Actually, they’re protesting the University of Waterloo’s rebranding efforts to change from its current coat of arms to a new logo that the University says is an exciting "new marketing-oriented visual identity."
The students and alumni, on the other hand, protest a logo they "do not believe ... represents UW's prestige and degree of professionalism properly." More on the story can be found here: http://www.theregister.co.uk/2009/07/24/university_of_waterloo/
So you can compare them, here are the boring "old" and exciting "new" designs.
I, of course, want to ask the questions, "How much money did they waste, err, spend to create this new "marketing-oriented visual identity," and "How long do they think it will be until the new logo is seen as passé and needs to be replaced with something even newer?"I’ve blogged before (on June 1, 2009 and June 16, 2009) about the ways in which an entity’s coat of arms can be modernized to remain "relevant" (lord, I sometimes hate that term, especially when it is applied to heraldry, which to me is _always_ "relevant") without the need to spend a lot of money on an entirely new, unheraldic and often short-lived logo.

Now, when I say "real heraldry," what do I mean? I mean, for example, shirts one, two and four in the bottom row are the arms of then-Lord Lyon King of Arms Sir James Balfour Paul (he was Lyon 1890-1927), that is to say, the arms of Lord Lyon to dexter (towards the left as you look at it) marshaled with those of Sir James to sinister (to the right as you look at it). The "Carpe Diem" shirts may also have a real coat of arms on them, though I’m pretty sure the griffin "supporters" have been added almost as an afterthought.
For some reason, this joke also made me think of the scene in one of the old Marx Brothers movies where Groucho is calling for the seal (for a document), and Harpo brings in the mammal and sets it on the desk.
There are several similar but conflicting stories of the origin of these arms. They all have to do with a warrior, whose shield was plain gold, dying after a great battle, and a person of rank (in some stories, one king; in others, another) dips his fingers into the blood of the dying knight and draws four red stripes down the shield, which his descendants have borne since.
But as always, it seems, the devil is in the details. In some stories, the dying knight is Geoffroy le Velu, king of Aragon; in others, Guifre el Pelós (Wilfred the Hairy, or Wilfred the Bearded), Count of Barcelona. In one version, he has been mortally wounded fighting the Normans; in another, the Moors (in some cases, specifically by Lobo ibn Mohammed, the Moorish governor of Lleida). The grateful monarch who dipped his fingers in the knight’s blood is Charles le Chauve (Charles the Bald); another version makes him Louis the Pious; and yet a third version seeks to avoid the chronological difficulties with both of these kings (Charles the Bald had died 20 years before the time of the event central to the story, and Louis the Pious died before Guifré was born), and has Guifré himself so mark his own shield. The years in which this incident is supposed to have occurred include 897, at the siege of Barcelona, and 888 from the hands of the Emperor Charlemagne (and both dates precede by nearly three centuries the rise of the use of heraldry). In either case, the story does not appear until the mid-15th Century.




So, what could possibly be wrong it this stirring story? Well, heraldry as we know it did not come into existence until the middle of the Twelfth Century; the earliest coats of arms were all self-assumed, not granted by a ruling noble; and coats of arms do not appear to have been used in Scotland before the reign of David I. Indeed, the Scottish Royal arms are believed to have been first adopted by King William I (the Lion), King of Scots 1165-1214, a full century after Malcolm III. It seems most unlikely that a king who did not have arms himself would have granted arms to someone else.