Captain Aguilera and filicide: A group-analytic commentary

Introduction

Sir Paul Preston recently asked me for a psychiatric opinion on a dual filicide committed by Captain Gonzalo de Aguilera (a count, landowner, cavalryman and press officer for the Francoist army during the Spanish Civil War). He tragically killed his two children in 1964. As a response to Preston’s request, this paper will have some elements of a ‘psychological autopsy’, but I will avoid entering the dangerous territory of delivering a psychiatric diagnosis by proxy.

The British psychiatrist and psychoanalyst John Bowlby (1969) made it explicit that the internal world of a person is necessarily configurated through mental representations of interactions and attachment relationships with other people and with groups, as well as with the places where the person was born and where he or she has lived.

Following on from Bowlby’s approach (Ezquerro, 2015, 2019), I will examine Aguilera’s life circumstances and whereabouts; his attachment relationships; his world within and around him. I shall specifically explore the influence that Aguilera’s group attachment history (as well as the brutal ideology and violent group dynamics he was exposed to) may have had on his personality development, his bizarre thinking and his murderous behaviour.

Captain Aguilera, the man

Gonzalo de Aguilera was born in Madrid on 26 December 1886, out of wedlock, to an aristocratic Spanish father (Don Agustín de Aguilera) and a commoner English mother (Mary Ada Monro). Being an illegitimate child was a huge social scandal at the time, and caused significant problems in the short and long term. Aguilera and his mother were not really accepted by the aristocratic paternal family group. That happened in spite of the fact that his mother fabricated a false background for herself, pretending to be the descendant of an aristocratic Scottish family (Preston, 2020a).

Aguilera was, de facto, a hybrid British-Spanish character. However, his greater exposure to the Spanish culture, his paternal aristocratic background, his friendship with King Alfonso XIII, and the political events in his country of birth pushed him to consider himself primarily a Spaniard with a strong, inflated sense of entitlement. In order to explore how this might have unfolded, it is necessary to look at a constellation of relationships and roles in Aguilera’s nuclear and extended family, as well as his educational, military and wider social environment. I shall start with his father’s profile as an uncertain aristocrat.

Don Agustín comes across as an uninspiring character, when compared with other members of the family. Arias González (2013) provided key biographical notes on him. At 18, in 1874, he started training at the Cavalry Academy in Valladolid. He was a poor student and ended being last in his year group; which certainly did not help with his self-esteem. His military career was patchy; he was often on leave for unclear reasons. In 1876, Don Agustín became the 10^th Count of Alba de Yeltes.

Aguilera was seven when his sister (‘Nena’) was born, in 1894. For a child with experiences of illegitimacy and rejection by the paternal family, the arrival of his sister could well have been perceived by him as a threat. To make things emotionally worse for him, the following year he was sent (at the age of eight) to a private boarding school in England (where he stayed for the next nine years).

The very year of Nena’s birth, Don Agustín had gone to fight as a volunteer in the Cuban War of Independence and was absent from the family for five years, until he was repatriated in 1899, having been held prisoner by the US army for a year, following defeat. There are good grounds to believe that, as a confused child at his English school, Aguilera may have felt displaced by his sister and abandoned by his parents.

Soon after his repatriation from Cuba (where death had been around for him) Don Agustín hurriedly married Mary Ada almost secretly, in 1899, without the royal consent normally granted to members of the aristocracy. As a result, he went through the further social humiliation of losing his title as a Count. That happened 13 years after Aguilera’s birth. In 1904 Don Agustín took a ten-year leave from the army. During that period, he spent a lot of time travelling across Europe with Mary Ada and their daughter Nena; which may have aggravated Aguilera’s feelings of rejection, displacement and abandonment (Arias González, 2013).

Following his lack of academic success in England and Germany, Aguilera spent two years of lazy and unproductive life in Madrid before joining (as his father had done) the Valladolid Cavalry Academy in 1908, aged 21. He was as poor a student as his father had been.

In 1912, Aguilera volunteered to serve in the colonial war in Morocco, maybe, in a quest for adventure and glory (as his father did when he went to Cuba also as a volunteer). He was posted back to Spain the following year (Preston, 2020a). He then lived most of the time in Madrid, where he was a keen polo player and developed a comfortable, uninspiringly privileged life style similar to his father’s.

Aguilera’s idle routine was dramatically disturbed in June 1916 when, as part of a humanitarian project supported by King Alfonso XIII, he was appointed as a junior military attaché to assist the Spanish Embassy in Berlin with the task of supporting war prisoners. His secret lover, Magdalena, had become pregnant a few months earlier. She stayed in Spain and their son Gonzalo was born in December. As Aguilera’s job in the First World War lasted 18 months, he did not meet his son for the first year of his life and only saw him infrequently from then on.

On his return from Germany in November 1917, Aguilera tried to keep his relationship with Magdalena and their son Gonzalo secret from his father. It eventually resulted in yet another social scandal, which mirrored Don Agustín’s own experience with Mary Ada at the time he was born. Aguilera did not significantly acknowledge Gonzalo and could not form a meaningful attachment relationship with him (Arias González, 2013). A partly unwanted child himself, he did not show feelings of really loving or wanting his son.

In July 1919, Aguilera was part of the unit that escorted King Alfonso XIII during the summer holidays and he was consequently promoted to Captain. Don Agustín died in December 1919. Alfonso XIII had reinstated his title in 1910, so Aguilera inherited it as the 11^th Count of Alba y Yeltes. Like his father, he spent lengthy periods of leave abroad and delayed getting married for some 19 years after the birth of Gonzalo; until 1935, in fact. Ten years before the wedding, Aguilera’s second son (Agustín) was born whilst he was on leave (Arias González, 2013).

In 1927, Aguilera passed into the reserve and was seconded to the military household of King Alfonso XIII, with whom he developed a loyal friendship. With the arrival of the Republic, in 1931, the King went into exile and Aguilera retired from the army because of not wanting to vow loyalty to the Republican government.

The mastermind of the military coup was General Emilio Mola (Thomas, 1961). He gave Aguilera the post of press officer with the task of supervising the movements and reports of foreign correspondents (Preston, 2020b). Aguilera was delighted at his new propaganda role, and particularly vociferous in proclaiming that communism was an immense ‘malignant tumour’ which had to be removed.

On the first day of the Civil War, he had actually claimed that (as a pre-emptive retaliatory measure) he had lined up all his labourers, selected six of them, and shot them to teach a lesson to the others – something that, according to Preston (2004), was untrue. However, there is evidence that another landowner had actually killed four labourers at random (Preston, 2020a).

Only during the Civil War was Aguilera able to transiently experience a sense of belonging as ‘full’ member of a group. His job as an ‘intellectual’ propagandist for the insurgents made him believe he was an authoritative (as well as authoritarian) figure and a champion of what he called the true, legitimate Spain.

Preston (2020a) provided an excellent description of Aguilera’s life after the war. He retired completely from the army and returned to his estates and his books, but could not reconcile himself to civilian life. In the 1940s, he received huge fines for declaring himself an enemy of Franco’s regime (as he did not reinstate the King) and for failing to declare his wheat production.

Interestingly, he wrote two books. The first, on the physics of the atom, was published in 1946. Despite his anti-clerical attitudes, he donated all the profits to the Little Sisters of the Poor. This contrasted with his opinions on the poor low-classes, as an inferior race that had to be exterminated!

The second book, Letters to a Nephew, was written in the late 1940s and early 1950s but did not find a publisher. It is an autobiographical and idiosyncratic piece of work, in which he elaborated on some of the ideas he had thrown at journalists during the war (Preston, 2004).

As he was getting older, Aguilera became increasingly challenging, unpredictably abrasive and ill-tempered. He did not prosper as a writer and was alienated from his two sons. He lost interest in the administration of his lands and left it to Magdalena. He usually treated his farm workers with consideration and generosity, apart from his eruptions of rage (Arias González, 2013).

Aguilera was not a valued figure in Salamanca’s high society. When he attended tertulias (intellectual social-gatherings) his conversation was considered fascinating, although his irritability did not encourage friendship or intimacy of any kind. He had acquaintances among other landowners but hardly had any real friends. He stopped opening letters, which led to a face-to-face confrontation with a tax official in Salamanca to whom (pointing at the pistol that he was carrying) he shouted:

“No one knows what I am capable of doing!” (Aguilera, in Preston, 2020a).

Arias González (2013) reported that, in 1959, he severed his long-held membership of an exclusive club (the Gran Peña) and that he subsequently developed persecution mania. At some point in 1962, he was visited by the tenants of one his estates. He talked ceaselessly for several hours in an agitated state, jumping from one subject to another in an unconnected fashion. He would stop only for coughing fits or to eat some porridge. The tenants left convinced that they had been in the presence of a total lunatic.

Aguilera’s physical and mental health deteriorated rapidly. He contracted pulmonary emphysema which made him pant continually and breathe agonisingly in the midst of great exhaustion (Arias González, 2013). This may have brought back, I can imagine, memories of witnessing soldiers agonising after breathing lethal poison gas during the First World War.

Magdalena became very concerned by his talk of suicide, and by his refusal to allow any decisions to be taken about the running of the estate or the maintenance of the house. By late 1963, she became so fearful of his violent rages that she asked her two sons to return to live at the parental home. Gonzalo and Agustín partly moved back in with their parents and spent as much time as possible watching over their father (Preston, 2020a).

Unfortunately, Aguilera never sought any form of psychotherapy or psychiatric assistance. However, as things were going from bad to worse, the family discussed the possibility of having him legally incapacitated on the grounds of mental impairment. They put the matter into the hands of a lawyer.

Preston (2020a) further reported the circumstances leading to the tragedy. Gonzalo and Agustín rearranged the house to provide their father with a separate apartment with his own television and books. They hid all the many guns and knives he possessed.

At the beginning of August 1964, Aguilera (aged 77) wrote to the judicial authorities protesting that he had been kidnapped and imprisoned by his family. On 28 August, his younger son Agustín (aged 39) went into his father’s room to look for some papers…

At that point, Aguilera complained of sore feet; Agustín knelt to massage his father’s feet. Out of the blue, Aguilera rose up and and shot him in the chest. Mortally wounded, Agustín staggered out of the room.  Alerted by the sound of the shots, the older son Gonzalo (aged 47) came rapidly. Aguilera shot him too and, stepping over his corpse, went in search of Agustín and found him lying dead at the kitchen’s door.

During the Civil War, Aguilera had entertained a theory that all the boot-blacks should be killed. He apparently talked about this to Peter Kemp (an English volunteer on Franco’s side) who reported it in his book Mine Were of Trouble. Aguilera explained to Kemp:

“A chap who squats down on his knees to clean your boots at a café or in the street is bound to be a communist, so why not shoot him right away and be done with it?  No need for a trial – his guilt is self-evident in his profession” (Aguilera, 1937, in Preston, 2020a).

None of his two children was a boot-black or a communist; but I can’t help wondering about what images might have come to Aguilera’s mind when his son Agustín was on his knees massaging his father’s feet.

When she heard the gun shots, Magdalena (aged 72) also came out of her room. Aguilera glared at her, while slowly reloading his revolver; as he started waving it threateningly, his wife locked herself in another room and managed to escape through a window. The Civil Guard arrived soon and Aguilera surrendered with no resistance. When the officers asked him about the dual crime, he responded:

“I killed Agustín because he is not my son and, as for Gonzalo, if I hadn’t killed him, he would have killed me” (Aguilera, 1964, in Preston, 2020a).

Aguilera was arrested and taken to the Salamanca’s psychiatric sanatorium, where he was detained. On his way to the hospital, as he was animatedly doing some idle talking on a number of different subjects, he commented:

“I’m talking to put what had happened out of my mind” (Aguilera, 1964, in Preston, 2020a).

Although some judicial investigations were triggered, Aguilera never stood trial. He remained in hospital reportedly suffering from dementia and severe depression. He was on prescribed drugs for his pulmonary, circulatory and psychiatric problems. He verbally abused the nursing staff (mainly nuns) on a regular basis. On 15 May 1965, as he stopped taking his medication, he died of cardio-respiratory failure in the hospital (Arias González, 2013).

A group culture of unresolved national trauma, racism, scapegoating and violence

In 1898 Spain was shaken by the humiliating defeat of its armada at the hands of the more technologically advanced navy of the United States, a quickly developing and expansionist world power. As a result, most of the last remnants of the Spanish Empire were lost: Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Philippines and Guam, as well as the Mariana, Palau and Caroline islands.

The military defeat and loss of world imperial status caused a profound trauma to Spain’s national psyche. The country was sunk into a collective mental state of shame, anger, mourning and depression. The loss of Cuba was particularly traumatic because of the affinity of peninsular Spaniards with the island, which was seen as another province of Spain (similar to the Canary Islands) rather than as a colony. For generations, within the Spanish socio-political, intellectual and military culture, the whole episode was known as El Desastre (The Disaster).

Aguilera must have absorbed some of the trauma generated by El Desastre from the social unconscious (Hopper, 2003) of a wounded nation and from his aristocratic paternal family (his father was a cavalry officer fighting in Cuba at the time). Subsequently, above all during his military career, Aguilera was exposed to a culture of anger, resentment and revenge; which was manifested by the scapegoating of Moroccan tribesmen (who were massacred during the colonial wars) and of the communists (who were brutally repressed).

In April 1931, the newly-born Second Republic attempted to implement a comprehensive programme of agrarian reform. This saw landowners flouting the new legislation that governed rural labour – as well as locking out unionised labour, either by leaving land uncultivated or by simply refusing work. As an aristocrat, retired army officer and landowner, Aguilera was on the alert.

There is plenty of evidence that Aguilera strongly identified with the ideas and speeches of bloodthirsty Spanish generals such as Francisco Franco, Emilio Mola and Gonzalo Queipo de Llano (Preston, 1993, 2009, 2012). All these sinister characters were closely affected by El Desastre, either directly or through experiences within their families and communities.

In his autobiographic novel Raza (Race), published in 1942, General Franco portrayed a naval hero who was killed in Cuba during the Spanish-American War. Franco’s father had indeed been in Cuba and, although he was not killed then and there, the links with El Desastre are all too obvious.

Franco emphatically declared that the Civil War could have “no other outcome than the triumph of pure and eternal principles over bastard, anti-Spanish ones” (Franco 1938, in Preston, 1999: 2). And, at the end of the war, he promulgated the Law of Political Responsibilities:

“All the parties and political and social groups which belong to the Popular Front [the political-left coalition that had won the Spanish general election in 1936], the separatist organisations, and all those who have opposed the National Movement are declared outside the law” (Franco, 1939, in Landis, 1972: 5).

General Mola was one of the most brutal assassins in the Spanish army. He was directly responsible for the murders of more than 40 thousand civilians in the provinces that he controlled in northern Spain, during the first year of the Civil War. On 19 July 1936, the day after the coup, he addressed a meeting of all alcades (town-hall mayors) of the province of Navarra and told them:

“It is necessary to spread terror. We have to create the impression of mastery eliminating without scruples or hesitation all those who do not think as we do” (Mola, 1936, in Preston, 2020b).

Mola’s hatred of the Second Republic was expressed virulently in a broadcast, in which he stated that “it was born stunted, deformed, bastard; more than a birth, it was an abortion, and as an abortion it was doomed to perish and it perished” (Mola 1937, in Preston, 2020b). In this broadcast, the idea of killing off the Republic, perceived as a ‘bastard’, illegitimate child comes across powerfully as a bizarre metaphor. Aguilera was himself an illegitimate child who ended killing his two illegitimate children.

Another practitioner of massive preventive killings was General Queipo de Llano. At the beginning of the Civil War, Queipo was based in Seville and in charge of operations in southern Spain. He gave instructions to annihilate the leaders of Marxist and communist organisations, as well as a number of affiliates randomly chosen. Under his jurisdiction, more than 45 thousand people were killed and he often celebrated his atrocities in nightly radio talks, in which he expanded the notion that any person who had a ‘red’ idea must be killed (Preston, 2012).

Within the strategy of pre-emptive massive killing, Aguilera often repeated some of the terrorising messages of Franco, Mola and Queipo. He in fact said to John Whitaker (correspondent of the Chicago Daily News):

“It is a race war, not merely a class war. You don’t understand because you don’t realize that there are two races in Spain – a slave race and a ruler race … We’ve got to kill and kill and kill, you understand?” (Aguilera, 1936, in Preston, 2020a).

In addition, Aguilera produced his own ‘theory’ about the problems of Spain, as reported by Charles Foltz (correspondent of the Associated Press):

“Sewers caused all our troubles … Had we no sewers in Madrid, Barcelona and Bilbao, all these ‘red’ leaders would have died in their infancy instead of exciting the rabble and causing good Spanish blood to flow.  When the war is over, we should destroy the sewers” (Aguilera, 1937, in Preston, 2020a).

 An attachment and group-analytic formulation

Captain Aguilera was still a child when the last tangible symbols of the Spanish Empire collapsed in 1898. El Desastre was a symbolic death of centuries of national pride; which became a significant part of his country, his aristocratic family and his own circumstances. As a young child, Aguilera may have found it difficult to understand what was going on around him, within and outside the family.

On the one hand, he could not form a secure attachment with his largely absent father – who did not seem to have been able to show affection towards him. In fact, Don Agustín did not fully accept him as his son, nor did he provide a good paternal role-model for him. Aguilera in turn experienced a reverential fear of his very strict father and behaved in many ways like him. He in fact followed in his father’s footsteps, as he was trying to develop his own individual and group identity.

On the other hand, from the warm and affectionate nature of the later correspondence with his mother, we can infer that he must have been loved by her – though not as securely as she loved her daughter Nena (Arias González, 2013). The mother’s fabrication of a false class-identity (as a reaction to being rejected by Aguilera’s aristocratic clan) added to the identity confusion of her son. I wonder if Aguilera’s compulsive boasting and his erratic snobbery may in part relate to some of the defensive attitudes that he internalised from his mother. Narcissistic snobbery was certainly an established group norm anyway, within the wider aristocratic, landowning and military contexts to which he was constantly exposed.

In terms of his overall attachment history within his family of origin, it would be plausible to suggest that Aguilera’s attachment with his father might have had a predominantly avoidant quality; whilst the attachment with his mother may have had a significantly ambivalent quality. There is also evidence that he avoided any attachment relationship with his sister Nena. He must have felt jealous of her.

In terms of his attachment history within his own family, it would appear that he replicated with his two sons the avoidant-attachment pattern he experienced with his father; whilst the quality of attachment with his wife seemed to have had an ambivalent quality, as it happened with his mother. Within this ambivalence, he from time to time perceived his wife as a secure base – similarly to how he had perceived his mother, at times.

In terms of his group-attachment history, being an illegitimate and partly unwanted child, Aguilera was not really treated as a full member of the aristocracy. He indeed was not a member of the royal family, but cultivated an idealised personal friendship with King Alfonso XIII, possibly in an attempt to mitigate the rejection of his aristocratic family; which further contributed to his inflated sense of entitlement and his snobbism. He tried to develop a military group identity, but was often disregarded by the army.

It is relevant that Aguilera never had an emotionally secure group-attachment experience. He always found it difficult to fit in and was often rejected by the various groups of which he was a part. During the Civil War, he was given a propaganda role that pushed him to form a perverse attachment to a violent group. He was absorbed by the excitement of forming a group attachment with the military rebels – which made him feel that he could take revenge and had power over entire groups of other people.

After the war, Aguilera became expendable and was gradually ostracised, whilst he was isolating himself too. And the more isolated you are the greater the risk to mental health problems. He appeared to have been unable to come to terms with being an illegitimate and partly unwanted child. He was at war with himself, and incapable of working through and integrating the different and often contradictory elements that shaped his tormented personality. I would summarise these unintegrated conflictive features, as follows:

His Spanishness and his Britishness; his aristocracy and his commonality; his exclusive education in England and his uninspiring wealthy complacency; his civilian laziness and his military excitement; his mediocrity and his wish for grandiosity; his intellectual aspirations and his disorganization as a landowner; his Christian beliefs and his anti-clericalism; his depressive moods and his manic states; his intermittent friendliness and generosity towards his peasants and his delinquent tax avoidance leading to open hostility towards tax officials; his hatred of authority figures and his desperate need for role-models of paternal authority; his degrading mistreatment of women and his anxious search for affection from his mother and his wife.

As his physical and mental health deteriorated, Aguilera considered taking his own life. Maybe, his narcissism ‘protected’ him from killing himself, although he eventually lost his wish to live and stopped taking his medication – which accelerated his death.

He certainly frightened Magdalena and lost her as an attachment figure, after which he no longer had any remains of an emotional secure base. The return of his two sons to the parental home may have produced within him a feeling of displacement, similar in a way to the feeling of being displaced by his sister Nena when she was born. I can imagine that he felt jealous of Gonzalo and Agustín for the close attachment they had with their mother.

The pain of feeling abandoned, the anger of feeling jealous, and the shame of feeling like a nobody are some of the most dangerous sources of potential violence. For many murderers, it is better to be bad than not to be at all; so they can become somebody in the eyes of the world.

Fascist regimes portray the enemy as less than human and, in doing so, they weaken the resistance in themselves to killing innocent people and, then, there is nothing to stop them. An ecosystem of group violence (like the one internalised by Aguilera) takes over.

The Spanish Civil War itself was massively filicidal; a true holocaust. Franco and his military machine had as a killing target those whom they called the ‘bastard’ children of their own Fatherland – something that was poignantly mirrored by Captain Aguilera.

Saturn devouring his son by Francisco de Goya, 1823

Conclusion

Filicide is a complex crime, which is often the result of more than a combination of mental health problems and environmental stressors.

In the case of Captain Gonzalo de Aguilera, there were highly contradictory and conflictive elements in his emotionally unstable personality and in his disturbed mind – which were clearly visible and should have attracted a psychotherapeutic intervention. His mental health problems appeared to have been a consequence of cumulative and distinctly unfavourable individual, family and group attachment experiences.

Within these, being an illegitimate and partly unwanted child was a prominent feature – which penetrated deeply into his unconscious and persecuted him as a ghost throughout his life. It is significant that he had two illegitimate children whom he did not really love and with whom he could not form any meaningful attachment relationship. Illegitimacy was a huge scandal in aristocratic circles at the time he and his children were born. In that context, his group attachment history became very difficult.

Aguilera tried to form a secure attachment with a number of groups in his aristocratic, educational, military, landowning, intellectual and monarchic circles to no avail. As a defensive strategy, during the Spanish Civil War, he formed a compensatory perverse group attachment to an autocratic and extremely violent nationalist group – which was struggling to come to terms with the unresolved existential trauma caused by El Desastre. This bloodthirsty (and filicidal) group dynamic had a strong bearing on Aguilera’s bizarre thinking and murderous ideation, and further contributed to his emotional instability and mental disturbance.

In later life, as he was increasingly having unpredictable explosions of rage, isolating himself and talking about suicide, Aguilera should have had a proper psychiatric and risk assessment with a view to receiving specialist psychotherapy possibly combined with psychotropic medication – which may have prevented the tragic murder of his two sons.

Sadly, it is not possible to move the clock back. However, Preston’s exhumation of the case provides a good opportunity for honest group-analytic reflection, which may in turn contribute to confronting the ghosts of the past with a view to achieving a less traumatic sense of closure – a cause that this paper supports.

Acknowledgements

Paul Preston, Daniel Allen, Paul Mallett, Teresa Miguel Martínez and Maria Cañete.

References

Arias González L (2013) Gonzalo de Aguilera Munro XI Conde de Alba de Yeltes (1886-1965). Vidas y radicalismo de un hidalgo heterodoxo. Salamanca, España: Ediciones Universidad de Salamanca.

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Ezquerro A (2015). John Bowlby: The Timeless Supervisor. Attachment: New Directions in Psychotherapy and Relational Psychoanalysis, 9(2), 165-175.

Ezquerro A (2019) The Power of Group Attachment. In: Group Analysis North Open Seminar, University of Manchester, 8 November 2019.

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Landis AH (1972) Spain! The Unfinished Revolution! Baldwin Park, California: Camelot.

Preston P (1993) Franco: A Biography (1995 edition). London: Fontana Press.

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Preston P (2004) The Answer Lies in the Sewers: Captain Aguilera and the Mentality of the Francoist Officer Corps. Science and Society 68(3): 277-312.

Preston P (2009) We Saw Spain Die: Foreign Correspondents in the Spanish Civil War. London: Constable and Robinson.

Preston P (2012) The Spanish Holocaust (2013 edition). London: Harper Press.

Preston P (2020a) Slaves, sewers and Captain Aguilera: Racism, colonialism and sexism in the Mentality of the Nationalist Officer Corps. Draft book chapter [to be published soon].

Preston P (2020b) General Emilio Mola Vidal. Draft book chapter [to be published soon].

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Arturo Ezquerro
Consultant psychiatrist, psychoanalytic psychotherapist and group analyst.
Senior assessor and trainer at the Institute of Group Analysis, and former Head of NHS Medical Psychotherapy Services in Brent, London. He has been granted honorary membership of the World Association of International Studies and of the International Attachment Network for promoting an attachment-based ethos to the understanding of human development, group relations and clinical work. He has over 70 publications in five languages, including Relatos de Apego (Psimática) and Encounters with John Bowlby: Tales of Attachment (Routledge).
arturo.ezquerro@ntlworld.com