The world of conservation and science is mourning the loss of one of its most enduring icons: Dr. Jane Goodall, the groundbreaking primatologist whose intimate observations of chimpanzees reshaped our understanding of animal intelligence and human kinship with the natural world, has died at 91. Goodall passed away peacefully in her sleep on October 1, 2025, in Los Angeles, California, while on a speaking tour for the Jane Goodall Institute. Her death certificate, obtained by TMZ and confirmed by multiple outlets, lists the cause as cardiopulmonary arrest—commonly known as cardiac arrest, where the heart abruptly stops beating. Epilepsy is also noted as a contributing condition, though no autopsy was performed, and the death is classified as natural, reflecting the vulnerabilities of advanced age. Discovered the following morning around 8:30 a.m. in a private Beverly Hills residence where she was staying, Goodall’s passing marks the end of an era defined by tireless advocacy, profound discoveries, and an unyielding optimism for planetary healing.

Born Valerie Jane Morris-Goodall on April 3, 1934, in London, England, Goodall’s childhood fascination with animals—sparked by a stuffed chimpanzee toy named Jubilee, which she cherished until her death—propelled her into a career that blurred the lines between science, activism, and inspiration. At 26, with no formal degree, she ventured to what is now Tanzania’s Gombe Stream National Park in 1960, funded by Louis Leakey, the famed paleoanthropologist who saw in her an unjaded observer. There, armed with nothing but binoculars and boundless curiosity, Goodall immersed herself in the lives of wild chimpanzees, shattering myths that had long confined primates to simplistic stereotypes.

Her revelations were seismic. In 1960, she witnessed chimpanzees fashioning tools—stripping twigs to “fish” for termites—a behavior once thought uniquely human, prompting a rewrite of scientific nomenclature from “man the toolmaker” to “man the tool-user.” Goodall’s work revealed chimps’ complex societies: They formed alliances, waged territorial “wars,” displayed empathy through grooming rituals, and mourned losses with haunting displays of grief. These insights, chronicled in her seminal book In the Shadow of Man (1971) and the groundbreaking National Geographic documentary Miss Goodall and the Wild Chimpanzees (1965), humanized our closest relatives, fueling debates on ethics, conservation, and the blurred boundaries of consciousness. “Chimpanzees are like us in so many ways—loving, brutal, altruistic,” she reflected in a 2020 ABC News interview, her voice a blend of wonder and warning.

Goodall’s fieldwork wasn’t without peril. Isolated in Gombe’s dense forests, she endured malaria, isolation, and a 1975 student kidnapping by poachers that forced her to arm her camp. Yet, her empathy extended beyond chimps: In 1977, she founded the Jane Goodall Institute (JGI), a global nonprofit that has protected over 5 million acres of habitat and empowered 1.5 million youth through the Roots & Shoots program, teaching environmental stewardship in 75 countries. By 2002, the UN named her a Messenger of Peace, a role she filled with globe-trotting vigor—averaging 300 speaking days a year into her 90s. Her 2017 documentary Jane, directed by Brett Morgen, earned two Emmys and introduced her story to new generations, blending archival footage with poignant narration.

Even in her final months, Goodall’s fire burned bright. In January 2025, President Joe Biden awarded her the Presidential Medal of Freedom, lauding her as “a beacon of hope in our fight for the planet.” At the April 2025 Sierra Club Trail Blazers Ball in Los Angeles, she dazzled in a flowing emerald gown, quipping about her “second act” as a global gadfly. Her last public words, in a pre-recorded video for a Pasadena student event on October 1, urged youth to “dream big, act boldly—our world needs you now more than ever.” Organizers played it after learning of her death, planting a tree in her honor amid a moment of stunned silence.

Tributes poured in like a global chorus. Prince Harry and Meghan Markle called her “a profound influence, teaching us compassion for all living things.” Leonardo DiCaprio, a longtime collaborator, posted on Instagram: “Jane wasn’t just a scientist; she was a soul who reminded us we’re all connected.” Former Vice President Al Gore hailed her as “the conscience of conservation,” while UN Secretary-General António Guterres praised her “tireless mobilization for our fragile Earth.” Stevie Nicks’ 1990 song “Jane,” a tribute to Goodall’s spirit, resurfaced on playlists, its lyrics—”She wears her crown like she don’t care”—now a poignant eulogy.

Goodall’s personal life mirrored her professional resilience. Married twice—first to filmmaker Hugo van Lawick (1964-1974), with whom she had son Hugo; then to Derek Bryceson (1975-1980), Tanzania’s director of national parks— she raised her family amid the bush, instilling a legacy of wanderlust. Her 1990 memoir Through a Window blended science with introspection, admitting the toll of Gombe’s “brutal beauty.” In later years, she embraced veganism, railing against factory farming and climate denial, her sharp wit undimmed: “We must act now, or our grandchildren will ask why we didn’t.”

Her death, while natural, carries a quiet irony. At 91, Goodall outlived many contemporaries, her heart—literal and figurative—failing during a mission she’d championed for 65 years. Cremated per her wishes, her ashes were returned to the UK, scattered in Bournemouth under a childhood chestnut tree. The JGI, now led by her granddaughter, vows to amplify her vision, with a forthcoming documentary by Richard Ladkani set for 2026.

In an age of existential threats—deforestation claiming chimp habitats at 30,000 acres yearly—Goodall’s absence is a gut punch. Yet, her ethos endures: Hope rooted in action, compassion as currency. As she wrote in Hope and the Power of the Human Voice (2023), “Every individual matters; every individual makes a difference.” From Gombe’s treetops to global classrooms, Jane Goodall’s echo will ripple, urging us toward a wilder, kinder tomorrow. Rest in power, Dr. Jane—your light outshines the stars you chased.