity exceeding 130 million tonne (MT) per year. The country is expected to account for almost 29 pc of the 40 pc of the global petrochemical capacity addition projected by 2030. India, meanwhile, produced 13.7 MT of polymers in FY2022–23 and imported 3.9 MT while preparing to double its petrochemical capacity by 2030 under an aggressive industrial policy. Thailand, with a capacity of ~11 MT per year, exported $7.2 billion worth of plastics in 2022 and plans to enforce a ban on plastic waste imports starting this year, having imported over 1.1 MT of waste between 2018 and 2021. South Korean manufacturers, with a production base of ~20 MT/year, have seen their revenues shrink as self-sufficiency rose in their key market, China.
Indonesia, currently producing 7 MT of polymers a year, is undergoing a petrochemical boom, with new projects expected to raise capacity to over 9 MT/year by 2029, even as it received ~190,000 tonnes of plastic waste in 2024. Malaysia, producing ~2.5–3 MT per year, exported $4 billion worth of plastic goods in 2022 and it remains the world's second-largest importer of plastic waste from the EU.
These countries are navigating a strategic contradiction in the treaty negotiations. While they rightly demand financial support and policy space to meet development goals, many are also scaling up petrochemical production, producing goods for global consumers while struggling with environmental costs at home.
This tension reflects a broader structural trap. Without major changes to global rules and market incentives, these countries risk being stuck in low-value, high-pollution roles — making plastics, exporting cheap packaging, and handling other countries’ waste.
The petrochemical paradox
The most recent draft text of the plastics treaty offers many hopeful ingredients: lifecycle framing, just transition language, plastic products/chemicals and some provisions on production, design, and waste trade. But it also leaves many crucial gaps — most notably, its failure to make plastic production limits mandatory. This positioning was primarily driven by a handful of petro states which have held the negotiations to ransom over the provisions on global production limits. The reasoning – we need plastics for economic growth. Several other countries with petrochemical ambition also joined the chorus.
However, recent reports show that the plastics and petrochemical industry is entering a dangerous phase of overcapacity, with production rising even as demand stagnates. For example, as much as 24 pc of the global ethylene capacity is now under some threat of permanent closure. South Korea’s petrochemical giants are slashing output amid market saturation. Still, investments continue to pour into new plants designed to make plastic feedstocks owing mostly to the shale gas boom in the US and China’s quest for self-sufficiency.
The problem is that this growth is not aligned with sustainable demand trends. It is increasingly driven by fossil fuel overproduction, feedstock arbitrage (producing plastics in low-cost regions and exporting them globally, regardless of actual demand), and an industry push to create demand for materials that the world doesn't need.
The waste trap
For too long, global policy has treated plastic pollution as a downstream issue —something to be managed only after it becomes waste. This framing has persisted throughout the treaty negotiations, often reinforced by some major plastic-producing countries that prioritise provisions on waste management infrastructure, technology transfer, and capacity building over upstream production limits. While these elements are important, they are also politically convenient, aligning with domestic industrial interests. But this logic is self-defeating.
Building better drains cannot solve a flood, and plastic pollution cannot be solved by asking society to manage its waste while global petrochemical corporations continue to pump out more plastic.
Even with the best recycling systems in the world, only 9 pc of plastic waste is ever actually recycled. As a result, wealthier nations have historically exported their plastic waste to Asia. After China’s 2018 Green Fence policy, imports surged in countries like Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, and the Philippines, amounting to over USD 10.7 billion between 1988 and 2017. Most of it ends up in landfills, incinerators, or informal dumps. And the new wave of single-use flexible packaging is functionally unrecyclable, especially in countries with limited infrastructure.
What the treaty must do
A treaty fit for the purpose must be bold enough to cap virgin plastic production, especially of polymers used in short-lived and low-utility applications. These caps must be binding, equitably distributed, and subject to enforceable timelines.
It must also eliminate toxic chemicals used in plastics, regulate international trade in plastic feedstocks and low-value products; track and report national production and consumption footprints, to name a few. These are not radical demands; they are pragmatic, science-backed measures, many of which echo precedents in treaties like the Montreal Protocol and Minamata Convention. Reuse and refill systems must also be integrated into treaty design, supported by common international standards and local innovation—such as India’s or Indonesia’s emerging reuse startups.
The plastics treaty represents the most significant opportunity in a generation to re-imagine our material economy. But it is not, in itself, a beacon. It is a mirror — reflecting both the limits of what is politically possible today, and the immensity of what is morally necessary.